Good answer!
Tingles run down my spine. This is cute. This isadorable. This is exactly what I need after my argument with?—
“Oh,” I say, dragging out the word and narrowing my eyes at him. “Gable told you about the argument downstairs.”
He opens his mouth as if to deny it, then laughs. “Yeah, he did.”
“Swooping in, Mr. …” I tilt my head. “I just realized I don’t know your last name.”
“Flynn,” he says. “What’s yours?”
Mrs. Ella Flynn sounds nice.
“Gibson,” I say.
“Like the guitar?”
“Yes. No relation.”
He laughs again and I love it so damn much I want to kiss him. Asher Flynn might be the most adorable person I’ve ever met in my life, and I never want Barnaby to come back.
Maybe you could kill him.
“I’d like to go for a coffee with you,” I say.
“Great.” He places the coffee on the counter. “I have so much of this downstairs. I don’t need it.”
I laugh, my cheeks warm. “You could have just come over and asked me out, y’know.”
“Yeah, but if I asked for coffee, then I could chicken out. I like to have options to run if necessary.” He glances at the laptop on the couch. “Writing?”
“Always.”
“Can I read some?”
“Absolutely not.” I lean over and slam the laptop closed. “It’s the most private thing in the world. You’re basically asking to see inside my head.”
“I think I’d quite like to see inside your head.” His eyes sparkle. “I imagine it’s like a library.”
“It’s …” I pause, leaning against the back of the couch and wishing he’d move closer. “More like a waiting room.”
He looks intrigued. “A waiting room?”
“Yep,” I say and tap my head. “A world full of people waiting their turn to be put on a page. They get impatient sometimes.”
I haven’t told anybody that in a long time. I told my mom when I was younger about the people eagerly waiting to be allowed into a fictional world of my making, but no one since.
He’s smiling at me so gently that my heart thumps.
“I think you might be one of the most interesting women I’ve ever met,” he says quietly.
This fucking guy. Is he real? Touch him. Make sure he’s real, Ella.
I look at the floor, cheeks burning. “I don’t usually tell people stuff like that.”
“But you told me?”
My blush spreads down my neck. It’s one thing to admit your process and give away a piece of your heart and brain; it’s another to face that it’s happened.
