"What time is it?" Jenna asked, her voice still heavy with sleep.
"Twelve oh-two," Owen replied, picking up his phone from the nightstand to check before setting it back down.
Jenna sat up a little. They ended up sitting side by side, facing forward, their shoulders separated by just a few centimeters.
The silence lasted a few seconds. Owen was the one who broke it.
"When did you put on my shirt?"
"After last night," Jenna answered bluntly. "I woke up a bit cold, and it was the first thing I found. Besides, putting the dress back on would have been a whole ordeal."
Owen smiled at the memory. "Yeah, that dress was really hard to get off you, harder than the damn heels," he said, recalling how he'd had to struggle with it for quite a while.
In the end, it had been funny. Somewhere between clumsiness and complicity, they'd ended up laughing, and at no point had it become awkward or broken the mood.
Jenna let out a soft laugh. "Sorry, I was wearing very complicated clothes last night…"
She stopped halfway through the sentence. She was about to say something else, maybe a joke about how next time she'd wear something simpler, but she realized it would sound strange.
The whole situation, really, was strange and complicated.
Jenna cleared her throat, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and glanced sideways at Owen, as if searching for the right words to go on.
"What we did last night… was it wrong?" Jenna asked softly, almost in a whisper. Even so, Owen heard her.
He kept his gaze fixed on the wall. A few seconds passed before he answered.
"For me, yes," he said. "For you?"
Even though he was on a break with Sophie, that didn't mean the relationship had officially ended. And even though the break hadn't been his idea, had been imposed on him, deep down he still saw it as cheating.
Even having already decided to end things with Sophie, doing it this way didn't sit right with him. It felt like the wrong kind of closure, at least for his own conscience. What Sophie might or might not have done that night was irrelevant to him. It wasn't a matter of comparison, but of principles.
That was why, at the party, when he'd hesitated about flirting with Mikey or any other girl, as Tyler and the others had suggested, he'd chosen to stay on the sidelines. To do nothing. And that was despite the fact that he'd already made the decision to end the relationship.
Almost everything had gone as planned: at the party he'd kept his distance, had fun without doing anything with anyone, and then gone back home.
What he hadn't anticipated was Jenna's invitation to keep drinking at her place. And, honestly, he'd accepted without giving it much thought because he believed there was no romantic interest on her part. He thought that possibility didn't exist.
He'd been wrong.
She kissed him, and at first it completely caught him off guard. He hadn't seen it coming. But that initial surprise quickly turned into desire when he saw her there, so close, wearing a dress that looked ridiculously good on her.
Jenna was attractive, yes. But it wasn't just that. She was someone he deeply respected professionally, someone very much like him in the way she approached her work, and also a friend with whom he'd always had an easy, natural dynamic, and undeniable chemistry.
When someone like that comes close to you, crosses that line, and goes for it without hesitation… holding back isn't so easy. Even less so after drinking alcohol, and even less when he'd already spent hours convinced that his relationship with Sophie was, deep down, over.
Pulling away at that moment, leaving Jenna alone there and going back to his apartment, was no longer possible.
So it simply happened.
"Yes… it was wrong," Jenna replied after a sigh. She also knew about the break, that Owen no longer saw a future in the relationship, and all of that. Even so, she couldn't help feeling that what they'd done was wrong.
She didn't recognize herself in that situation. She had always considered herself morally firm, clear about her principles. And yet, she had crossed one.
She glanced sideways at Owen.
'And there's the culprit…' Jenna thought, watching his calm face, those light-colored eyes that seemed to analyze everything even though he'd just woken up, on the first day of the year, in this particular situation. Then, almost without meaning to, her gaze drifted down to his torso.
He was more toned and built than she'd imagined beneath the shirt. It was obvious he worked out.
Jenna shook her head, pushing those thoughts away at once.
That wasn't the point. The point was that the reason she had broken her own principles had a name and a surname: Owen Ashford.
She probably wouldn't have done it with another guy, if it hadn't been Owen, even if she found others physically attractive.
Not in a negative sense. Quite the opposite.
She realized, perhaps for the first time with complete clarity, that it wasn't just a physical attraction. She genuinely liked him. His way of being, his work ethic, his professionalism, and his humor, sometimes a bit questionable and cancelable, but very funny. Also the way he thought, the way he spoke…
'Stop,' Jenna thought.
That, precisely, was what made everything so much more complicated.
"If it helps at all, keep in mind that I'd already been considering ending the relationship even before this happened," Owen said, looking at her.
He'd mentioned it before, but now he did so more clearly, as if he needed her to understand that it hadn't been an isolated impulse or a deliberate betrayal.
In his case, he didn't feel overwhelming guilt. It was more a bitter aftertaste, a discomfort tied to his own principles. He would have preferred to officially end things with Sophie before any of this happened.
