Page 102 of Booked on You
I laugh, the tension in my chest easing for the first time since the morning’s drama. “You always know exactly what to say.”
“That’s literally why you keep me around.”
“Just, please, be my voice of reason if things get out of hand,” I say.
“Oh, Scar. I’ve always been your voice of reason; you just never listen.”
“Touché.”
“You two have a lot in common, and I think it’s a good thing to explore it further. I just wouldn’t make any announcements until you’re sure this is more than just a fling,” she suggests.
“It’s more than just a fling. I know that right now. And that’s what scares me the most about all of it. I see myself falling in love with him,” I admit.
“Then fall, babe. Follow your heart,” she encourages. “And I absolutely want more Ezra photos now.”
“Oh, shut up,” I tell her.
Hallie gets another call. “Shit, I gotta go. You know who is calling me.”
“Meadow?”
“Yes,” she hisses. “Gotta go!”
“Have fun!” I say right before the call ends.
The cottage falls quiet again, only the soft hum of the fridge breaking the silence. A fresh energy flows through me, liftingthe heaviness from my chest. Ezra’s story stirs inside my head, mingling warmly with my own, and suddenly my fingers itch to get words on the page.
I spin back toward the desk, determination taking hold. Opening my manuscript, I dive in, the click-clack of my keys filling the room. Sentences flow freely, scenes blooming effortlessly. Every paragraph pulses with a new heartbeat, a fresh sense of purpose. It’s as if knowing Ezra—truly knowing him—has unlocked something powerful within me, breathing life into my characters in ways I didn’t anticipate.
Time melts away. Paragraph after paragraph appears, my excitement fueling my focus. I can picture Ezra’s smile, feel the confidence he gives me. Hours slip past unnoticed, afternoon light shifting across the floor until the room is swallowed in shadows.
I check my word count, realizing I only have six chapters left to write. A little over twenty thousand words, and I’ll be finished.
Emotions overtake me as I think about how close I am to finishing, right on time, just as I planned.
My stomach growls, pulling me away, and then I remember Ezra invited me for dinner.
I grab my phone and text him.
Scarlett
Hi! Checking in. I wrote 8500 words!
Ezra
So fucking proud of you, Scarlett.
My heart gives a leap when I see he’s calling me.
I pick up on the second ring, aiming for casual. “Hey.”
“You sound suspiciously guilty,” Ezra says, clearly amused. “Should I ask?”
“No. Just nervous. Didn’t realize I was in the company of a celebrity.”
“SaysThe New York Timesbest-selling author,” he says. “Just pretend like you don’t know.”
“Maybe I will,” I say.
