Jamie’s attentive. He likes to please. I don’t think that would change in the bedroom. I don’t think he’d become like all the other guys I’ve been with, only interested in getting himself off.
Something tells me he’s very open to putting in the effort to make his partner feel good. With him, I could work off the frustration that’s come with my long dry spell, and have an experience to fuel the descriptive prose I need to execute this chapter.
I pull myself away from an impending horniness spiral and answer with a deflection. “Some chapters are just harder than others,” I say with a shrug.
“Have any strategies for coping with writer’s block?” he asks.
I tilt my head. “Not really. I mean, I’ve struggled with certain chapters or scenes before, but nothing like this. Maybe part of it is that I’m focusing on ittoomuch. It probably doesn’t help that literally all I’m doing with my time is either working at the café or working on the book. I need a hobby or something.”
“Yeah, to get you focused on something else for a little while. It’s like lifting weights. You need a recovery period.”
The analogy makes sense. “Right. I have been thinking of finding one, something to get me out of my apartment and give me a change of scenery. I’ve just been too preoccupied with my writing to think seriously about it.”
“Alright, we have an agenda, then. Finding you the right hobby.”
I lift an eyebrow at him. “Wehave an agenda?”
His smile is so boyishly innocent and enthusiastic that I can’t even make the skeptical and discouraging face that I intended to.
“That’s right,” he says. “We’re going to find you a hobby. This town might be small, but there’s actually tons of stuff to do. It’s just a matter of trying different things and seeing what clicks with you.”
“You think me finding a hobby is a two-person job?”
“Nah. I’m positive you can succeed in anything you put your mind to single-handedly. I’d just like to have a front-row seat to see it happen.”
A fuzzy sensation rolls through my chest. I’ve never been into sappiness. And that line was so sappy that it could outcompete Canada’s entire maple syrup industry. But I didn’t hate it. I should have, but I didn’t.
A healthy dose of my usual skepticism still peeks through. “Your faith in me might be misplaced.”
His smile is unflappable. “Nope.”
I roll my eyes. “You hardly know me, but you’re confident I can do anything.”
His smile doesn’t move an inch. “Yep.”
I can’t help but laugh. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Smile still on his face, Jamie shrugs. “What can I say? I’m a stupid guy.”
My eyes roll again, even though the blush I pushed away is fighting to come back. “Well, I wish one of us were smart enough to come up with viable hobby ideas.”
“What’s the last thing you can remember that really piqued your interest? Something you read, or watched, or thought about. Anything at all?" he asks.
“I did watch this art documentary the other day. About the beginning of the Impressionist movement. I found it really fascinating.”
Jamie’s eyes glimmer. “Alright, that’s our first try. Art.”
“Huh?”
“There’s an awesome free art class on campus. You don’t have to be a student or anything, you just show up and learn how to paint. Have you ever tried painting before?”
“No,” I answer, drawing out the vowel sound tentatively.
Jamie shrugs, still grinning. “Maybe you’re a natural. Let’s find out.”
This is a dumb idea. I’ve never even held a brush before. I’ve been trying to discourage Jamie’s interest in me, and now he wants to take me to an art class? I know the answer I should give him.
But I feel a different answer swelling from my throat, almost outside my control …