"It helps a little," Jenna admitted.
It wasn't the same to sleep with someone who was cheating on their partner when everything was fine, a classic, straightforward infidelity, as it was in this situation, far more ambiguous and harder to categorize.
And besides, even though she felt it hadn't been entirely right, it was also true that she had liked what happened with Owen. A lot.
With that small doubt circling in her mind, she looked at him. "Do you regret it?" she asked.
Owen held her gaze and answered without hesitation. "No. Because it was you, I don't regret it."
The corner of Jenna's lips curved into a slight smile. "I expected that," she said, her tone calm, almost confident.
"You sound very convinced," Owen remarked, looking at her oddly. "Last night, when I didn't kiss you back, you got pretty nervous trying to explain yourself and blaming the alcohol. I have to say, it was cute seeing you like that," he added with a faint smile.
Jenna rolled her eyes slightly. "Yeah, I know. I got nervous," she admitted honestly.
She paused briefly before continuing.
"If you'd rejected me, it would have been a very embarrassing situation and probably the end of our friendship. Something I wouldn't have wanted."
Owen looked at her, surprised. His smile slowly faded. He'd only meant to tease her a bit, he hadn't expected that level of sincerity.
"I see," he murmured.
"And I feel convinced," Jenna went on, "because I knew that you, after finding out I'm not a lesbian…" she said in a strange tone, recalling that moment, "kissed me, and quite decisively. I knew it was more likely that you wouldn't regret it."
Jenna was sure of that. Owen could have chosen Mikey or any other girl to flirt with that night, but he didn't. So why with her?
The only answer she could find was that with her, he felt something different. Something more serious. Not something casual or purely spontaneous.
She knew Owen wasn't the type to sleep with a stranger, even if he'd already decided to end his relationship.
She just wanted to be one hundred percent sure, that was why she asked.
"Your logic is correct," Owen said, agreeing with her.
With another girl, he wouldn't have done it. He would have managed to end his relationship with Sophie the right way. But with Jenna it was different, especially after that New Year's Eve when they'd spent practically the whole time together: talking, dancing, and finally going back to her apartment.
"So, what happens now?" Jenna asked.
"Do you mean what will happen with us once I end my relationship?" Owen said.
Jenna nodded.
They were both meticulous about timing. They didn't like going in circles or ambiguity, they preferred clarity, even when it wasn't comfortable.
"I think it wouldn't be the best idea to start a relationship right now, would it?" Owen said.
Jenna nodded immediately. "Definitely. It would only create rumors of infidelity, affect our images, and open the door to unnecessary gossip," she replied, her tone turning almost professional.
Owen nodded as well, serious, calculating the variables in his head. "Besides, it would be risky for a stable relationship if we start like that."
"Agreed. It would be a poor move and could make us not last even three months," Jenna said.
She still didn't feel she knew Owen one hundred percent. She wanted to, yes, but she didn't like the idea of rushing things when she saw something in him that was worth taking care of.
"Completely agree," Owen said.
With Sophie, he had started a relationship far too quickly. They'd known each other for less than two months when they officially became a couple, something unusual for him. Maybe influenced by having arrived in that new body, that different reality, and by it being his first project there. He didn't want to repeat that mistake.
"And not least important…" Owen added.
They both spoke at the same time. "Work."
They looked at each other and nodded. There was no need to say more. Both of them were absorbed by their routines and commitments. It wasn't the best moment for a relationship when their days were already full of responsibilities.
Jenna, with her career taking off after Wednesday.
Owen, with all the projects waiting for him in 2023.
"In conclusion," Jenna said, "we're going to start getting to know each other. Without the typical commitments of a conventional couple. No demanding schedules or forced priorities. If we have time, we make it work; if we don't, we understand. Both of us respecting each other's work, supporting one another in that, while seeing what develops naturally."
"Exactly," Owen said, nodding.
"Good, then everything's said," Jenna concluded.
There was no need to clarify that that "no commitments" referred to formal commitments, schedules, time demands, external pressures. It didn't mean freedom to see other people. The commitment, in fact, was already implicit: to start getting to know each other with the intention of something serious.
They weren't going to start seeing someone else, nor sleeping with other people.
It wasn't even necessary to say it out loud. They both took it for granted.
Jenna trusted Owen in that regard. Even with the obvious irony of the situation, he might be said to have been unfaithful to Sophie, she had seen firsthand that he hadn't done so before, despite having clear opportunities.
And Owen trusted Jenna for the way she was, for how she handled things, and for the clarity with which she was facing everything from the start.
Just then, Jenna's phone vibrated.
She stretched out her arm, picked it up, and unlocked it. Owen immediately noticed her brow furrow.
"What is it?" he asked.
"My family," Jenna said, lifting her eyes from the phone to look at him. "They're about five minutes away."
