Reboot U - Pt. 01

The crimson ON AIR sign blinked to life in the booth, casting a soft glow over the spartan furnishings of the podcast studio, all blond wood and matte black foam. Jillian adjusted her mic with practiced flair, her glossy ponytail swishing over one shoulder as she flashed her best "camera smile" at the guest seated across from her.

"Welcome back, Rebooters," she purred, her voice honey-smooth. "You're listening to Reboot U, your virtual coach to help you get your life back on track -- faster, stronger, and definitely hotter."

Her partner Carly, seated beside in her sleek carbon-fiber sports wheelchair, rolled her eyes just slightly but smiled into her own mic. "And smarter," she added. "For those of you giving us a listen for the first time, and based on our latest numbers you may well be, welcome! This is the school of hard talks: you've got questions, we get the answers. I'm Carly Chen, and with me as always is Jillian Andersen -- no, not that one--"

"Hotter," Jillian mouthed at her, off-mic.

"--and today," Carly continued, powering through the distractions routinely lobbed by the tall blonde at her elbow, "we're talking about food. Fuel, really. Specifically, the pros and cons of a vegetarian lifestyle. Is it a magic bullet for health and energy, or just another retro-trend rearing its head again only to shrivel up like that forgotten cucumber at the back of your fridge?"

"Oh, no one likes a limp cuke, right Dr. G?" Jillian added.

Their guest, Dr. Malcolm Greaves, a lean man with silver temples and a voice like jazz, chuckled politely. "Well, I wouldn't call it a magic bullet, Carly, but there's exciting new evidence that reducing animal protein and increasing plant-based foods can dramatically improve metabolic markers, digestion, and even emotional resilience."

"Mmmm," Jillian sighed, leaning forward toward her guest on the opposite side of the desk just a little too intimately, her elbow grazing the table as she toyed with her water bottle. "So you're saying I could live longer and look this good without chicken breast and salmon? Doc, you're blowing my mind."

Malcolm smiled, clearly flattered. "You'd do very well on a plant-based plan, Jillian. You have the kind of discipline most people only dream of."

Carly tapped a pen on her notepad, the pair already falling into their familiar roles -- Jillian fluffing the guest, Carly looking for the money shot.

"And what about the adjustment period?" she asked. "A lot of our listeners are fitness-curious but not exactly kale evangelists. What are the risks when someone switches too quickly?"

Jillian pouted playfully. "Carly, you're ruining my fantasy of living off almond milk lattes and looking like a yoga model."

"Oh sweetie you already do," Carly deadpanned. "But our DMs are full of real questions. Gas, bloating, protein concerns--"

"Sexy stuff," Jillian murmured.

"--and whether a vegetarian diet actually gives you enough energy to train. Not all our listeners are personal trainers, Jill."

"Not yet," Jillian winked at the mic. "We're working on it."

"I understand your concern," the doctor cut in, "but don't get me wrong -- I'm a proponent of natural and healthy diets that meet your basic nutritional needs while cutting our most of the toxins that plague the standard North American diet."

"Oh we're all about natural here, Dr. Greaves," Jillian assured him. "And what could be more natural and healthier than Canada's leading vegan condoms?"

Greaves' jaw dropped. "Uh, vegan condoms -- that's a thing?"

"You bet, Dr. G. I am talking about Polar Latex, the coolest protection possible with fewer chemicals, dyes and gluten than the next leading organic brand of prophylactics. Malcolm, you strike me as the sort of man who's very vag friendly, am I right?"

Carly slapped her forehead not for the first time, leaving her guest spluttering while delighting the sponsor and their growing audience. Guests were always warned to be prepared for pointed or suggestive questions and to date few made it through to the moody closing theme without turning the same shade as the ON AIR indicator somewhere along the way.

The podcast rolled on, Carly steering with thoughtful, evidence-based questions, and Jillian dipping in with charm and curveball follow-ups. Their chemistry was undeniable -- smart and sassy, science and sweat, flirt and focus. Beneath it all was the quiet rhythm of friendship, built over years of shared history, laughter, grief and recovery.

