“Are there specific things that happen to Reya in the book that you’ve never experienced?” His voice is steady, but his question dwells, thick and heavy. “Or are you still outlining?”
Holy shit.This conversation is really going there. I can feel the heat creeping up the back of my neck, and suddenly I’m not sure if I’m ready to have this conversation with him. Not like this. Not while we’re standing so close, not while the air feels charged with something I can’t quite name.
I need a drink.
Without saying anything, I walk around him, moving toward the cabinet to grab a glass. “I need wine for this conversation,” I say, my voice a little breathless. I turn to face him, raising an eyebrow. “Want some?”
He shrugs, a slow, easy movement that somehow makes him seem even more relaxed. “I’ll take a glass,” he says, his gaze never leaving mine.
I grab the open bottle of wine I broke into for Mari from the refrigerator, feeling the coolness of the bottle against my skin as I pour twohalf glasses. When I turn to hand him his glass, we’re closer now. He’s still leaning against the kitchen island, and I’m leaning against the sink, but our feet are just inches apart, and the proximity sends a shiver down my spine. He takes the glass from my hand, his fingers brushing lightly against mine, and for a moment, I feel frozen in place.
He takes a sip, his eyes still locked on mine, watching me over the rim of the wineglass. There’s something in the way he watches me that feels different now, more intense, like we’re no longer just talking about the book. It’s as if the conversation is a stand-in for something else, something unspoken but undeniably present.
I don’t sip as delicately from my glass. I take a huge gulp, the wine sliding down my throat in a rush as I try to steady myself. I set the glass on the counter next to me, my hand lingering on it as I stare down at it, trying to gather my thoughts.
“Reya is very different from me,” I begin, my voice a little softer now. “I don’t want you to think I took inspiration for her character from my own life.”
“I’m sure you tooksome. Would be impossible not to, right?”
“I suppose. But I do intentionally make my characters different from myself. It’s fun living vicariously through them. She’s only twenty-six, but she’s lived a busy life. Already out of law school and practicing, so when she meets Cam, she isn’t the most experienced with men. All her time has been put into becoming a badass attorney, but he’s the first thing that makes her nervous.” I glance up at him, my heart thudding. “Their attraction is intense. But ... as you know, he’s married.” My eyes inadvertently glance down at his ring and then back up again.
Saint nods slowly, his expression unreadable as he sips from his wine again. He lowers the glass to his chest and holds it there like it’s a shield. “How does that make Reya feel?” he asks, his voice quieter now, more probing, as if he’s asking me something more than just a plot detail.
“Jealous,” I say immediately, the word slipping out before I can stop it. “Disappointed.”
His gaze darkens just a fraction, and I wonder if I’ve said too much, if I’ve let too much of myself slip into the story. But the way he’s looking at me like he’s searching for something in my answer makes me feel like I’m not the only one unsure how far we’re going to take this conversation.
For a moment, the air between us feels impossibly charged, the mass of his question still hanging there. We’re not just talking about Reya and Cam anymore. There’s something more personal woven into this conversation, something that neither of us has said aloud, but we both know is there.
“Do they know each other very well?” he asks, his voice softer now, pulling me even more into the moment.
“Not at all,” I reply, shaking my head. “Not in the beginning.”
“So this attraction ... it’s strictly physical?” His eyes are searching mine, his question hanging in the air, heavy, almost tangible.
“For now,” I admit, my voice quiet as I feel the tension between us grow.
I have no idea what’s happening here.
Are we still talking about the book? Or are we talking about us now? It’s as though the conversation has taken on a double meaning that neither of us is acknowledging outright.
Now that I’ve been picturing Cam as Saint in my head, it’s impossible to separate the two. For a writer, it’s a strange feeling—to be standing so close to a real-life version of your character. It’s like something I created has come to life, and that thought sends a rush of adrenaline through me.
I take another drink of wine, feeling my heart pounding so loud I’m sure Saint can hear it. I’m trying to keep my breathing steady, but it’s difficult.
“How does their affair begin?” he asks, his tone calm but curious, like he’s genuinely interested.
I swallow hard, knowing that the answer to this question will take us even deeper into a hazardous place. “A kiss,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Cam loves his wife, but he’s never felt such a strong physical attraction to anyone like he does to Reya. So one night ... when he’s at Reya’s house on business ... he lets his weakness take over. And he kisses her. But in the middle of the kiss, he feels guilty, so he pulls away from her and storms out of the house.”
“Without apologizing?” Saint’s eyebrow rises, and I can tell he’s intrigued by the emotional conflict.
I nod, feeling my pulse race even faster. “Cam is a tortured soul,” I explain.
Saint nods slowly, thinking it over. His eyes stay locked on mine, and then he asks, “And that’s never happened to you? You’ve never been kissed by a man who is married to another woman?”
I shake my head, my voice quiet now. “No,” I say softly. “And now I feel stuck when I try to write Reya’s reaction.” I take another sip of my wine and then continue. “How would Reya react after that? Would she get angry at Cam for kissing her, even though she wanted it? Would she cry because he stormed out without a word? Or would she feel triumphant—like she won?”
Saint tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he considers my question. “That does sound like something you would have to experience before you could really nail the emotions.”
