The thought of discussing a baby plot bunny made me uncomfortable. The idea was too new and just one micro-grimace on Evie’s part could kill it before it fully bloomed. “Sometimes talking about a plot before it’s solid makes it disappear.”
Evie nodded like I hadn’t just spoken nonsense. “Totally understand. Just know the offer’s out there if you change your mind.”
I whistled for Morgan. The beast turned, cocked his head, then barreled straight for us at approximately one thousand miles an hour, skidding to a stop long enough for me to click on his leash, then taking off again. The leash caught in Evie’s feet and she shrieked as she stumbled, which caused Morgan to barrel back to check on her, crashing into her with his considerable weight—all in the name of keeping her safe, of course.
She staggered. I caught her. Her soft body pressed to mine…and mine grew very, very hard. “Dang, Morgan,” I said as I helped Evie to her feet.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to make that happen, you magnificent beast. Morgan gave me a look like I was an idiot for not going in for the kiss as the possibility might not present itself so easily the next time.
“Yeah. Dang, Morgan.” Evie tugged on her shirt and I relived the feeling of her boobs pressed against my arm.
To distract myself, I opted to share the glimmer of an idea for the scene. In fits and starts, the details came out, in all its infant glory. Evie asked the right questions, got excited at the right parts, and generally said everything I needed to hear to bring the idea into crystal clear clarity. By the time we got into her kitchen, I was practically bleeding the story. My earbuds went in, and the words seeped from my pores and onto the page.
An hour later, when I turned my laptop around for her to read, she grinned the entire time. “It’s perfect, Alex. It’s everything it needs to be…and then some.” The celebration in her eyes felt like victory, but when she got out of her chair and wrapped me in a hug, that felt like a whole lot more.
Another week passed and somehow, everything that felt familiar and tedious just a handful of days ago, felt new and inspiring and fucking perfect when Evie was with me. She took my predictable life and, with her bright smile and insightful questions, turned it into magic. While I wouldn’t call my writer’s block cured, things were definitely moving, and that was a massive win.
In the nights before I fell asleep, and the mornings before I fully woke, I wondered if maybe, just maybe, it would be okay to chase a relationship with her. After all, she understood what it meant to be lost in a project. She sat across from me as I wrote. She was with me, day in and day out, even if that meant sitting at her kitchen table with Morgan at my feet. How could I ignore her if she was part of the process? I wouldn’t do to her what Dad did to Mom, or what I did to Candace because Evie knew what it meant to lose yourself to work.
On the days I couldn’t write, I bombarded her with questions. At the start, I called it character study. I dissected her mannerisms and her motivations to weave them into characters later. But as time went on, I realized it had nothing to do with fiction and everything to do with liking her. I wanted to know what made her smile. What made her sad. What made her laugh. I wanted to know everything about her so I could know all the ways her personality blended with mine.
But watching could only go so far, which led to questions. Lots and lots of questions. She answered them with grace and patience, and I liked her all the more for it.
“What’s the real reason you won’t write?” I asked one afternoon as we sat at her table.
The question came out of the blue. She had a pen in her hand and her eye on the pages I wrote the night before. Her hair was in a bun and she looked like a dream come true, sitting across from me, grinning as she redlined my work.
All the joy slipped from her eyes as my question registered. Evie’s mouth worked without any sound. She put the pen down and exhaled slowly. “I had something happen and I haven’t processed it yet. The words dried up and…”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I needed her to say yes. To open up to me. To stop being so private and finally let me in.
Evie shook her head. “I haven’t talked about it with anyone. Not even Amelia. She knows what happened, just…” She closed her eyes. “It hurt and it’s over, and that’s all I’m ready to say about it.”
And that was that.
She returned her attention to my manuscript, her finger covering the freckle next to her lips. Her eyes glazed over. Even though she stared at the page, I knew she wasn’t seeing any of the words I wrote.
I stood, took her hands, and pulled her out of her chair so we were standing in a pool of sunlight in her kitchen.
She looked away, but I sought out her attention. “Alex…”
My hands were on her shoulders and my gaze held hers. Pain raged in her stormy eyes and I catalogued it all as I ran a thumb along her cheek. “Whatever happened, whatever it was, I’m sorry. And I know it seems like a good idea to keep it crammed into the back of your head where it feels like it can’t hurt you, but I promise you, bad things grow in the dark. You’ll feel better once you get whatever this is
