Page 35 of Booked on You
When the slices pop up, I slather them with soft butter and the last of the strawberry jam I made in late spring. It’s rich, tart, and sweet.
“Eat this. You need more than coffee.” I place the slices on a plate and hand it to her.
“You spoil me, Ezra.”
“I will,” I tell her. “If you let me.”
She smiles as she steps toward the door, coffee in one hand, toast in the other. “I can’t fall for you.”
“Good luck with that.” I hold the door open for her.
“Let me know if you need more inspiration,” I mutter.
“Cocky.”
“Confident,” I say.
Her laughter echoes off the house as she takes the trail back to the cottage.
“Happy writing,” I tell her.
“Thanks,” she says to me over her shoulder.
I shut the door behind me, and I’m grinning wide.
Scarlett does something to me, and right now, I’m feeling more inspired than I have in a while. For the past five years, I’ve lost myself in my work with one goal: to make my mother proud. Vacations never happen; it’s just work, work, work. It’s one of the reasons I’m painfully single, or at least that’s what Millie says.
After trying to find love and failing, I don’t try anymore. Whatever happens, will happen.
I grab my coffee and move to the tower room. The sun is beginning to rise over the horizon, and the sky is in that weird limbo between night and day. I open the window to inhale the fresh salty sea air, before it gets too humid.
A minute later, Willow opens the door, then leaps onto the window and begins grooming herself like she can’t be bothered. This is the feline version of micromanaging.
“What?” I ask when she pauses to glare at me. “I’m not dealing with yourcattitudetoday.”
I sit at the edge of the bench, rubbing my palm absently over the top of my thigh, trying to quiet the restlessness that’s overtaken me. As I’m scanning over the things I need to do, I hear my name being called from the front of the house.
My aunt Millie’s familiar voice floats up through the open window. “Ezra. You awake?”
I stand quickly and move to the window, catching her just as she’s shutting the car door and smoothing down her floral button-up like she’s marching into battle.
“You know it. Early birds get the worm,” I call down. “Come on in.”
By the time I make it to the bottom floor, she’s already halfway through the living room, carrying a brown paper sack in one hand.
“I brought you a loaf of banana bread,” she announces. “It’s fresh out of the oven.”
“Thank you so much,” I say genuinely, taking everything from her hands. “You know you don’t have to keep showing up like this, right?”
She bustles past me like she lives here, and at one point, she did. Millie stayed with my mom, and the two sisters were roommates before I was born and Millie met the love of her life.
My aunt gives me a look that could melt drywall. “I’d never see you otherwise. You haven’t stopped by the shop inmonths.”
I set the bag on the counter and pull out the bread, inhaling the sweet scent. It’s warm in my hands, just like she said.
“I’ve been busy getting ready for the fundraiser next month,” I say. “It’s not personal. You know I love you more than anyone on the planet.”
“Correct answer,” she says, opening the fridge to judge my inventory. “Oh, you cooked. Did you have a woman over?”
