Page 21 of Accidentally Yours
“I don’t know . . .” She set her laptop aside and hopped off the windowsill, pacing a loop around the table. It wasn’t the first time she’d done this. In the past few hours, she’d sat across from him, sprawled on the floor, and perched at one end of the window ledge, then the other. She’d filled pages of her notebook in bursts of messy scrawls. She’d also taken her hair down and twisted it back into a topknot at least ten times.
Meanwhile, Ethan had barely moved. He’d stood to stretch, but he’d been in the chair now for an hour straight and his rear was officially numb.
“It could spark creativity, playing off each other,” he offered, tracking her movements with his gaze.
Paige tapped her chin, considering. “Maybe . . . but what if I hate what you write?” She winced. “I mean, what if I don’t agree with where you take the story?”
“You’ll have to trust me,” he replied. “At least a little.”
She pursed her lips, then grabbed her laptop and set it on the table across from him. “I like to be in control.”
“You don’t say?” he teased, smirking.
Her eyes narrowed, but she smirked back. “How do you see that working?”
He leaned in, seizing the opportunity. “We use a shared Google Doc. You write the first chapter from Mary Anne’s perspective. Then I’ll read it, add comments if needed, and then I’ll write Aldean’s chapter. And so on.”
She blinked at him, processing.
“Let’s just try it,” he coaxed.
A slow smile spread across her lips. “Actually . . . this could be fun.” She tapped a few fingers against the table. “We can build off each other’s ideas in real time.”
Relief loosened his shoulders. “Good.”
“I’ll write the first chapter this weekend.”
He exhaled, satisfied with how much they’d accomplished so far. But a twinge of something unexpected hit him. He’d enjoyed today—working together, bouncing ideas off each other, seeing her process up close. Would they lose that once they started writing separately?
“We should still meet weekly,” he added. “To brainstorm.”
“I like it.” Paige nodded. “But not here. I’m already over this tiny, lifeless room.”
“You pick the next location.” He drummed his fingers against the table, and her gaze flicked to his hand.
Before he could register what she was doing, Paige reached out and traced the scar across his knuckles. Her fingertips were featherlight, and a slow, warm shiver rolled through him—unexpected and far too pleasant. His breath stalled when her touch lingered.
“What’s this from?” she asked, her voice curious, not intimate—but his body didn’t seem to know the difference.
He flexed his fingers, glancing at the raised skin that ran across his first two knuckles. It’d been there so long, he barely noticed it anymore.
“Biking accident when I was a kid.”
Paige tilted her head, studying him like she could pull more out of him with her expression alone. “What kind of accident?”
“Actually, it was more like sabotage,” he admitted. “My brothers and I set up a ramp in the driveway—a concrete block and wooden plank. I was going full speed toward it when Ralph threw a steel rod into my front wheel. Jammed the spokes. I went flying.”
He paused, the story catching him off guard. He didn’t talk about his childhood often. Didn’t see the point. And yet, here he was, telling her anyway.
Paige’s mouth fell open, stunned. “That’s awful.”
“Broke my arm. Split my knuckles open. Got stitches.” He lifted a shoulder, like it was nothing.
Paige frowned, not looking convinced. “I bet your parents were furious at your brother.”
Ethan hesitated for half a second, then exhaled. “They weren’t thrilled.” But not for the reason she probably thought. His parents had been more annoyed about cutting a dinner with friends short to take him to the hospital.
Paige’s expression softened, her brown-eyed gaze searching his face. “That sucks.”
