Page 65 of Booked on You
“Was it that bad?” I ask.
“Worse,” she says. “Much worse. I went so easy on him.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, running my fingers through her hair, and she relaxes against me while drawing invisible circles on my chest with her finger.
She hesitates, taking a breath. “Writing was the way I coped with very real things in my life. It was never supposed to be my job or something thousands of people read. It was my escape. Now, there’s all this pressure.”
“I can see how that would be hard. Do you love it?”
“Obsessed,” she admits. “Being here, I feel like I found a part of me I lost years ago.”
I read between the lines.
“I’m on chapter ten,” I say.
She makes a face. “Oh, yikes. Good luck.”
I groan. “I’m already pissed.”
“Don’t be. Know that all of that led me here.” Tension eases from her shoulders. “I used to believe pain was necessary to create meaningful art.” She pauses, vulnerability and hope in her eyes. “Now, I think the real magic happens when I’m happy.”
“Are you?” I hold her a little tighter.
“I am,” she says. “I feel free.”
“I know what you mean.”
She smiles. “Also, I don’t know how you do that.”
“What?”
“Bring out the best in me in every way,” she whispers.
“You flatter me, Scarlett Collins,” I say, and she laughs.
“It’s been ten minutes,” I tell her.
She doesn’t let go of me. “Just a little longer.”
“Just think, I’ll see you again in two thousand words.”
“I can dictate five thousand words per hour.”
“Prove it,” I urge. “Exhaust me.”
“I’m going to,” she says. “Thank you for constantly refilling my creative well.”
“The pleasure is all mine, sweetheart.” I grin, realizing just how quickly she’s embedding herself into my life and how much I want to keep her in it.
CHAPTER 17
SCARLETT
Sunlight spills across my keyboard, and I stretch, feeling the satisfying ache in my shoulders from typing at a steady pace. I want to hit two thousand words. Ezra set the goal high enough to make me work, but not so high that it seems impossible. It’s just out of reach and keeps me hungry. And God, I’m starving for more of him.
I grin to myself, rolling my shoulders and glancing out the window toward the house. The grass between the two buildings is now a bright emerald.
Something has shifted between us, and I can’t deny the pull that has me stepping away from the computer and slipping my feet into sandals by the door.
