“I think I might have to worry about him falling in love with you,” Asher says quietly, his smile small, his words kind, not a drip of jealousy. “I wouldn’t blame him if he did.”
Words are a writer's life. We understand the power of words maybe more than most because we use twenty-six letters to create worlds, and we’re lucky that way. Asher just used thoseletters to capture the parts of my heart he doesn’t have yet, because is he saying he loves me?
I think he is.
“What’s so special about me?” I ask, fishing for a compliment and maybe three words.
“Well, for starters, you’re so beautiful that sometimes I think you might be poisonous,” he says, and I make a mental note of that to use in my next book. “And you have a good heart, a waiting room for a brain, and …” He pauses, mixing those letters together, searching for something. “You quiet my mind. How do you do that, Ella Gibson?”
It isn’t “I love you,” but I’ll take it for now. To be the person who calms your mind and brings your racing thoughts to a halt seems pretty great, right?
“I’m very talented,” I say, because if I don’t make a joke, I’ll make a fool of myself.
“That’s why I’d fall in love with you,” he says. “That’s why he will, too.”
I placedown the pages and rub the heel of my hand into my chest, attempting to ease the ache that’s grown since I opened that envelope. I’ve read through most of what Ella wrote but keep coming back to this scene, because it reminds me that Asher was right. He knew me better than anyone.
I hear a door close and get out of bed, going into the hallway. Ella is in her pajamas, her hair tied into a high ponytail.
She tilts her head. “Did I wake you up?”
I stare at her, fists clenched at my sides. It doesn’t feel like my body is my own right now. My mind definitely isn’t. I’m not the man I was a year or even a monthago. I’m not sure whether it’s losing Asher or knowing Ella, but something inside me has altered, and I don’t know how to switch back.
“I read it.”
“Oh.” She plays with her fingers. “Did you like it?”
“I loved it.”
Her smile is small. Cute.
Silence stretches between us, and she bites her lip, but for once, she doesn’t speak, and neither do I.
I just stare at her.
Think about her.
Obsess over her.
The way she searches my face. The pinkness of her lips. The rosy blush climbing across her cheeks the longer I stare.
I shouldn’t do what I want to do. I shouldn’t listen to every instinct that’s begging me to feel her.
I should turn the fuck around and go back to my room.
That’s what I should do.
But I’ve never chosen the easy road.
Fuck it.
I close the space between us, pull Ella to me, and kiss her.
Something in my chest sparks to life. My gut tells me I’m doing the right thing, and even if those feelings fade, I have to hold onto it for now.
She places her hands on my chest, her lips moving slowly against mine, and a strange mixture of relief, guilt, terror, lust, and happiness sweeps through me.
I place my other hand on the side of her neck and wish this moment could be written down, too. I let myself imagine a day when Ella wants all our moments on paper, where she wants to remember everything about me.
