Page 19 of Yes No Maybe

“No flowers or gifts. Always splitting costs.”

“No damsel-in-distress moments.”

“No big romantic gestures.” Mira laughs.

“Proposals are the exception.”

“Maybe, but you made datingwaytoo easy on him.”

“No, the rules helped. Despite what you think, I feel like I really know Dean.”

I nearly laugh. She’s delusional. Yeah, she really knows the guy who’s ghosting her?

Mira’s smile vanishes into a sigh. “Here’s the problem with Dean—You’re notdesperatefor him, Rowan.” Her words come quickly as if uncaged. “He’s not desperate for you, either. It’s like you’re both only halfway in. And if it’s only halfway, why do it at all?”

I can’t write fast enough, but still, I peek through the window to see Rowan’s reaction—the slight fall of her shoulders, the confused, maybe hurt pinch between her brow, and her typically bright blue eyes turning a shade paler.

“Don’t hold on when you should let go,” Mira says more softly.

“Letting go means giving up, and maybe it’s hard for you to understand, but I can’t do that. That’s the only proposal I’ll ever get, and dating is… torture for me. I can’t go through it again. It’s Dean or nothing.”

“How perfectly unromantic,” Mira says playfully.

Rowan stays stoic. “No one wants to be alone. I’mdesperatefor something more.”

Her words resonate in ways I don’t like. I love my solitude… when I’m writing. Otherwise, the empty space around me is a vise squeezing my chest. My perpetual blank page has strangely revealed other blanks like my life’s a warped Mad Lib waiting for words I, once again, can’t deliver.

Mira breaks the long silence. “Desperate for something more? You should try the hottie next door.”

Spit catches in my throat, making me cough.

“What was that?” I hear Rowan ask.

I pin myself to the wall, feeling like a dumbass.

A non-busted dumbass, I realize once they return to their conversation. Rowan redirects them to Sara and the process ahead of them, and my mind goes elsewhere.

A young girl running down city streets at night, fumbling over her feet as she glances over her shoulder. Scared. Trying to survive. And desperate for something more, for the one person who makes her feel safe—if only she could find him.

I can’t reach my laptop fast enough.

I enact my ritual—ass in my desk chair, pencil tucked behind my ear, notebook and laptop open, and music blaring. I hit play on the remote, letting Method Man’s “Bring the Pain” surround me.

It’s an old-school choice, but Devin and I used to do a ridiculous rap dance to it before baseball games. It’s the song I play whenever I start writing a new book.

Holy shit, that’s what I’m doing! Starting a new book!

I bend and crack my fingers. Then, I’m tapping out a scene that will fit into a plot I don’t know yet with a character I’ve only just met. An outcast. A survivor.

I don’t know her full story yet, but I’m in the scene with her—a ghost witnessing and documenting her messed-up life. That’s how it works. I smell the stench of stale Chinese food and piss in the alleys and hear the buzz of neon lights and distant traffic. I feel her trembling fingers as she holds tight to her school bag—the only thing she had time to grab. Her body is cold from sweat and the night air. She has no idea where she’s going—only away. He can’t hurt her if he can’t find her.

Hours pass before I come up for air, and only because I hear scraping outside my study. A glance at the bottom of my screen reveals a miracle—3,327 words. I stand, stretch, and peek out the side window.

Rowan drags a large branch between our houses, its extended limb tickling the sides of her house. I snort-laugh, eyeing a leaf plastered to her back thigh.

I groan. “Should be wearing gloves, newbie.”

With trouble, she finally deposits the branch streetside between our houses, her tone arms flexing with the effort. She’s created an impressive pile, and it’sslightlyendearing to see the poised, perfectly put-together woman sweaty and dirty over yard work. Endearingandsexy. Her damp tank clings to the curves of her chest, leaving little to my imagination, especially when she bends to adjust the pile and her full breasts dangle against her bra.

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