Page 66 of Booked on You
I don’t have two thousand words yet, but I need a break.
Outside, the air is fresh, carrying hints of honeysuckle and the sea. It feels good against my skin. I tiptoe across the yard, heart fluttering as I approach his window. Spying feels silly, but curiosity always wins when Ezra’s involved.
Through the glass, I see him in a black T-shirt that’s hugging his muscles as he casually drinks a cup of water. I tilt my head, finding it strangely intimate to watch him exist.
I’ve seen him confident, playful, and passionate, but this is different. Real. It whispers of a future I haven’t dared to picture, but suddenly I can’t stop imagining it.
He glances absently toward the window, and I duck. A blush heats my cheeks.
After a few long seconds, I rise to peek at him again. Ezra moves toward the living room and approaches the couch.
“Pull it together, Scarlett,” I whisper to myself, feeling foolish but giddy.
As I’m about to turn away, movement catches my eye. Ezra settles comfortably onto the sofa. I have a clear view of him through the open archway between rooms.
He stretches out his long leg. The late-morning sunlight catches the edges of his hair, turning it into shades of dark gold. He’s captivating while holding my book in his hand. He mentioned he was reading it, so I’m not sure why I’m so shocked. Maybe it’s because most men don’t give a fuck.
Ezra turns a page, fully absorbed, his expression intense but thoughtful. A smile flickers at the corner of his mouth. It’s barely there, but unmistakable. I wonder what sentence of mine created that response.
I’ve watched strangers read my books in cafés or on park benches, but witnessing Ezra’s reactions isn’t like anything I’ve experienced. Maybe it’s because I know he’ll find me in those pages. It’s like he’s tracing his fingertips over the parts of me I’ve hidden in syllables. Ezra’s astute, and he’ll notice the glimpses of my heart that I haven’t shown him yet. Nervousness twists inside me.
That book will explain things about my past that I can’t. I just hope he looks at me the same way afterward.
I release a steady breath, pull my phone from my pocket, and snap a quick photo of him before I step away from the window.Even though I want to be his distraction, I also need to give him uninterrupted time to read.
When I enter the cottage, I can’t stop thinking about Ezra and how I want him to know every messy, vulnerable piece of me. I can’t hold back.
My phone buzzes, and I see my editor’s name lighting up my screen like a flashing neon sign.
My stomach tightens, and my fingers hover a moment before I answer. I can’t ignore her anymore.
“Hi, Natalie.”
“Scarlett! There you are.” Natalie’s voice is a familiar blend of friendliness and businesslike urgency. “I was beginning to worry. I haven’t heard anything from you in a week.”
“Sorry,” I reply, sinking into the chair. “I’ve just been lost in my words.”
“That’s exactly what I love to hear.” I can almost picture her leaning forward, tapping a pencil restlessly against her desk. “And how’s it going? You’re making good progress with Helena and Jordan?”
“I am,” I say confidently. “The words are flowing again.”
“Amazing,” Natalie says with genuine excitement. “I wanted to let you know that marketing wants to schedule some pre-release events, a few local signings in the city, and a handful of online interviews. Once I have the first draft and have read it, we’ll start announcing the book. Readers are dying to get their hands on this, Scarlett.”
“Great. Can you email that information to me and my agent?”
“Of course,” Natalie says.
I glance anxiously toward my laptop, cursor blinking. I know what she’s going to ask next, so I beat her to it. “I’m still on track. Nothing should stop me from turning it in. How many days do I have?”
“Seven at the most,” she says. “We’re fighting with a tight schedule, and we can’t have the manuscript delayed. Can’t push it again.”
“I understand. I’ll have it for you.” I forgot I had built in a few extra days before it was due. I smile. My goal is to turn it in ahead of time.
Natalie clears her throat, and I realize I was naive in thinking that’s all she wanted. “Since we’re on the subject, do you think you could send me your first three chapters by tomorrow morning?”
Anxiety wraps around me. “By tomorrow?”
“Yes. Just so the team can review and make sure we’re on the right track,” Natalie says, her tone firm. “I promise it’s nothing to stress about. I have to confirm.”
