Page 38 of The Now in Forever
Downstairs, Ed has been busy. Lit candles are all around the room,and a couple flashlights are on the coffee table. There is a blanket on the floor by the stone hearth with a bottle of wine, two glasses, a plate of saltines, a small tub of cream cheese, and a knife. Ed is crouched at the fireplace, his T-shirt stretched tight across his strong shoulders.
“All closed up.”
Ed turns, flames jumping behind him, and smiles. “Great.”
I motion to the spread. “Fancy.”
He takes a corkscrew to the wine. “Crackers and cream cheese. Can’t beat it. Care to join me?”
I cross the room to sit on the blanket. With each step closer, my heart beats that much faster in my chest. It’s the same green and black–striped Mexican blanket fromthat day.
Ed notices my hesitation. “I can see if there’re other snacks if you’re not into cream cheese. I looked, but there weren't any Takis.”
I laugh and sit, running my fingers over the familiar texture. “Crackers are fine. Where’d you get this blanket?”
“I’ve had it forever. I always take it to the beach.”
He hands me a glass of wine; it glows a shimmering ruby red in the firelight. The rain smacks against the window. Wood crackles in the hearth. It would all be so romantic if I could stop thinking about ten years ago. Does he remember our time on this blanket before?
“How’s your book going?” I ask, trying to jar myself out of this funk.
“So-so. I added in a murder, but I think I may have to start over. Something about it feels off.”
I know what he means. It’s like this cozy little picnic. It should be fun, exciting, idyllic even, but something is off. The conversation is stilted, moving in odd ebbs and flows. All I keep thinking about is the last time we were on this blanket together. I run my hand along the soft fibers, and I can almost feel tiny grains of sand on it. Oh, I actually do. I stare out at the rain streaming down the windows, putting me here now and not back on that clear summer night.
“How’s your writing?”
I tear my eyes away from the rain-streaked windows to Ed’s face. Dark stubble covers his strong jaw. It’s so rough, such a contrast to hissoft pink lips. His face is a study in contradictions. His fingers are playing with a stray thread from the blanket, still always moving.
“It’s okay. I’ve digested some of your notes and made some changes. But I started something new, something different.”
“Oh, really?” Ed scoots a little closer to me on the blanket.
“It’s a love story. Trapped in time.”
“Ooh, trapped in time? That sounds intriguing.”
I tilt my head. “I think it will be. Hopefully. We’ll see. I haven’t plotted it out, which in itself is new for me.”
Ed nods knowingly. “Ahh, you’re a plotter.”
I laugh. “And you’re a pantser.”
Ed sings out in a vibrating old timey voice, “Let’s call the whole thing off.”
Grabbing a pillow from the couch behind me, I half lie on the blanket, feeling more comfortable.
“Why did you decide to change your process?” Ed asks, lying down too.
“The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result, right? If I’ve plotted every single novel I’ve ever written and never finished one to a place where I feel it’s good enough, then maybe it’s time to switch it up.”
Ed nods, setting his wine down, looking deep into my eyes. “Why haven’t you ever felt like one of your stories is good enough?”
I sigh and lie back. “You know that uber critical voice in your head you need for editing? It’s like I get stuck there, and all I can see is the story’s flaws. Then I think of a new idea and start a new book.”
“Yeah, I get that. That voice never shuts off for me.”
My stomach sinks at the thought of that. “Ever?”
