Page 57 of Yes No Maybe

I pause, closing my eyes. “I took it hard when Ben died. It was like reliving everything that happened with Devin. I reached out to Evie—the one person I thought would understand—and she… blew me off. That’s not what we’re about, she said.”

I laugh at the irony. “She used my spiel against me. Guess there’s poetic justice there.”

“That doesn’t make it hurt any less. I’m sorry.”

My head hangs in her sincerity. “She’s in love with someone else. She has been for a while. He’s good for her—I don’t have a problem with it. But when things get rocky with him, she comes to me. Old habits, she says. It’s easy with me because not being in love means I can’t hurt her. And I’ve never minded being her safety net.”

“But she couldn’t be yours. Not anymore.” Her hand rests atop mine and squeezes gently before leaving again, and I miss the warmth of it as soon as it’s gone. “That must’ve broken your heart a little.”

“Yeah,a little, but I shouldn’t have been surprised. Evie and I haven’t been truly close in years.Evenin high school, I knew it wouldn’t work out.”

“But you stayed with her?”

“I was a teenage boy with a hot girlfriend. Of course, I stayed with her. But there were red flags. She isn’t a reader. Can you believe it?”

The revelation makes her chuckle half-heartedly.

“Worse, she’sambitious. I don’t mean to say it like it’s a bad word. I love career-minded women. But Evie’s too… Lady Macbeth. She’d do anything to get the crown. She hates this neighborhood. She thought my writing was a fad I’d get over to make a real career in journalism. It’s a wonder we ever clicked at all.” I shrug again. “I mean, it was more physical than anything else. That’s all it is now. All it’ll ever be.”

Rowan looks surprised, maybe disappointed, when she asks, “You’ll keep seeing her?”

“I don’t know. Probably.” Truth is, I don’t want to, but I don’t expect anything to be different when she shows up at my door—a fact that’s hard to explain since Rowan puts so much emotional value in sex. Being with Evie is easy for me, too.

“But everyone says you’re miserable after she leaves, even before what happened with Ben. If it’s just a sex thing, then why does she, in particular, make you sad?”

I consider holding back—our talk has detoured into a minefield. I don’t talk about this with anyone. But I think of those elegant hands of hers trembling when she told me about Trent, and I can’t refuse her.

“She’s the one semi-serious relationship I’ve ever had. Seeing her reminds me how… alone I am… and makes me feel like a fraud. Who am I to write about love?”

She laughs, and my eyes flick to hers in offense. “Sorry, I’m just surprised—”

She delivers a soft punch to my arm, an innocent, playful move that rouses not-so-innocent thoughts.

“—You’re as close to perfect as any man I’ve ever met. It’s a bit jarring to discover that the great Jack Graham’s just as insecure as the rest of us.”

“I’m touched that my inner pain amuses you.”

“No, I get it—imposter syndrome. I feel like that every time I walk into my classroom. Who am I to teach kids? Or foster one? But that feeling makes me work harder. So it’s not a bad thing.”

She reaches over again, resting her hand atop mine, and damn if my heart doesn’t do somersaults for how fast it’s beating.

“You’re not a fraud.”

Thisis the woman from the restaurant—confident, poised, perfect. My eyes fix on hers, enchanted.

“You are not a fraud,” she says again. “So you haven’t had your great love yet? That doesn’t mean you can’t write about it. The Brontës wrote gorgeous love stories without finding love themselves. Mary Shelley didn’t animate a dead body to writeFrankenstein. Lewis Carroll never stepped foot in Wonderland, nor did he ever meet the Cheshire Cat…”

Her eyes drift to the cat’s toothy grin peeking under my shirt sleeve. She wants to see my tattoos, a realization that brings on my Cheshire Cat grin. But she quickly returns her eyes to mine, pink-cheeked.

“—A writer’s best resource is his imagination, and you use yours so beautifully.”

I chew my bottom lip, watching her like I’m under a spell. She matches my stare like a dare she wants to win.

“Careful, Rowan,” I say, my voice soft and raspy. “Encouragement like that will bring me to your doorstep a lot.”

“I’m okay with that.” She pulls her hand away, but with a twist of my wrist, I catch it, holding it there.

“You’re pretty close to perfect, too, you know. I mean, when you’re not planning everything or dissecting books. No—actually, I take that back. You’re perfect then, too… I hope Dean knows how lucky he is.”

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