When the episode wrapped and the bemused guest was escorted by an intern to the studio door, Carly punched a few controls on the panel and looked over at her friend. "You flirted with a nutritionist."

"I flirt with everyone," Jillian shrugged, unrepentant. "It's branding."

Carly rolled backward from the desk, spinning slowly in place. "One day we're gonna get sued for sexual harassment by someone holding a smoothie."

"Let's hope it's Dr. Smoothie back there," Jillian said, jerking her thumb toward the soundproof glass as Malcolm waved politely on his way out.

They both laughed.

Outside the booth, the multitasking intern slid Carly her phone, enthusing about the listener response in real time. "Lines are blowing up already. Veggie wars in the comments."

Carly quickly scrolled through. "And so it begins."

"Just another day at Reboot U," Jillian said, looping an arm around Carly's shoulders with affection. "Saving the world, one leafy green at a time."

As always, the pair debriefed in the small kitchenette of the downtown Toronto studio, kicking around promotional ideas for their just-wrapped episode while outlining plans for upcoming shows. The room buzzed with the faint hum of the fridge and the rhythmic clink of Jillian's protein shaker as she mixed a neon-pink pre-workout concoction. Carly sat nearby at the counter, laptop open, headphones around her neck, scrolling through more listener comments.

"So," Carly said, not looking up, "big date with Hal tonight?"

Jillian broke into a grin, twisting the shaker lid shut with a sharp click. "I love how you always ask like it's some breaking news."

"Indulge me," Carly said, bracing for her own date that evening with a promising dude she'd connected with over a new service they'd profiled on a recent show, bringing young athletic people together. "What's the plan -- couples pilates followed by pizza? Or maybe the new Thai place?"

Jillian took a draw on her shake and wrinkled her nose. "Dinner at that weird artsy tapas bar he likes. You know, where everything's served on wood slabs and nothing has a name?"

"Oh yeah," Carly said dryly. "Where food goes to die as concept."

Jillian laughed and leaned against the counter. "I'll drink one of those earthy cocktails he likes so I seem deep, and then pretend I don't know exactly how hot I look in this top."

Closer to ground level, all Carly could do is gaze up at her pal's tight white halter top, accentuating her impressive breasts, which Carly's dad once indelicately described as "an impressive set of lungs."

"That reminds me, are you guys still planning to hit Whistler for skiing next month?" she cracked.

Jillian shot her a look, which was all she could do as she didn't possess a "blush" setting. "What, too much?"

"ALWAYS too much. I almost regret that we installed studio cams for the YouTube hits. I swear you're the only trainer I know whose tits seem to get bigger the more she works out."

Her partner flexed her toned biceps. "All about the pectorals, baby. I showed you how, remember?"

Carly quickly checked out her more modest set and sighed. "Sorry, I guess sparkling personality and outstanding oral skills will have to do."

"But seriously, the top? Is it too--"

Carly gave a helpless shrug. "Oh, it's you, Jill, and the world should expect nothing less. You have a rockin' body and busted your ass to get it and as you always say, advancing age and gravity remain undefeated. It's just that when you keep baiting the hook..."

She put her hands up. "I've said too much. Again."

"Say it!"

"Well, I'm just looking out for Hal. I can't help it."

Jillian softened. "I know. Believe me, I know. But we've been solid ever since college. What's that now -- three years? Jesus -- isn't that the longest I've ever dated anyone without sabotaging it?"

"That was then," Carly said. "Three months was your usual kill zone. Hal's an outlier, a survivor. I just don't know how he does it."

Jillian sipped her drink and leaned against the fridge. "Yeah, well. Hal's different. He's not scared off by my chaos. He actually likes that I'm a mess sometimes."

"He liked it in me too," Carly said, then quickly added, "deep in the mists of time when we were a thing."

Jillian looked at her. "You sure you're okay? Talking about him like this?"

Carly met her eyes evenly. "Jilly. Under the bridge, sweetie. We're buds, like you and me. Hal and I were different people then. And I was a wreck after the accident. He was there when a lot of other people bailed. But... that's what he does, right? He shows up. For the hard stuff."