"What?" Owen said, startled by the sudden information. "Seriously?"
"Yes. We always do a lunch on January first to start the year, and this time it's at my place. I forgot."
"You shouldn't forget something like that," Owen muttered, straightening up at once.
He had no intention of meeting her family under these circumstances.
They'd already agreed to start getting to know each other gradually before anything serious. This was definitely not the best scenario for a family introduction.
"It was such a special night that it completely slipped my mind," Jenna said, bringing a finger to her lip, with a clearly provocative gesture.
Owen made a face. The sarcasm was obvious, though he had to admit he liked that more playful side of her.
"Give me my shirt," he said. "I have to go now."
As he spoke, he was already on his feet, pulling on his pants, his watch, his socks, moving quickly.
"I don't want to. I'm cold," Jenna said.
"Seriously? Are you going to start playing games now?" Owen replied, frowning slightly.
Jenna smiled at the sight of him like that. "Earlier you teased me, saying you liked seeing me nervous when I kissed you. Now I'm the one having fun."
"Wow, you're vindictive. I'll keep that in mind," Owen commented.
"Yeah, you're not exactly innocent either," Jenna shot back.
Then she began to take off the shirt with clearly calculated slowness. When she finished, she held it out to him. Owen took it, but lingered a few seconds longer than necessary, looking at her.
"And what about the rush from before? Stop staring," Jenna said, getting out of bed and starting to change into comfortable clothes.
"Yeah, yeah…" Owen murmured, quickly putting the shirt on.
Finally, they walked together to the apartment door.
"Good luck with the meeting with the director," Jenna said, resting her hand on the doorknob before opening it.
"Thanks. I'll tell you how it goes later," Owen replied.
"And good luck with the Sophie thing too. I don't know when you're going to do it," Jenna added in a more subdued tone.
"I'm going to try to do it as soon as possible," Owen said. He didn't want to drag that out any longer; he needed to put an end to it once and for all.
"Are you going to tell her about the infidelity?" Jenna asked, making air quotes with her fingers. Calling it that didn't quite fit, considering the break and everything else.
"I don't know…" Owen replied.
If it had been with someone completely unknown, he probably would have told her. He didn't like hiding that kind of thing. But since it was her, he wasn't so sure.
"If I do tell her, I won't say it was with you," he added. "I'll make sure to explain it without going into details."
If it became known that it had been Jenna, it could affect her. The image of being the girl who slept with another girl's boyfriend was no small thing. And if Sophie decided to confront her, he didn't know how she might do it, worse still if it leaked.
Maybe the simplest thing would be not to say anything at all and end the relationship without it ever coming to light.
"Okay, whatever you decide, I'm fine with it," Jenna said. "And thank you for trying to protect me."
"It's nothing. See you," Owen said, stepping through the door. He paused for a moment and looked back at her.
He wasn't quite sure how to say goodbye. A kiss on the lips? It was tempting, but it also felt out of place.
Jenna sensed it and spoke before he could do anything. "I think it's better to save the kisses for later, you know? For more meaningful moments. Otherwise it would feel too routine, like we're already a couple."
Even though they had already kissed, and even spent the night together, that had been something specific, something special. It wouldn't be the same to repeat it all the time when they hadn't officially started anything yet.
Owen agreed. Everything felt surprisingly simple with her: talking things through, coming to agreements, and deciding on matters they seemed to think about in almost the same way.
Without saying anything else, he said goodbye before her family arrived and went back to his apartment.
…
POV Derek Cianfrance (Director)
Today was an important day for me.
Not because it was January first, in this industry, holidays have always been relative, but because it's rare for a script to land in my hands with such a clear sense of possibility. The kind that doesn't come around often. The kind that, if you know how to seize it, can change where you stand.
I had finished Blue Valentine more than ten years ago. The film was respected, talked about, and performed better than many expected. It cost around one million dollars and ended up grossing twelve times that, more than respectable for an intimate, uncompromising drama.
For me, it was important for many reasons. It was only my second film and the first one that truly got a theatrical release, the first that gave me real validation within the industry.
But after that, the definitive leap never came.
I made three more projects after Blue Valentine. Two films that went by almost unnoticed, without real exposure or impact at the box office or with critics. One of them didn't even get a theatrical release. They weren't spectacular failures, but they weren't advances either.
My biggest success afterward was I Know This Much Is True in 2020. An intense, demanding miniseries that received very solid critical reception. It was praised and nominated for major awards. It gave me prestige and respect.
But still, it was television. Not cinema.
And even though I deeply valued that recognition, deep down I knew I was still in the same place: well regarded, yes, but still without that film that redefines you, that puts you in another league.
Recently, I received an offer. A script for a drama film.
When I heard the screenwriter's name, I recognized it immediately: Owen Ashford.
