Page 12 of Accidentally Yours
“Do you prefer to write at home, a coffee shop, or somewhere else?”
“Home,” he replied, watching her face fall again, so he tentatively asked, “How about you?”
“Sometimes I write at home,” she said, “but I also write on the train, in coffee shops, at the park or museum. I’ve even written at Wrigley Field during a game, with a hot dog in hand. Basically anywhere. I can’t write in the same place every day. That also gives me writer’s block.”
Ethan set his jaw, picturing his perfectly organized home office. Books on tall shelves, organized alphabetically. His tidy desk faced an enormous window that looked out over a peaceful park. He thought about how he always walked on his treadmill for twenty minutes before sitting down to write, and that he needed to light the woodsy-scented candle that sat on the right side of his desk. The rest of his life wasn’t always predictable, so he found comfort in the structure of his writing.
“I like variety too,” he lied straight through his teeth.
Paige took a sip of soda through her straw, analyzing his response. Luckily, before she could grill him on it, a server stopped at their booth to deliver a steaming pizza, topped with big blobs of sausage and mozzarella. He slid it onto the table and asked if they needed anything else, before saying, “Enjoy” and heading to the next table.
“I was starving, and the deep-dish pizzas take forever to make.” Paige handed Ethan a plate and silverware wrapped in a napkin. “I took a chance and ordered. I hope you like sausage.”
“Good choice.” Ethan took the plate and silverware from her, and they were quiet as they each pulled a few piping hot pieces onto their plates.
Paige cut into her pizza with a fork and knife. She forked a gooey piece and blew on it, before asking, “Do you write chronologically or jump around?”
“Chronologically,” he said, then added, “Helps me keep track of character arcs.”
Paige paused, finally looking pleased with one of his answers, which gave him a sliver of hope. She popped the pizza in her mouth and chewed, closing her eyes in appreciation. “Nothing like a Gino’s deep dish.”
He took a bite and hummed in agreement.
Paige sliced into her pizza again. “What’s your biggest strength as a writer?”
He shifted, her direct gaze making him uncomfortably aware of how much he wanted this to work, how he wanted to impress her. Paige was a brilliant writer. He’d read her entireLove, Lies & Alibisseries, all the way through the margarita explosion. She wrote smart, witty characters, fast-paced scenes, plenty of romantic tension, and twists he didn’t see coming. There were plenty of reasons he’d wanted her to read and blurb his latest book. And plenty of reasons why it stung when she refused to do so.
“Action scenes,” Ethan said at last.
She nodded thoughtfully, scribbling in her notebook. “I agree.”
He stopped chewing. What did that mean? How much had she read of his book before deciding he wasn’t worth endorsing? Before he could ask, she fired off her next question.
“Biggest weakness?” she asked, and Ethan closed his mouth, wondering if she already had an answer in her head.
He hesitated, the truth lodged in his throat. “Deep emotional connections,” he admitted finally, though the confession felt like exposing a raw nerve. It wasn’t just a weakness he found with his writing. He had trouble with it in real life. Every time he’d let someone in, he regretted it.
Paige looked up at him from her pizza. Her expression looked softer, more genuine. Then she popped a sausage in her mouth, chewing for a long time before she finally said, “This won’t be easy.”
Ethan leaned forward slightly. “Does that mean you’ll sign?”
Paige set down her fork. “I don’t have a choice.” She licked her lips, holding his gaze. “I can’t figure out this clue. I need insider information.”
Relief coursed through him.Finally, progress.“What does it say?”
Paige hesitated. Then she reached into her purse, pulling out a folded piece of paper. She held it between them. “I’ve been here since lunch trying to decipher this.”
Ethan arched a brow. “Can I see it?” He reached for the clue—
Paige yanked it back.
His stomach sank.
“When it comes to the writing, I need the final say,” Paige said firmly. “I want that added to the contract. Non-negotiable. This is not just my career we’re talking about. Writing is my whole life. I take it very seriously.”
Ethan’s chest tightened like Paige had just snagged it in a vise. He took his writing seriously too. But he didn’t argue. “Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll make that happen.”
Paige studied him for a beat, then, satisfied, handed him the folded paper.