Jillian nodded slowly, then sighed. "He does. I know I joke around a lot, but I don't take him for granted, Car. I swear."

"I believe you," Carly said. "I just don't want you sleepwalking through this with him.

He's not some accessory to your 'hot trainer' lifestyle. He's got his own gravity, you know?"

Jillian's expression flickered -- offense, maybe, then guilt. "Yeah. I know. I just... I don't always know how to be in something this real. Hal's the first person who's actually made me want to slow down."

"Then maybe tell him that sometime," Carly said softly. "Before he starts wondering if he's just... conveniently familiar."

There was a silence between them. The kind that only long friendship could hold without it breaking.

Then Jillian grinned, trying to lighten the mood. "You're still in love with him."

Carly snorted. "Like a brother. I told you how he cut one loose the other day when he drove me in to work and I was trapped in a noxious brown cloud most of the way."

Jillian roared. "What is he, 12?"

"I'm just looking out for him like he looked after me when I wound up in this chair," Carly said quietly. "Now you two are perfect for each other, I said it then and it's still true. But even he will take a walk if you don't let him put a ring on it."

The women stared at one another as the words hung in the air between them, Carly immediately regretting the slip.

"What -- has he said something to you?" Jillian stammered. "What am I walking into tonight?"

Carly quickly changed the subject. Because while Hal was gassing her in the cab, he did broach the topic of marriage to Jillian and she swore she wouldn't say a word.

"Oh for fuck's sake, girl, I'm just tell you what I see from my ringside seat... like I was in the studio last week watching you eye-fuck that ultramarathoner hunk."

Jillian closed her eyes with that memory and hugged herself unselfconsciously. "Oh gawd he got me soooooo wet!"

Carly reached up and gave her friend a playful swat. "I remember, I was there with the Bounty, you randy bitch."

"I'm pretty sure I cried out his name when I banged Hal that night," Jillian giggled.

"I wish cigarette companies could still advertise, we'd make a bloody fortune," Carly grumbled.

"Oh I kid, I kid!" Jillian protested. "But seriously, Hal's said nothing to you--"

Carly raised an index finger. "Rule Number 1: no armchair or wheelchair commentary on each other's relationships, even ones with dear mutual friends," she assured her. "I just wish the both of you would observe Rule Number 2: no matchmaking for currently unattached friends."

Jillian nodded and put her hands up in surrender. Her and Hal's batting average on Carly's behalf wasn't great, but there was that paralympic basketball player they set her up with the year before. It lasted a good six months before petering out, like most of her paramours.

"I'm just making sure -- again -- that you're cool with Hal and me."

Carly sighed. Hal was the one who stood by her after her tumble from a balance beam at the Olympic trial led to her paralysis from the waist down. Jillian was there too, but it was Hal doing the heavy lifting, accompanying her to every appointment. It was a life changing event that demanded her full attention.

"He was the one I let go when I had to choose between being someone's girlfriend or surviving the hardest year of my life. I don't regret it. And I got two of the best friends in the world out of it. And I am warning you both right now: if I am not both the maid of honor AND best person at that wedding whenever that blessed day does happen, I will be very, very pissed."

Jillian walked over and gently squeezed her friend's shoulder. "I promise you that, Car. And I'm glad you didn't let me go."

"THAT was never an option," Carly said simply.

The buzzer on Jillian's phone vibrated -- time to change, time to go. She picked it up and slung her gym bag over one shoulder.

"I'll tell him you said hi."

"Tell him I said behave."

"He's dating me, Carly. There's no chance of that."

As Jillian walked out, Carly returned to her laptop and scrolled down to the latest comment from a listener.

"Carly, your questions always hit so hard. You're the reason I keep listening."

She smiled and made a fist. Oh yeah. She loved this job.

That evening Jillian met Hal at Loba Tapas Bar, the latest fine-dining establishment her man had found to savor the art and creativity of plating meals fit for selfies. The candlelight flickered in a low ceramic dish on their slab of reclaimed birchwood, casting long, dramatic shadows over the miniature art pieces aspiring to be dinner.

