Page 60 of A Not So Merry Rescue
He shrugs. “Did you not meet my niece, your biggest fan? She’s also into Harry Potter. I read them all, but I’m not sure I remember how to spell any of the words. Luckily for me, it doesn’t matter.”
“How long?”
His right brow raises. “How long what?”
“How long are we writing for?”
“You pick.”
I think for a moment. No matter how long it is, it’s going to feel like an eternity. Might as well start small.
“Five minutes.”
“K.” He peers down at his screen. “Whoever gets the most words wins.”
“Wins what?” I ask. My brain needs to know why it has to be a competition, yet my mouth has other ideas.
“The movie choice for tonight.”
I groan, already knowing I’m going to lose. I have no capability to write anymore. Even gibberish.
“Would you rather the prize be something else?”
Another night with you,my brain fills in, but I don’t express it aloud. After today’s emotional roller coaster, I’m not in any headspace for sex.
Cuddles? Absolutely.
Sex? Negative.
“No, it’s fine. Start thinking of what you’re going to pick because you’ll be winning.”
“We’ll see.”
I used to hate when my parents would use that phrase. It wasalways no. But the way Beckett uses it has a different connotation, even if it’s not a yes or no answer.
“Ready?” He stretches his hands in the air, palms linked, bending back his fingers in a warm-up.
“Not even a little,” I mumble.
To make him happy, I open up a new Word document, the blinking cursor taunting me.
Write words.
Write words.
Write words,it seems to blink.
Beckett messes with his phone and declares, “Go.”
I stare at the blank screen.
Words. I can do this. They don’t even need to be actual words. Letters strung together in any order. That’s what Beckett said, right?
From the other side of the table, I hear the hunt and peck of Beckett’s fingers pressing one key at a time. I crack a smile. Elias hated typing on the laptop, too. He was more of an iPad guy, using the laptop only when forced.
My fingers typeElias. Then the wordsI miss you. I miss you so much. I wish you were here. But if you were here, I wouldn’t be here, and that makes me kinda sad. Because Beckett is the best kind of host, even when he doesn’t have to be.
The words pour out of me. A love letter to Elias, filling him in on the last two years and all he’s missed. The good parts and the bad, the highs and lows, even the lowest of lows. The words leap from my fingers. Words locked up in a box with a missing key. Until Beckett found it and set them free.
