My gaze snaps to his. I’d done my research, too, but I hadn’t really thought about the money. “I’m not doing this for the money,” I blurt out.
His gaze softens. “I know. But it will help you be more independent. You can pay your own tuition. Make your own decisions.”
I chew my bottom lip. I hadn’t thought about that before. Micah’s right. If I could pay for my own school, my father wouldn’t have anything hanging over me anymore. “That sounds nice.”
He pulls me to him. “Want to finish that dance?”
“Yes.” I shrug out of his suit jacket and hand it back to him. “Come on.”
We go back to the dance floor. A different song is playing,but we pick up exactly where we left off. Slipping back into his arms feels like coming home.
Micah smiles at me. “Have you written any more of your book? You know I’m dying for more of your story.”
I blush and look away. “No.”
“Why not?”
I want to tell him I haven’t had time. That I’ve been too busy with other things, but deep down, I know it’s a lie. I want to finish this book; it’s just a little scary for me. “I don’t know,” I whisper.
Micah presses his hand to my lower back, pulling me closer. “Talk to me,” he whispers. “Why can’t you finish the book?”
“I’m scared,” I whisper.
“Of what?”
“Because then I’ll have to do something with it. Submit it to agents, or publish it myself. And what if it’s not as good as I think? What if I get rejected over and over? What if it doesn’t sell? What if my father was right, and I’m just living in a fantasy world?”
Micah’s eyes narrow, and I can feel him tense. “He said that to you?”
“Yeah.”
He lets out a frustrated breath. “You don’t deserve that. I’ve read your work. It’s amazing.”
I look up at him. “But what if no one else thinks so? What if I can’t get published?”
Micah leans down closer to me. “Cricket, listen to me. After our conversation the other day, I did some research about impostor syndrome.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. And I learned something important. If you were actually an impostor, if you really weren’t talented, you wouldn’t have impostor syndrome. The fact that you havethese fears, these doubts? It’s actually proof that you care about the quality of your work. It’s proof that you’re the real thing.”
His thumb brushes across my knuckles. “You are talented, Cricket. You are going to make your dreams come true. I have complete faith in you.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I know you. I’ve watched you pour your heart into your writing. I’ve seen the way your eyes light up when you talk about your characters. I’ve read your work and felt every emotion you wanted me to feel.” His voice drops to almost a whisper. “You have something special, Cricket. Don’t let anyone, not even your father, convince you otherwise.”
For a moment, we just stand there on the dance floor, his gray eyes intense and sincere. I want to tell him everything—how much his belief in me means, how I’ve been in love with him for years, how being this close to him makes me forget how to breathe.
Instead, I just whisper, “Thank you.”
“Always,” he says softly. He stands there, staring into my eyes. He slowly leans down, and my breath catches. The world stands still as his gray eyes bore through me, seeing into my soul. For a second, I think he might kiss me.
But then the moment breaks as the song ends, reminding us of where we are.
Micah drops his hands but doesn’t step away. “Your parents love you, Cricket. Even if your father doesn’t understand your dreams, he wants you to be happy.”
“I hope you’re right.”