Hal sat across from Jillian, his sleeves rolled to the elbow, forearms resting casually beside a dish of roasted cauliflower "clouds" dressed in smoked almond purée.

"Are we... eating dinner," Jillian asked, holding up a fork like a question mark, "or starring in a short film about dinner?"

Hal grinned. "We're experiencing dinner. There's a difference."

Jillian arched an eyebrow. "There's a difference between eating and being politely disappointed while chewing tiny things slowly."

He lifted his wine. "To polite disappointment."

She clinked her glass against his. "To dating someone with the palate of a Berlin art critic."

They both sipped, and then it settled -- the silence between them, warm and familiar. She undressed him with her eyes as she always did, marvelling again at his chiselled good looks, riveting deep blue eyes and careless mop of blond. She recalled the time at a ski lodge when a stranger mistook them for siblings, twins even. Sometimes opposites attract but in this case she'd connected with a near mirror image, her equal on the slopes, the track and the pool, comparably driven and ambitious. And as hungry and insatiable in bed.

Across the bar, a moody jazz trio riffed without structure, and couples leaned in close over glowing cocktails. Hal watched her over the rim of his glass.

"You look fantastic tonight, by the way," he said.

Jillian made a face. "I'm wearing the same top I wore to interview Dr. Soybean."

"And you made tofu sound like lingerie," he said. "The man nearly fainted."

She laughed, eyes sparkling. "You watched?"

"Always."

She winced. "Maybe you should give today's episode a miss. Carly says I was a full-throated slag in this one."

"The topic being..."

"Vegan diets."

"Wow, I'm getting a hard-on. Is the table levitating?"

Jillian laughed and they paused as the waiter placed down a sculptural stack of grilled mushrooms. Jillian nodded politely before turning back to Hal, her smile faltering just slightly.

"Do you ever think we're too comfortable?" she asked suddenly.

Hal blinked. "Comfortable as in... too domestic? Or too boring?"

"Just... too settled. Like we've already made all the decisions. Same dinners, same vacations, same inside jokes. We're staring 30 in the face, Hal. Shouldn't there still be some... mystery?"

Hal set down his fork, thoughtful. "We've done a lot, Jilly. We've been to Bali. We've kayaked with whales. You still scream every time I try to watch a horror movie. If that isn't mystery, what is?"

"But do you ever wonder if there's another level? Like..." she shrugged, "if we're in the penthouse, maybe there's a rooftop garden we don't know about?"

Hal studied her for a moment. "You trying to say something?"

"No," Jillian said quickly. "Maybe. I don't know. Just thinking."

"You've been restless lately."

She met his eyes. "You noticed?"

"I'm not a dope." He took another sip of wine. "Look, I know the flirting's harmless. It's part of who you are. It's in the toolbox. You draw people in. But when you start doing it with the mirror, I start to wonder."

That got a laugh out of her.

"You know I love you, right?" he said.

"I do."

"Have I ever told you I'd marry you tomorrow?"

She froze. "Once or twice."

"I mean it."

"I know."

"I also know it terrifies you."

"Because it should," she said, a little too fast. "We have a good thing. Why push it into a box just to check it?"

"I'm not trying to domesticate you," Hal said gently. "You're not a rescue husky."

Jillian smirked. "I'd eat your furniture and pee on your carpet." As it was, she had a toothbrush in his bathroom and clean underwear and t-shirt in his bedroom closet. Even after all that time she could hear Robert De Niro's voice in her head, from that scene with Al Pacino in Heat: "Don't let yourself get attached to anything you are not willing to walk out on in 30 seconds flat if you feel the heat around the corner."

Hal reached across and brushed her fingers with his. "I just want you to know I'm in this. I always have been. You don't have to say yes. But I need to say it."

She squeezed his hand, her heart fluttering -- not with fear, exactly, but something close. Not panic. But pressure.

Then the waiter arrived with the dessert: a single fig, halved and roasted with cinnamon and crème fraîche.

