No. That would be taking things a little too far. I’m not so sure I’m willing to go that deep for research.
“What happens next?” he asks. “How does she find out who is doing all this?”
I clear my throat. “I’m not sure. I haven’t gotten that far into the story yet.”
He pulls back farther, shifting his weight slightly on the island, though my leg is still wrapped around his waist, keeping us intimatelyconnected. His thumb continues to stroke my hip, a steady, comforting rhythm. His gaze softens, losing some of the intensity it often holds, becoming surprisingly empathetic.
“You know, for someone who writes such compelling stories, you seem hesitant to talk about your own.” His voice is quiet, almost gentle. “Maybe even embarrassed.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, feigning ignorance, my voice a little too high.
He doesn’t let up. His eyes, surprisingly perceptive, search mine. “I don’t know. When you talk about your story, or your career, you just seem embarrassed.”
Wow. Isn’t he an astute one. I sigh. “Embarrasseddoesn’t feel like the right word. But yes. You’re right. It’s hard talking about myself.”
“Has it always been? Or is it just since the adaptation controversy?”
I give him a look that must be full of surprise, because he immediately shoots me back a reassuring glance.
“Look, I know I barely know you at all,” he says. “But it’s weird, because I feel like I kind ofdoafter watching all your videos. And the you I saw in those videos just isn’t the same you standing in front of me.”
“Ouch. I’m more disappointing in real life?”
“Disappointing and disappointedare two very different things. You are far from disappointing, Petra.”
I push off the counter and pace for a moment, not sure what he wants from me. “I don’t like this conversation. I liked pretending you had no idea about me or the noise online.”
“You’re hard to scroll past. Even out here in the middle of nowhere, we all have cell service.”
“It’s not really something I like to talk about,” I murmur, looking away, staring at the polished surface of the island, anywhere but at him. The thought of revisiting the vitriol, much less talking to him about it, makes my chest ache.
“I get it,” he says, his voice softer now, almost soothing. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. I just can’t imagine it’s easy, having your passion picked apart by strangers. And on top of that, having them feel like they’re entitled to more than just your words on paper. They feel entitled to ripyouapart, without even having spent a single second in the room with you.” He pauses, and when I glance at him, he’s watching me with a look of legitimate concern. “How are you handling it? Are you okay?”
The directness of his question catches me off guard. The way he says it, as if he genuinelycares, is disarming. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, a surprising response to his empathy. “Well, it hasn’t been fun,” I admit, the words barely a whisper, forcing them out. “I feel like the whole past year broke something inside me. I haven’t been able to write anything meaningful.” I look up at him, my eyes pleading. “Until you kissed me.”
A slow smile spreads across his mouth. “It helped?”
I nod. “A lot.”
With that, he kisses me again, soft and quick, then wraps his arms around me. He gently caresses my shoulder with his thumb.
“What did you used to love about writing?” he asks.
“Everything. I’ve just always gotten a thrill out of putting words to paper.”
“So it’s the act of writing, not necessarily the act of being read?”
“I mean, it’s nice when people want to read what I write, but it’s not why I write. I write for my own enjoyment. It’s therapy for me. It’s what makes me happy.”
“Then why haven’t you been writing?”
The question is so simple, but so complex. Saint moves his hands to my shoulders, pushing me away just enough so that he can look me in the eye.
“I’m serious. If it makes you happy, why aren’t you doing it?”
“I just didn’t think my career would ever take off like it did, or that people would have such passionate feelings toward what I do in my spare time. It’s the aftermath I don’t really like. And it’s impossible to get away from. I fear that any move I make from here on out will always become a headline. I think that’s why I’ve had writer’s block, because in reality, I’m a little bit scared to finish the book and give it to the world.”
“Then don’t give it to anyone. Just write it and keep it for yourself.”
