I glance up just long enough to meet his gaze. “This isn’t blues, Ash.”
“No?”
I shake my head, my fingers itching for the keyboard. “No. This is fire. And I need to get it down before it burns out.”
He gives me a little mock salute. “Got it. Fuel the fire, don’t get in the way. I can do that.”
And just like that, he disappears toward the kitchen, leaving me in the quiet with nothing but the hum of the city outside—and a head full of words demanding to be written.
The words come easy tonight—unexpectedly easy. Whole paragraphs spill out before I even pause to think about them. The setting sharpens, the dialogue feels alive, and for the first time in… God, years, I’m not second-guessing every line. I’m just writing.
“Tea,” Ash’s voice breaks through my bubble, warm and smooth, as he sets a steaming mug on the coffee table.
“Thanks,” I murmur, eyes still on the screen.
There’s a pause, then I feel him lean over my shoulder, his breath grazing my temple. “So… is this the part where they finally—”
I snap the laptop halfway shut, swatting at him. “Nope. Absolutely not.”
He grins, unbothered. “What? I wasn’t going to snoop. I was just… curiously hovering.”
“Hovering is snooping with extra steps.”
He sits on the arm of the couch, looking far too entertained. “Just saying—if you need inspiration for his, uh…attributes, I’d be happy to model.” His gaze drops meaningfully, and I swat at him before the blush can fully hit my cheeks.
“Go,” I tell him. “You’re distracting my characters.”
Ash must sense that I mean it, because instead of pestering me again, he settles into the armchair across from the couch with his guitar.
The first notes are soft—barely more than a hum in the air—slow, lazy chords that somehow weave themselves into the rhythm of my typing. I don’t even have to look at him to know he’s watching me in between glances at his strings.
It’s… oddly domestic. Like we’ve done this a hundred times before—me lost in my words, him filling the quiet with something beautiful. There’s no need to talk, no need to explain ourselves. Just being here, together, feels enough.
“I’ve never felt more motivated to write,” I blurt before I can stop myself, my eyes still on the screen.
The guitar stops for half a beat, then picks up again, richer somehow. “Guess that means I’m doing my job,” he says lightly, though there’s a thread of warmth in his voice that makes my chest feel too full.
Minutes pass like seconds, and when I finally hit “save,” after a few hours of intense work, it’s with a long, satisfied sigh. I lean back, stretching my arms overhead, and glance at the pages I’ve filled.
It’s good.
No—it’s really good.
For the first time in a long time, I’m proud of what’s staring back at me.
Ash is watching, a faint smile playing on his lips like he already knows.
***
The next morning, Liam sits on my couch, coffee in hand, giving me his undivided attention. I asked him here today because I’m ready. Ready to share this part of myself I’ve kept tucked away for years.
“So… this is kind of a big deal for me,” I begin, fingers twisting in my lap. “You know I’ve always loved reading romance?”
He smirks. “Yeah. I’ve seen your book piles. They’re basically structural hazards at this point.”
I laugh softly, but my heart’s pounding. “Right. Well… two years ago, I started a blog. Just book reviews at first. Then I began writing posts about romance tropes, fictional characters, sometimes little short stories.”
“Uh-huh.” He takes a sip of coffee, his brow furrowing in that way that means he’s listening.
