“Right, I was just trying to remember the word. Char, your stories are great. Your book is going to be even better. You’re a writer. Live it.”
I wasn’t sure why I felt poetic all of a sudden. She did that to me.
“I can’t really compare to anything out here.”
The waitress came over and took our order. Coffee, spinach-and-egg-white omelets, rye toast, fruit. Yep, I ordered that.
“Maybe you’ll get a movie deal next,” I said when the server was gone.
“Oh, stop. You’re ridiculous. I’m a starving writer at the moment.”
I tickled the inside of her palm and said, “You never know.”
“What about you? Are you done with this movie?”
I was working on a horror movie releasing the following Halloween. I hated it. I’d never done one before, and I wasn’t taking on another.
“Thank God, yes. It’s definitely sucking all my creativity. There’s no room to do anything different. The cast is great and fun, but I’ll be happy when it’s over.”
“You’re such a romantic at heart.”
I shook my head, laughing so hard, my eyes were squinting. She was sort of right.
We ate and laughed some more, and then we skipped the tour and went back to my place.
I didn’t mind, and neither did she.
