Tomato/tomahto.
Inside I’m relieved, though.
It fits nicely on the table by the window.
Already there.
And then I can see it. Owen carefully arranging the branches, bending the metal spines back into place having liberated the thing from the crush of the closet. Or not, because I still don’t know what Owen looks like. But I get a flash of strong hands moving with gentle purpose over my little tree. And I can’t help smiling. Again.
I, uh, found something else I wanted to ask you about.
Oh, God. I mentally catalogue the locations and state of every sex toy and embarrassing fan letter and, shit, that album my mom sent me full of awkward childhood photos. I really hope he didn’t find that last one.
Sure? Ask away.
Okay, first let me say I only opened the box because I thought there might be ornaments in there. And I really didn’t mean to read it—I just glanced through the first few pages, but… I think I might have found a manuscript?
Manuscript. I mean, I have printouts of various Sebastian Steele drafts, but most of those are in storage. And the ones I have at home, I keep in the office.
And then my heart just about stops, because I know exactly what he found.
Oh, yeah, that’s nothing. Just something I was playing around with.
Not an actual manuscript. Not really.
More like a little experiment. Not even.
Except, of course, for all the new pages I’ve written while I’ve been up here. But he does not need to know about that.
Oh.
That’s too bad. It was really good.
My insecure little writer heart surges. I can’t help myself.
It was?
Yeah! I wanted to keep reading. I wanted to know what happened to the characters. I felt an immediate attachment to both James and Henry and I mean I was already super invested.
James isn’t introduced until chapter two…
How much of it did you read?
It takes a moment for him to respond.
Three chapters.
Are you mad?
It was so good.
Owen is either really good for my ego or really bad for it.
No, of course not.
Whew.
I laugh.