Jillian looked at it. "This isn't dessert. This is a parable."

Hal laughed. "Want to get gelato after?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

As they stood to leave, she glanced toward the dim bar entrance where her reflection caught briefly in the glass -- a flash of black leather jacket, luminous skin, and something shifting behind the eyes.

She'd arranged to interview a best-selling neuroscientist on next week's episode -- a man known for his radical work in brain optimization and peak performance. She'd skimmed his TED Talk the night before. He had intensity. He made things crackle.

She wondered -- just for a second -- what someone like that might see in her.

And just like that, the rooftop garden beckoned from above.

A week passed, time for the next show. The smell of coffee and faint eucalyptus drifted through the studio as Carly set up the mics, double-checking audio levels with her usual efficiency. She wore her favorite slate-blue hoodie and leggings, no-nonsense as always but the twitch in her brow said she was anticipating trouble -- or something close to it.

Jillian was pacing by the kitchenette, her hair swept into a high ponytail, her top an unapologetically fitted crop under a moto jacket. She looked like she belonged on the cover of Train Like a Warrior and Look Like a Goddess and was acting just a little too breezy.

"So," Carly said casually, "you watched his keynote, right?"

"Three times," Jillian said, gazing at her phone. "He has that kind of voice that makes your spine feel like a tuning fork. And he's hot."

"Ah," Carly muttered. "So this is happening."

Jillian looked up, grinning. "What? I'm allowed to get curious. Dr. Orion Vance is very compelling. Like if Einstein did CrossFit and made eye contact while quoting Brené Brown."

"That's... oddly specific," Carly said. "And deeply disturbing."

"Relax," Jillian said. "I can flirt and still keep it professional."

"Technically true," Carly said, adjusting her mic. "But let's not pretend this is harmless. You've been Googling him like a high schooler before prom. And Hal's not oblivious."

Jillian hesitated, then shrugged. "I'm not doing anything. Hal and I just talked about that. It's just chemistry."

"Chemistry is what starts fires," Carly said flatly. "You're playing with a flamethrower."

Before Jillian could respond, the door to the studio opened.

He didn't enter so much as arrive.

Tall and lean, dressed in a dark henley and jeans, Orion Vance moved like someone accustomed to being noticed and too busy to care. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, scanned the room and landed on Jillian first.

"Jillian Andersen," he said, voice like rich timber and jet engines. "Your TV drama namesake has nothing on you."

She blinked -- just once -- then offered her hand. "Dr. Vance. Welcome to Reboot U. You're even taller in person."

Carly watched as he took Jillian's hand with just enough pressure to be polite, not enough to be impersonal. And held it for a beat too long.

"Please," he said. "Call me Orion."

Jillian smiled. "Only if you call me Jillian. Or Jilly, if we're already soul-bonded over mitochondrial resilience."

He laughed, low and appreciative, and Carly's fingers paused over the keyboard. Yep. That tuning fork thing again.

She cleared her throat. "Dr. Vance, I'm Carly Chen. Co-host. I'll be steering the science end of today's convo so we don't end up trading kale for ketamine."

"Carly," Orion said, shifting focus. "I've read your articles. You ask better questions than most journalists twice your age. It's an honor."

Carly blinked. "You... read our show notes?"

"Of course. I like to know where the real intelligence in the room is coming from."

Jillian snorted. "Wow. He got both of us in under twenty seconds."

"Shall we start?" Orion asked, nodding toward the booth. "I've got thirty minutes before my next burst of productivity."

"Thirty minutes," Jillian said. "We'll have you revealing your childhood trauma by minute twelve."

He met her gaze. "Only if you go first."

Carly watched from behind the mixer as they took their seats across from one another. Jillian leaned in, lips parted, eyes bright. Orion mirrored her, elbows on the table, a faint smile ghosting across his mouth like he knew he'd already sucked the air out of the room.

Oh no, Carly thought, adjusting the levels. This isn't flirtation.

This was ignition.

And somewhere in the quiet chamber of her chest, she felt a flicker of warning -- like the moment before a storm breaks, or a gymnast's toe slipping from the beam.

