Page 16 of The Write Place

He’s sitting with his back against the table and his legs stretched out in front of him. When he leans to rest his elbows on top of the table, his sweater falls so I can see a sliver of lean and muscular abs. I have to take a deeper breath to avoid thinking too much about them.

“You did. And I’m not. I’m pretty sure it’s not the sort of thing I’ll ever get used to.” He stares off into the distance, and I watch him for a second. There seems to be an air of sadness that has settled over him, though he’s doing his best to hide it.

“It must make it difficult to have any kind of genuine relationships with people,” I begin tentatively, “if everyone you meet is either trying to pitch you something or get close to your notoriety.”

He gives a wry smile at that, still not looking at me. “It is.” Then he turns his head to me, and our faces are closer to each other than I expect. “Though sometimes I get lucky and meet someone who clearly couldn’t care less about either of those things.” I quickly avert my eyes, and he nudges my arm with his elbow.

“You, Mac. I was talking about you.”

“Yes, thank you. I gathered that.” His closeness is making me fidget again, and I roll my ring between my thumb and forefinger.

“Why did you need to get away from the city?” I ask, grasping at anything to anchor myself here. He already called me out for bolting twice today, and I don’t want to make it three.

He purses his lips and blows out a slow breath. “I thought you didn’t want to get too personal,” he stalls.

“I think I crossed that line pretty thoroughly inside.”

He nods slowly, regarding me. “I suppose fair’s fair.” He considers for a moment longer before saying, “Part of it was what you just pointed out. It’s hard to have genuine relationships with anyone when they’re always after you for something.” Then he pauses again, dropping his gaze to a spot on the concrete in front of him. “I was involved in just such a relationship, and I had let it go too far, but it was always nagging at me whether she was with me for me or for my success. That’s not the kind of relationship I want to build a life on. So, we broke up. I’m not heartbroken about it or anything,” he adds quickly, as if needing that point to be perfectly clear. “She was… everywhere. She… works with my publisher. I thought putting some space between us would be a good idea.”

At this, he studies me expectantly, as if my opinion of this piece of his life is actually important. I’m not sure what to say, so I parrot his own response. “Thank you for sharing a little piece of yourself with me.”

He flashes me a wide grin, and the sadness is gone. “Careful, Mac,” he teases, tilting his beer bottle toward me in salute. He takes a smug swig. “A casual observer might think we were becoming friends.”

Chapter 7

The bell rings after my last period on Monday, and the students start to shuffle out of the room. “Have a good night!” I call after them, moving to my desk. As I sit down, I notice Isabel is still lingering by her desk, slowly packing up.

“Did you need something, Isabel?” I ask. She jumps a little at being addressed. She folds and unfolds the corner of the cover of her notebook in front of her.

“Oh, um, no Miss Mac. Well, actually, I wanted to talk to Mr. Evans?” Daniel looks up from whatever he is writing, eyebrows raised. He glances briefly at me, then settles his gaze on Isabel. He straightens in his chair, putting his pen down. Isabel takes a somewhat shaky breath, still fiddling with her notebook.

She’s silent for so long that I offer gently, “Would you like me to step outside, Isabel?”

At that, she looks at me and takes another breath, resolved. “No, Miss Mac. That’s okay.” She steps toward Daniel’s desk with her notebook. I start clicking around on my computer, pretending not to listen to their conversation. “Mr. Evans, I wrote something.”

I can hear the soft smile in his voice when he asks, “Oh?”

“Yeah,” she says, seeming to gain some confidence. “It’s a story. So, it’s short. Well, you know that.” She lets out a frustrated breath, then continues. “I was wondering if you could… maybe… read it? And tell me what you think?” I glance up as Daniel extends a hand for Isabel to place her notebook in it.

He smiles gently at her. “I would love to, Isabel. Can you come in early tomorrow to discuss it with me?”

Her smile is positively brilliant, and she bounces a little on her feet before stopping herself. “Yes, Mr. Evans. I can do that. That would be so great. Thank you. Thank you so much.” Then, as if remembering I’m in the room, she turns to me and asks, “Oh, Miss Mac. Would you like to read it, too?”

I try very hard not to chuckle. “Would you like me to read it?”

She gives me a shy smile. “Maybe after Mr. Evans and I talk about it? Once I work on it a little more?”

“I’d be honored to read it whenever you’re ready, Isabel.” I give her a gentle smile. She shoulders her backpack and grins at me, moving to the door.

“Okay. Thanks. I’ll see you both tomorrow!” She beams as she leaves the room. I watch the door for a minute, then scrutinize Daniel, who is placing Isabel’s notebook in his bag. He notices me looking at him and closes his bag, but makes no move to stand.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I say, shifting my attention back to my computer and pretending to click around a little more.

“What, Mac?” He says this a little more sternly, so I peek at him over my computer monitor.

“Based on our previous conversation, I just assumed you’d hate it when anyone would pitch you stuff.”