Page 63 of Accidentally Yours
But as she scrolled through that chapter and the next, her attention was caught by Ethan’s comments. They were peppered throughout like little digital ghosts coming back to haunt her. The first time she read them, she might’ve laughed, rolled her eyes, or even grumbled out loud. But now, reading them again, knowing what she knew and feeling what she felt, they landed differently.
And she picked up on a pattern in Ethan’s comments.
Ethan: Can we push Mary Anne to open up a little more here? She’s still guarded, and the hero’s trying.
Ethan: Let her be raw here. It’ll make the next beat land harder.
Ethan:This is good, but I think she’s still holding something back. What’s she afraid he’ll see?
At the time, Paige thought Ethan was being a perfectionist. Over-editing. Nitpicking. But now . . .? She saw something else.
He hadn’t just been editing her writing or her character. He was asking her to dig deeper. To be honest. And she had. Slowly. Grudgingly. With pecking fingers and a racing heart. He’d pushed her character to be vulnerable, to stop hiding her true self.
Paige gasped. She sat back, her shoulders pressing against the leather booth. Her pulse was unsteady, and her gaze flicked across the chapter on her glowing screen. The story she and Ethan had written together. The banter, tension, and emotional beats felt . . easy and real. Honest.
She’d poured so much of herself into Mary Anne’s character. The walls. The sass. The way she used sarcasm as a buffer. How she wanted to be loved, but never quite trusted that it would last.
You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
And she’d said nothing. She’d panicked and pulled away.
Then, like a coward, she’d given him an out. Told him he didn’t have to come to dinner. She’d tried to make it easier for him to walk away. Even though she wanted nothing more than for him to stay.
Paige clicked into the comment tool, her hands trembling. She scrolled back to Chapter Eleven—the scene where their characters almost kissed—and typed.
Paige:This part hit me hard today. You were right to push me. I didn’t want to let the heroine be vulnerable because . . . I was scared to be vulnerable too.
She moved to the next chapter—one of Ethan’s favorites—and left another note.
Paige:The way you wrote the hero here . . . it gutted me. I wish I’d told you that the first time I read it. So here it is now: I loved it. I love the way you write emotional truth.
Then she scrolled to the final chapter they’d just finished. Paige stared at the blinking cursor for a long moment, her breath shaky. And then she typed.
Paige:What are you doing later tonight? I’ll be at my parents’ until dinner wraps up, but . . . I’d really like to see you after. I want to talk. Really talk. I’ve got stuff I need to get off my chest.
She hit “comment” before she could chicken out.
Then she leaned back in the booth, heart thundering like a train rattling down the tracks.
She wasn’t sure what Ethan would say. But for the first time in days, she wasn’t stuck. She wasn’t hiding. She’d finally opened the door.
Now she hoped he still wanted to walk through it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ethanparkedoutsidethememory care facility and took a steadying breath before reaching for Queenie, who was in the passenger seat. The tiny Chihuahua yawned as he unzipped her carrier and picked her up, tucking her under his arm. As soon as he opened the car door and stepped out, her tail started wagging like a propeller.
“You ready to see your girl?” he murmured, knowing her tail only wagged at this speed for his grandma.
Queenie gave a soft huff, as if to sayfinally,even though Ethan brought her to see his grandma nearly every other day. Chuckling, Ethan scratched her rounded head and grabbed his briefcase before heading for the entrance.
Inside, the staff greeted them warmly, and Ethan signed in before walking the familiar path down the hallway. Every door looked the same—soft beige, warm wood, nameplates engraved in gold—but his feet knew the way to the room that held his heart.
When he stepped through the open door, Mary Anne was in her usual armchair by the window, a blanket folded neatly over her lap. She stared out at the colorful garden beyond the glass, the summer sun catching in her silver waves. When she turned, her face lit up with joy.
“Oh, my stars,” she whispered, eyes twinkling. “Look who it is.”
“Hi, Mimi. It’s your favorite grandson, Ethan. And Queenie.” Ethan smiled. He always started with a reminder to help her place him.