They were on the clock. Soon the ON AIR light glowed softly above them, casting its usual halo of focus and quiet pressure.

"Welcome back, Rebooters," Jillian said smoothly, leaning into the mic. "Today's episode is going to light a fire under your neurons. Our guest is Dr. Orion Vance -- neuroscientist, peak-performance coach, best-selling author, and the only man alive who makes the phrase dopaminergic optimization sound like foreplay."

Carly gave her the side-eye without turning her head.

Orion chuckled. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Oh, you should," Jillian said, smile in her voice. "But let's start with the basics. You've said most people are living at forty percent of their potential. What's holding us back?"

"Comfort," Orion said without hesitation. "Ritual. Routine. The illusion of safety. Our brains crave novelty, challenge, friction -- but we build our lives around avoiding those things. And then we wonder why we feel numb."

Carly jumped in. "So you're saying we're addicted to stability? Isn't some structure necessary for health?"

"Of course," Orion said, turning to her. "Structure gives the mind somewhere to run. But if it's a treadmill, not a trail -- eventually, the brain knows it's not going anywhere."

Jillian made a soft mmm noise. "So we need friction to wake up?"

"You need tension," Orion said, eyes locking onto hers. "Tension is where transformation happens. People talk about flow states, but they forget -- every flow state begins with struggle. That edge where you want to quit. That's the entry point."

Carly gave a tight smile. "And how do you tell the difference between transformation and burnout?"

"Easy," Orion said. "Burnout is when you're chasing someone else's goals. Transformation is when the fire is coming from inside you."

Jillian let that hang in the air, then leaned slightly forward, voice dropping into something intimate.

"So what lights your fire, Orion?"

He smiled slowly. "Dangerous questions from beautiful women."

Carly snapped her gaze to Jillian, ready to intervene, but her co-host was already grinning.

"Careful," Jillian said. "This is being recorded. Our listeners will fall in love."

"I hope so," he said. "That's the point, isn't it? To fall in love -- with the version of yourself you haven't met yet."

Carly jumped in again. "Let's get specific. You talk about leveraging neuroplasticity to rewire old behavior loops. What does that actually look like in daily life? For someone who's, say, trying to break a pattern of self-sabotage?" Her eyes shot daggers at Jillian who remained blissfully unaware.

"Simple," Orion said. "Interrupt the pattern. Change the inputs. If you always run at 7 a. m., try dancing at midnight. If you always journal with a lavender candle, journal in the rain. The brain wakes up when you confuse it. That's where possibility lives."

"And confusion doesn't lead to chaos?" Carly asked.

"Sometimes," Orion said. "But chaos isn't the enemy. It's the birthplace of reinvention."

"Damn," Jillian murmured. "You're going to sell a lot of books with this episode."

He turned toward her. "You want to know a secret?"

"I always do."

"I listen to your podcast on my long runs," he said. "You have this way of making fitness sound like seduction. It's hypnotic."

Jillian blinked. Carly actually mouthed "oh my god" off-mic.

"I'm flattered," Jillian said. "I usually save my hypnosis skills for in-person interactions."

"I was hoping you would," he said.

Carly raised both hands like a referee. "Okay! Okay. I'm just going to step in here before this turns into an HR scenario." And for the remainder of the broadcast she kept a metaphoric whistle between her teeth, wishing she'd dressed like a zebra.

Eventually, as Vance's deadline neared, she brought it in for a landing. "Dr. Vance, let's wrap with your top three brain-boosting hacks our listeners can try today."

Vance gave a quick, charming laugh -- like a man caught speeding who still got out of the ticket.

"Fair enough. Number one: do something today that scares you just a little. Number two: fast for sixteen hours, then break it with something alive -- sprouts, raw greens, fermented anything. And number three? Take cold showers. Every day. Get comfortable being uncomfortable."

Jillian shot him a look. "You first."

He met it without blinking. "Only if you join me."

Carly groaned quietly into her mic. "And that's our show, folks."

