Page 38 of Yes No Maybe

Taking me in, she asks, “What’s wrong?”

I try sounding cool. Relaxed. But the words come out hurried and flustered. “You finished my book? What’d you think?”

Her breath catches. “Jack, I loved it. I can’t stop thinking about Caulder and Jasmine—their passion, their fragility. I’ve been holding them in my heart since the beach like they’re wounded birds I’ve scooped up and want to protect, though I know they’ll never be the same again.Iwon’t be the same again.”

Tears threaten her eyes.Has she been crying?Her free hand grabs my other forearm, right between the tattooed conch shell fromThe Lord of the Fliesand the rebel alliance symbol fromStar Wars. Her fingers tighten to my skin like she’s bracing herself against her uncharacteristic emotion now spilling into our odd circle.

And for once, she holds nothing back—Ireallyfucking like this woman. Really like her touch, too.

“That scene…”

I know exactly what she means before she explains—the one I wrote thanks to her.

“—when they try to end things, though it rips them apart. You captured their inner pain despite their outward appearances—that resonated. I feel that way often. Anyway, I did what you said. I lived in that story. I’m still there. And tonight, I’ll read it again.”

I think to tell her—you’re the reason that scene is so good—but it’s too weird. The woman who doesn’t believe in muses and has more shields than an army might find the news that I’ve “bled” her for ideas disconcerting.

It’s sure as hell disconcerting for me.

Instead, I release a trapped breath, relieved. She hates the genre, so maybe that’s why it feels like a tremendous win, turning the un-romance-able into a fan. But that she loved my book feels like a walk-off home run; her sparkly, tearful eyes and tender smile match the ecstasy of the home team crowd, cheering as I round the bases.

I’m in serious trouble here.

“Let me write about you—notyou, but shades of you, whichever sides you’ll let me see.”

Her hand falls from my arm. “I don’t know. I’m really not that interesting.”

“Course you are. More interesting every second. Let me talk to you and ask you questions. I’ll give you veto power over anything I write, and you can read it first.”

She looks distressed, but her eyes stay on mine as she deliberates, probably running through every conceivable pro and con in her head. I think of heryes, no, maybeproposal debacle and wonder if I’ll get a similar non-answer.

My hand drifts down her arm before letting go. “Give the answeryou want, Rowan. Don’t overthink it.”

“Yes.” The word falls out with surprising ease, and she seems happy to let it go. “But I need something, too.”

“Tell me.”

“I have a confession to make. It stuck with me when you explained your hatred for English classes this morning. So when I met with the Ice Queen—um, she’s my boss, err, one of them anyway—I panicked over not having a solid idea for my Inspiration Project and used yours.”

“My what?”

“Your idea about tossing the usual curriculum aside and letting students read for pleasure.” She pauses for air, her arms flailing in an awkward shrug. “I want to see if I can foster a true love of reading in my students. It’ll be up to them—what they read and what we do in class. A guided learning adventure... or a disaster. Not sure yet.”

“A teacher relinquishing control to her students? That’s not a disaster. That’s a fucking miracle. How can I help?”

“I don’t know yet. How do I have a plan when there’s no plan? I’ll have to be prepared for anything in case it comes up. I may want feedback on my ideas… once I have them. Gosh, I can’t believe you talked me into this. You saw my notebooks, Jack. How can I teach without them?”

“Eh, you don’t need them.” With a smile, I tap her left temple. “It’s all up here, anyway, right?”

She smirks lightly while her shoulders bounce in a shrug.

“Don’t think about it like teaching,” I say. “You get to talk books with a bunch of cool kids every day. What could be better than that?”

Her unease shifts into a slow smile. “You’re right. It’ll be refreshing. PerhapsI’ma little tired of explaining why we must decipher Shakespeare and why finding a husband topped every heroine’s priority list back then.” A breath escapes her. “I can do this… and it might be amazing.”

My grin widens watching her—I inspired this?“Looks like we might be mutual muses. No harm in that, right?”

Her head tilts, considering it. “I’m not sure yet, but perhaps it’s better than being cordially volatile.”

---