It was impossible not to know him. In a very short time, he had become extremely visible, the creator of the film with the highest ROI in history, where he not only wrote it, but also acted in it and financed it. He'd appeared on The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon, and had a strong presence on social media, especially on YouTube, where he posted short films of surprising quality.
But when I saw that it was a feature-length drama, I hesitated.
A guy in his early twenties writing drama is not the same as writing horror. Not at all. For a moment, I thought maybe he was being pretentious, that he was stepping into territory that didn't quite belong to him yet.
What ultimately convinced me to read the script was who had reached out to me: Lianne Halfon.
If Halfon was involved, it couldn't be a minor project. She wasn't a producer who chose material lightly or jumped onto something just because of names or trends.
And thankfully, I did read it.
From the very first page, the Good Will Hunting script was different. It wasn't just well written,it was perfect. Good dialogue, scenes placed exactly where they needed to be, clear conflicts, silences that said more than words, and solid characters.
And there was one not-so-minor detail: it didn't need fixing. Or if it did, it was minimal. Ninety-nine percent locked. That's incredibly rare.
I've worked with scripts that had potential, yes, but that required deep rewrites, endless discussions, and constant adjustments. This wasn't one of those cases.
It was a unique opportunity to direct a film with great critical, and probably commercial, potential. Something rare for a drama.
I had to get this job. It would be the role that allowed me to make the leap as a director.
Obviously, I wasn't the only one on the list. And there were surely directors with more clout than me.
So I needed to show something different: extreme commitment and a respectful reading of the material.
That's why I accepted a meeting on January first without hesitation. I wanted them to know that this project wasn't just another one for me.
I'd been working for days on the meeting I was going to have in just a few hours. I couldn't present myself as a fussy director, or as someone who wanted to rewrite everything to leave a personal stamp. That would be a mistake.
This script didn't need an author hovering over it; it needed a director who knew when to intervene and when to step back.
That didn't mean I was going to give my work away. I know my value, my numbers, and what I can bring to a film like this. But first I had to achieve the essential thing: getting chosen.
I prepared for the meeting with that goal clearly in mind. Not to sell myself, but to sell the film as seen through my eyes. To show that I understood the material, that I saw its critical potential, yes, but also its reach. That it could be one of those rare films that works in both worlds.
If I played my cards right, Good Will Hunting could be the thing I'd been searching for for years.
I spent the final hours reviewing my notes, organizing questions about the script, and refining the points I wanted to address.
Finally, the time for the meeting arrived. It was going to be on Zoom, so there was no need to leave the house. I logged in a few minutes early, and soon the others joined.
Lianne Halfon appeared first, with that professional, restrained presence that defines her. Then Owen joined. He introduced himself seriously, but with a natural kindness.
'Good manners,' I thought.
The meeting flowed better than I expected. We talked about the script, the tone, the characters, and the film as a whole. Almost without realizing it, about an hour and a half had passed.
When we said goodbye, I closed the call with a very positive feeling. I was left with good vibes, better than the ones I'd had before going in. Now the project interested me more, not less, and I felt I'd managed to convey how I saw the film and why I wanted to direct it.
Now there was only one thing left to do.
Wait to be told whether they were choosing me or not.
My mind tends to be optimistic, so I started imagining scenarios in which I got the job as director.
The lead would be Owen. Logical, though strange at the same time. He was the screenwriter, the financier of the film, and also the lead actor.
It wasn't an easy role. He was the absolute protagonist and would have to carry the weight of the entire film, a production that would probably comfortably exceed a five-million-dollar budget.
It was surprising that a twenty-one-year-old kid, who had turned twenty-one less than a month earlier, could finance all of that on his own. And even more so that he was doing it with such a solid, well-structured project.
As a director, that could have worried me. It meant, in a way, directing someone who would also be my boss. The lead actor was the creator of the script and the one putting up the money. He might not be open to being directed, might not accept notes, or might impose decisions.
But I didn't dwell on it too much. From what I'd seen in the meeting, Owen seemed professional and committed to the project. He took it seriously. Of course, nothing was guaranteed, but the feeling had been good.
The next day, the answer arrived.
A smile immediately formed on my face when my agent notified me of the news.
I had gotten the job. I would be directing Good Will Hunting.
Everything happened very quickly. On January third, the day after the meeting, my agent received the preliminary contract agreement. That was the moment for negotiation. I didn't want to drag it out or ask for an outlandish figure.
I stayed within a middle range, not being greedy, but not undervaluing myself either. Thanks to that quick, straightforward negotiation, I officially signed the contract on January fourth.
One million dollars flat. With some bonuses if it performed well at awards and at the box office. Not bad.
"Now the real work begins," I murmured, looking at the calendar.
Time was tight, and I already wanted to be on set.
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