And I’ve read enough romance novels to know how I want this story to end.
TWENTY
SCOTT
The boardwalk is already buzzing by nine in the morning.
Families stream past me toward the beach, loaded down with coolers and umbrellas and children who can’t seem to walk in a straight line. A dad in a faded college t-shirt wrestles a boogie board while his wife slathers sunscreen on a squirming toddler. Two teenage girls in bikini tops and cutoffs take selfies against the railing, the ocean sparkling behind them.
I barely notice any of it.
I’ve been awake since seven, running on four hours of sleep after staying up until nearly three replaying Jessica’s texts.I read it. And I think we should talk. Tomorrow?Twelve words that could mean anything. Hope or heartbreak, waiting at the end of this boardwalk.
Twin Waves Brewing appears ahead, and my pulse kicks up another notch.
Michelle raises an eyebrow when I walk in. “You look terrible.”
“Thank you. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.”
“Rough night?” She starts making my usual order without asking.
“Something like that.” I glance at the door, then back at her. “I’m meeting someone.”
Her eyebrow climbs higher. “Someone.”
“Jessica.”
The eyebrow reaches her hairline. “Jessica Wells? The woman you’ve been pining over for months while pretending you weren’t? That Jessica?”
“I haven’t been—” I stop. “Yes. That Jessica.”
Michelle’s face transforms into something I can only describe as gleeful concern. “What happened? Did you finally tell her how you feel? About the fact that you stare at her like she hung the moon every time she walks into a room?”
“I sent her something I wrote. Something...personal.”
She leans on the counter. “Personal how?”
“Very personal. About us.” I take a breath. “I’ve been keeping some things from her, and I finally told her the truth. All of it.”
“Scott.” Her eyes widen. “You told her you’re in love with her?”
“In approximately eighty thousand words, yes.”
“You wrote her a love letter that’s eighty thousand words long?”
“When you say it like that, it sounds insane.”
“You’re him, aren’t you?” She mouths my penname and I nod.
“I had a feeling. Grayson’s kind of dropped hints.”
I’m surprised he hasn’t told her outright, and his loyalty to my privacy is touching.
She slides my coffee across the counter. “What did she say about the book you wrote for her?”
“She said she wanted to speak with me today in person. That could mean anything.”
“It means she wants to talk. That’s good.”
