Page 52 of Yes No Maybe

Rising from the car, I shut the door and lean against it, my notes coming back to me as he spouts them off. “A fewtinythings didn’t ring true for me, but you’re a guy writing a female character, so that’s to be expected. Didn’t you see all my positive notes? In mytorturousannotations, which youstolefrom my house?”

A heavy sigh raises his broad shoulders, accented by a navy-blue t-shirt that somehow brings out brown flecks in his eyes. Or maybe that’s the afternoon sun. He runs a hand through his unruly hair, which draws my eyes to his motley collection of tattoos. I catch glimpses of a raven, random books scattered like confetti, and fire.Fahrenheit 451, I think. His other arm boasts a rocky island, eerily dark and disturbing. Could it beAnd Then There Were None? He moves too quickly to make everything out.

But I want to, I think, with growing unease.

His brown eyes find mine—he looks amused, like he can read my inner Jack-thoughts. “Would you mind explaining what you meant, please?”

I move to the front of the car, open the trunk, and grab bags. He does the same, tucking the book under his arm.

“Well, a down-to-earth girl like Jasmine wouldn’t care about designer shoes—that’s aSex in the Citycliche. Not all women are shoe crazy,” I say as we shuffle inside.

He groans, looking almost murderous. “Do you know how much time I spent researching fucking Jimmy Choos and Louboutins?”

I laugh—can’t help it. “No. Don’t want to know, either. Those shoes don’t fit her character. She has enough to worry about, anyway. Someone who’s been through trauma wouldn’t be so… happy-go-lucky with a strange man in her apartment. Most women, traumatized or not, feel uneasy about it.”

Jack looks perplexed as he sets his bags on the counter. “What? You mean the plumber?”

“Yes. You accomplished your goal in the scene—to show how her OCD tendencies appear to outsiders. That part’s good. But what you don’t capture is her inherent vulnerability in that situation. Just the fact that he notices her peculiarities would unnerve her. Instead, she’s way too relaxed about it, even talkative. She’d be reluctant to open up.”

“Like you.” His dark eyebrow cocks slightly, looking skeptical. “So, you feel vulnerable with repairmen?”

“Vulnerable with anyone at my front door.” My voice trails off weakly. I’ve wandered into a conversation I don’t want to have.

“Why, exactly?”

“Um, it’s hard to…” I take a breath, remembering this is about his novel—not me. “Letting a stranger in is always overshadowed by what-ifs for a woman.” My shoulders slump in a sigh. “Men are inherently free of half of a woman’s worries, and ignorantly so.”

Avoiding his quizzical glare, I put the groceries away, hoping he doesn’t notice my unease.

In a quiet deliberation, Jack’s hands go to his hips. He looks upset, and I worry that this might kick off another one of our cordially volatile arguments or an interrogation.

“Jack, these are small, incidental things. The story is beautiful, regardless. Why are you so bothered?”

A light scoff putters from his lips. “Nearly every adult woman on this street beta reads for me, and they never pointed this out.”

“Yes, but my critical thinking skills are banging. You’ve seen what I do to books. Besides, these are only my opinions. Myprivateopinions—not notes for the author. If I’d known you’d steal the book, I probably would’ve gone easier on you. Could it be that they don’t want to discourage you?”

His response is a mild groan.

Sara pops into the kitchen, grabbing a soda from the fridge. A quick introduction brings a pleasant exchange, baffling me since I never had the same courtesy.

“What’s for dinner?” she asks.

“Um, let’s see…” I haven’t thought about dinner yet.

Jack whips out his wallet and hands her a credit card. “Order whatever you want.”

My mouth bobs open to protest, but Sara’s face alights in a smile—the first I’ve seen. She bounces as she leaves the kitchen. With a sigh, I let that go and refocus on Jack.

“You really shouldn’t have helped yourself to mypersonalannotations. Those notes were for me. Not you. I probably went too far.”

His brows scrunch into a pocket at the top of his nose. “No, you… You’re exactly right. Not only did you spot myfewflaws, but every nuance, device, trick, and even my convoluted metaphors. Hell, you saw things that even I didn’t. Nothing got by you.”

“Well, it’s what I do. But I read it for pleasure first. You were right, too. Once I relaxed into the story, it was the immersive experience it should be. I’m grateful to you for that.”

Jack stands there, hand going through his hair periodically like he’s unsure what to do or say. I reach for the book still tucked under his arm and battle his tight grip to repossess it. He lets it go but in a catatonic way. Then, he leaves, taking my stack of folded paper bags with him.

Damn it, I’ve upset him. Again.

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