The theme music swelled in Carly's headphones as she hit stop on the recording.

Jillian sat back in her chair, a slow, unmistakable grin spreading across her face. It was going to take a few hours for her chair to dry.

Carly stared at her, deadpan. "You're going to break the internet with that episode."

"I'm not trying to," Jillian said.

"You're not NOT trying."

Taking off his headset, Orion stood, unhurried. He shook Jillian's then Carly's hand and with the starstruck intern at his elbow, headed for the door. He caught Jillian's gaze through the booth window, nodded once -- something loaded -- and slipped out of the studio like smoke.

Carly didn't say anything for a long beat. Then: "Hal's going to listen to that episode."

"I know," Jillian said softly.

"Are you?"

Jillian turned away from the glass. "I might need to."

The following morning the studio smelled faintly of yesterday's espresso and lavender diffuser oil. Carly was at the desk early, syncing downloads and prepping notes for next week's show --except, according to the schedule in front of her, there was no next week.

She heard the front door swing open and the unmistakable clip of Jillian's boots on polished concrete.

"Morning," Jillian chirped, a little too chipper for someone who'd just disrupted the time-space continuum.

Carly swiveled slowly in her chair. "So. You want to tell me why the Google calendar says hiatus through next Thursday?"

Jillian set down her tote bag and peeled off her leather jacket like she was arriving at a brunch, not a battlefield. "Because I'm going to North Carolina."

Carly blinked. "You hate North Carolina."

"I hate humidity," Jillian said. "But apparently the air is thinner and smarter at higher altitudes."

"What are you talking about?"

Jillian exhaled, folding her arms. "Orion invited me to his seminar."

There was a beat of silence. Carly stared. "His mountain seminar? That weird high-performance guru retreat he mentioned with the cold plunges and goat-milk kefir?"

"Almond milk, actually. And it's a week-long summit with thought leaders, elite athletes, neuroscientists. People making moves. He said I should come."

"And you said yes?" Carly's voice jumped half an octave. "Without telling me?"

"I'm telling you now."

"No, you're announcing it. There's a difference."

Jillian shrugged. "I figured you'd be annoyed."

"Damn right I'm annoyed," Carly snapped. "We're co-hosts, Jill. Partners. We plan things. Together. And now you're jetting off to a cabin in the woods with a guy who practically mounted you in the booth?"

Jillian's mouth twitched. "He didn't mount me."

"Only because the table was in the way."

"Carly."

"No, I'm serious. What is this? Because if you're saying this is all business, I'm gonna need you to say it with a straight face."

"It is business. It's a chance to expand our network. To rub shoulders --"

"With what, exactly? Because it's not just shoulders I'm worried about you rubbing."

Jillian rolled her eyes and crossed to the kitchenette, fiddling with the electric kettle. "You sound jealous."

"I'm not," Carly said instantly -- and maybe too quickly. "I'm concerned. About you. About Hal."

Jillian didn't respond.

Carly lowered her voice. "You know he listened to yesterday's episode, right?"

Jillian's jaw tensed slightly. "He hasn't said anything."

"Of course he hasn't. He's Hal. He internalizes. He forgives. And then he hurts."

Jillian turned around, arms folded tight. "I haven't cheated on him."

"You don't have to," Carly said. "Emotionally, you're already gone. You've got that look again."

"What look?"

"It's been awhile, but I remember it. The one you had the week before you left Matt. And the week before you quit the gym job. That itch for something new. Something more."

Jillian didn't deny it. "Is that so wrong?"

Carly's voice softened. "Not if you're honest about it. But you're dragging Hal behind you like he's luggage you forgot you checked."

"I'm not. I just... I need this. For me. For once. This is something big."

Carly's eyes narrowed. "You're not taking me."

Jillian froze. "What?"

"I'm your partner. Your best friend. We built Reboot U together. And now you're going off to some brainy sex commune with Mister Neural Pathways without me?"

"It's not a sex commune." Jillian laughed, but it came out tight. "You think I'm doing this just to hook up?"

"I think you're trying to jumpstart your next identity and you don't want anyone holding the mirror while you do it."

