Page 61 of A Not So Merry Rescue
“Time.”
So involved with the words, Beckett’s voice makes me jump.
I scan the screen. It’s at least a page of words, sentences, and paragraphs. My eyes find the time.
“That was not five minutes,” I grumble. A smirk rests on Beckett’s mouth.
“No joke about you getting in the zone. I didn’t want to stop you. How much gibberish did you write?”
I survey the page. Some random typos, but it’s filled with real words.
“None, actually. All English.”
His brows rise. “Really? Excellent. Anything worth sharing?” He wears anticipation like a badge. But I’m not ready to share what I wrote.
“No. Just some ideas for a new story,” I lie easily.
“Secretive. Fair.”
“How did you do?”
Beckett pushes his laptop toward me. On his screen is a grocery list of ingredients and a Costco list.
“This took you thirty minutes?”
He shakes his head. “Five. Spent the rest of the time watching you. You squint a lot when you’re looking at the screen. It’s adorable.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s a bad habit. The glasses are supposed to help, but most of the time, I’m not even reading the words. I wasn’t this time. I suppose it could be gibberish.”
Except I know it’s not. Elias’s name is written too many times to be gibberish. And let’s not forget Beckett’s, too.
“I’m going out on a limb to say you won.”
“I did,” I confirm. Not the movie choice, but a victory over writer’s block. Even if only for today and a topic that has nothing to do with Hidden Clues Club, it’s a win.
A huge win.
“Thanks, Beckett. Your idea was brilliant.”
He sits up taller, his chest physically puffing out with pride. I’d knock it, but it’s well-deserved. He closes his computer, laying his folded hands on top. “Can I ask a follow-up question to your confession?”
“Sure.”
His eyes meet mine, the sky blue of his holding mine steady. “Did you always hate Christmas?”
My guffaw is loud, tearing out of me like a wild animal released from a cage. “I did not. Used to be my favorite. But losing the love of my life sucked all the happiness from it. The lights, the decorations, the joy. It doesn’t seem right to celebrate without him.”
Beckett nods, his understanding acknowledged. “How long were you together?”
“Almost four years, though some days it felt like I’d never not known him. In a good way.” I sigh, a rush of memories flooding in. “The best way.”
“You lost a lot that day.”
“Everything.” It sounds cliché, but it’s true. Every plan I’d had went up in smoke when he died.
The future we were building.
My writing career.
