I gently tap the top of her screen. “Can I ask what you’re writing?”
She chokes a little on her water. “Um, a novel. Hopefully.”
“What kind of novel?”
“Romance.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Romance?”
She wobbles her head back and forth, like she’s thinking of saying something else, so I patiently wait for her to continue. She takes another sip of water, and a droplet falls from the corner of her mouth, and onto her chest, slowly creating a small rivulet that disappears between her breasts.
I follow it all the way down until it disappears behind her shirt, and I want to dive in after it.
“Paranormal romance,” she says, picking at the sticker on her water bottle. I can see color on her cheeks, and my eyebrows raise higher.
“Paranormal Romance?” I question further.
She finally looks at me, irritation written on her face.
“Yes. Paranormal Romance, it’s kind of like monster romance, but-”
“Monsterromance?”
“Do you have a problem with that?”
“No, no. Sorry, I’m not judging you. I just have no idea what that means,” I concede. I’m not teasing her, I’m just not a reader.
The tension seems to leave her shoulders, then she looks at me and explains, “Paranormal romance. It’s like fantasy. Like, vampires, werewolves, ghosts. Monster romance is like orcs, aliens, gargoyles. You know? That kind of thing,” she rattles off, completely casual.
I don’t reply at first, I just look at her, unblinking. She’s smiling at me, eyes twinkling in amusement, like she knows she broke my brain, and is loving it.
“Sorry… Did you just fucking say gargoyles?” I ask.
She throws her head back and laughs, covering her mouth in attempts to stifle the sound.
“Ugh, you’re such a boy. You wouldn’t understand,” she says through a giggle.
“I think you might be right.” I give her a small smile. “But explain it to me. You’re writing this book, and then what?”
She tucks her hair behind her ear, going shy again. “Well, if I think it’s good enough, I’ll hopefully publish it. If not, I’ll try again. I’ve always wanted to write, so I’m giving it a shot,” she says quietly.
Oh.
“That’s really cool, Ivy,” I tell her earnestly, nudging her leg with mine.
She whips her head to me, eyes searching.
For what? To see if I’m teasing her?
“I’m serious. It’s brave to put yourself out in the world like that. I don’t know a lot about books, but I know that that takes courage. Regardless of who orwhatis fucking in it.” Now I let my smile turn teasing.
She rewards me with a laugh, and lightly shoves at my shoulder.
“Shut up. And thank you,” she says gently. Maybe she needed to hear that.
“Sarah was a reader,” I blurt, out of nowhere.
She meets my eye. “Really? What did she read?”