The silence crackled.

Jillian turned back to the counter, poured hot water over her tea bag, and didn't look up. "I'm going."

Carly swallowed. "And the podcast?"

"On hold. Two weeks. We tell the audience we're retooling."

"That's what you're calling it?"

"Yeah," Jillian said, finally meeting her gaze. "We're retooling. Starting with me."

Carly wheeled back from the desk slowly, keeping her expression still. "Fine, I'll hold down the fort while you're off 'retooling'. Don't worry about me. I won't do anything stupid while you're gone."

Jillian smiled at the Marvel reference. "How can you when I'm taking all the stupid with me?"

"Just promise me one thing," Carly said quietly.

Jillian nodded once.

"Don't burn the house down just to see what the fire feels like."

Jillian looked down at her tea. "No promises."

It didn't take long for stupid to happen or for the house to burn down. Or for Hal to notice the smouldering ruins.

Carly wheeled her chair out the front door of her condo building into an early winter blizzard. Her show's two-week "hiatus" had turned into a month and it was beginning to seem that not only had she lost her job, her best friend had taken a powder as well.

Speaking of powder, there was about a foot of it blocking her path to the curb. Because not only had her partner gone, her ready lift to the office in inclement weather had disappeared as well. She downloaded the WheelTrans app to catch a ride from the city service for the disabled but as she watched cars spinning wheels and struggle to gain purchase on the road in front of her, Carly realized the city was taking a snow day.

As she turned to go back inside, she heard the insistent blast of a horn from the street.

"Hey lady, get in! I've got candy!"

Carly stared out through the falling flakes toward the voice. Of course it was Hal, and naturally he'd be driving a four-by-four and was laughing at the impassable avenues on a wretched day like this.

"Are you going my way, stranger?" she called.

Hal pulled up and popped open the rear hatch. In a moment he scooped his old friend into his arms and placed her in the passenger seat before putting the chair into the back, Uber efficiently.

"Heading to the studio?" he asked as he climbed into the driver's seat.

Carly nodded. "Yeah, they've got me doing engineering stuff for now."

Hal put the SUV in gear and slalomed into traffic. "Yeah, we're all on hold, aren't we?"

"How you holding up? Have you heard from her?"

Hal grimaced, his gloved hands tightening on the wheel. "Couple times. Nothing this week. You?"

Carly took a deep breath and retrieved her phone from her purse. "Ah, have you seen her Instagram feed today?"

"You know I don't look at that social media crap, Car. Why, what's she doing now?"

"Wellllll," she began. "Maybe we should pull over before you look at this."

Hal pointed up. "We got a red light. Lay it on me."

Carly slowly turned the screen toward him. Hal squinted and soon the blood drained from his face.

"That's..."

"Jill. In a hot tub. And those would be..."

"Her tits. Of course."

"And that would be..."

"Orion Vance. Apparently about to be breast fed."

Carly titled the screen back to her gaze. "Damn. It is all about the pectorals."

She suddenly jerked back in her seat as Hal hit the gas at the faintest hint of green. They said nothing as he covered the remaining blocks to the studio. Carly quietly put the phone away.

"I'm sorry, Hal."

"For nothing," he said quietly. "I should have seen it coming. She did everything short of firing a flare. I'm such an idiot."

"No, you're not. You've done nothing wrong, Hal. You don't deserve this," Carly replied.

Hal shrugged. "Neither of us do."

They pulled up in front of the Carly's office building and Hal quickly extracted the chair and expertly opened it, carefully setting the brakes before opening Carly's door. He gathered her and held her for a moment just a tad longer than necessary before delicately placing her on the chair.

"Thanks for the ride," Carly said. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Sure. You?"

"La-la-la-la life goes on," she smiled, trilling the line from The Beatles' Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da, a favorite of theirs back in college.

He laughed. "See you around, Carly."

She watched as he pulled away and as she spun around to roll into the building, she felt something long dormant in her heart. Like the flickering embers of an old flame.

Already two blocks away, Hal started feeling the same.

-30-