"Glad to hear it. So do I." I lean against my car.
Dominic fishes his phone from his pocket. "I have a feeling you won't believe me unless I do this."
"Do what?" I ask, watching him navigate his phone with his thumb.
He leans against my car too, a solid two feet from me. "Call the person I was talking to that day."
I pale. "You want me to speak with the person you were shit-talking me to? That's like...like...asking a cow if he'd like to eat a hamburger."
"It's not remotely the same." Dom holds the phone out between us. It begins to ring. And ring. The smug look on Dom's face slides away. Mine turns triumphant for a reason I don't understand. Pure spite, I think.
And then, the ringing ceases. A voice, male and enthusiastic, surges into the Arizona evening. "Dom, hey, how are you?"
"Miles, hey. This is random, but do you remember when you got stuck in the plot on Post Rising? And we went through an exercise to help get your wheels turning?"
"Of course. I thought my ship hadsunk. Good thing I called you before I set fire to my laptop."
This guy, Miles, sounds grateful. Happy. I know Dom is a good literary agent, I saw what he did for Klein. Hell, his bio on the Whitaker Literary Agency website makes it sound like the sun shines from his backside. He and Miles clearly have good rapport.
"I'm happy you didn't do that. It's a great book." The smug look is back on Dom's face. "Remind me what exercise we used?"
Dom watches me listen, so intent on my face. He's waiting for the moment he receives vindication. I can tell.
"The inverse scene, you called it. Saying the opposite of everything. You used yourself as an example. You were at a bar. Something with an ironic name. And you were on a date, which before I started whining about my plot problem you'd said you were having a great time. I still feel bad about interrupting, by the way."
"No sweat," Dom answers automatically. "Keep talking."
"You showed me how the exercise works. You took everything you thought about the woman you were with, and said the complete opposite. She has dull hair, she's boring, she's annoying with a bad laugh. Oh, and you told me to spitball, too. Lay it on thick. Be outlandish. You said something about Van Gogh and his ear."
Dom's palm performs a celebratory slice through the air, as if he's a maestro. His face saysHah!
"Pipe down," I tell him, though he's said nothing. I need quiet so I can concentrate on how wrong I was, even when allsigns pointed toward an obvious conclusion. Realization snakes through me, my memories of that day shifting in real time. Heat steals over my cheeks as the scene in the hallway replays, but differently this time.
"Who is that? Why am I supposed to pipe down?" Dom's author asks, confused. "You called me, asking questions."
"She's talking to me, Miles. Thanks for all the info."
They say goodbye. I kick at a pebble with the toe of my sandal.
Dom tucks his phone in his pocket and slides closer to me. "Satisfied?"
"Is satisfied the best-fitting word to use right now?"
Dom crosses his arms, squinting against the early evening sun. The deepening golden rays darken his butterscotch hair, turning each lock molten. "How about you describe how you feel," he says, voice dry, "since I'm apparently inept?"
"You don't have to sound like this irritates you, Dominic. Why would you be skilled in guessing my feelings? You hardly know me."
His mouth tugs into a smirk. "Other than being married to you, of course."
"Obviously."
"Alright, Cecily. Tell me how you feel, now that you've been proven wrong."
"I don't know that I was provenwrong. I just wasn't provenright."
Dom shakes his head slowly. He shifts, but not away from me. Closer. He's not touching me, but I feel it anyway. His nearness. His intense gaze. The air between us tightens.
"I've never met anyone like you." His voice is a murmur, but there's something in it that's rough, too.
