Page 18 of Guys Can't Write Romance
Chloe snickered. “I like that. I might have to use it on the kids in my finger-painting class.”
“Is that what you do when you’re not giving tours of Daisy’s House of OCD Horrors?” Chad asked. “I’m definitely getting Bohemian artsy-fartsy vibes.”
“Pottery artist slash sometimes finger-painter,” she said. “More artsy, less fartsy. Think sleep-deprived creative genius with a high tolerance for weirdos. And you?”
“Horror writer, slash P.E. coach, slash bar sports Olympian. Think Daisy would notice if I moved a foosball table in here?”
Chloe popped a chip into her mouth. “I think she’d plot a really painful death for you.”
“Got it.” He looked back at the Post-It wall. Something about its meticulous arrangement just screamed ‘fix this,’ in the way a ‘wet paint’ sign screamed ‘touch this’ to first-grade boys (and probably Chad, too).
“I know how to fix this,” Chad said.
Chloe froze mid-chip. “Fix the Post-It wall of doom?”
“All of this,” Chad said. “It feels like a creative black hole.”
A mischievous gleam flickered in Chloe’s eye. “That’s probably my cue to get ready for work,” she said, rising from the couch. “If anyone asks, you tied me up and locked me in my closet. I’ll try not to laugh when she kills you.” And with that, she disappeared through a door across the room.
Daisy arrived home a short while later. As she entered the living room, juggling her tote bag and keys, she came to a sudden stop. The room was literally an explosion of colored Post-Its everywhere.
For a moment, Daisy just stared as her brain seemed to short-circuit. The tote bag dropped to the floor as she slowly approached the wall.
Every Post-It had been rearranged and new ones added, including one that read: ‘Dinosaur eats boring male lead.’ It was in a new column labeled: ‘Boring male lead stuff.’ Next to that was a new column labeled: ‘stuff that needs to be de-Daisy’d.’ Over in the ‘meet cute’ section was a shoot-out in a car chase.
From the corner of her eye, she caught the refrigerator door through the opening to the kitchen. Post-Its now formed the word ‘Hi’ on it. She marched into the kitchen then froze in horror when she saw her spices arranged on the counter to form ‘SOS.’
Daisy’s lips curled in a growl. She marched back into the living room where her soon-to-be-deceased writing partner sat lazily on the couch, pretending to read a magazine. Then she noticed the wall behind him, where this demon-spawn had tilted her paintings just enough to make her break into a cold sweat. And as for her once color-coordinated bookcase, every book had been rearranged haphazardly.
“What. Did. You. Do?” Daisy hissed, her hands clenching into fists.
Chad peeked over the top of his magazine. “Oh. Hey, you’re home. You like what I did with the place?”
“No! I hate it! Put it back!”
“Even the dinosaur subplot?”
“Especially the dinosaur subplot. Put it back!”
“But that’s the best part. And trust me, your readers will cheer when your boring male lead gets eaten. I might even read it.”
Daisy folded her arms across her chest and frowned. “My male leads are not boring. They’re sophisticated and mature. Unlike some people.”
“Fields. Everyone but your mom thinks they’re boring. And she probably does too. This gives the guy some life.”
“Inside a dinosaur’s stomach.”
“Maybe we can have him get stepped on instead.”
“No. No dinosaurs. No car chases. No bank robberies. Put it back the way it was.” Her eyes then went to the tilted paintings and books. “And put this stuff back, too. And my spices. Jeez. You’re worse than my first-graders.”
Across the room, Chloe poked her head out of her bedroom door and took a quick look around at the carnage.
“Woah,” she said, stepping into the room and taking a closer look. She turned to Chad. “You messed with the Post-Its? And you’re still living?”
“He won’t be for long if he doesn’t put it back the way it was,” Daisy said.
“What if I can’t remember where they went?” Chad said.
