Page 62 of Love on the Byline

“Were you into theater stuff in college?”

“Bran was a consummate thespian.”

“Really?” Blake scribbled furiously in her book.

“Not really.” Bran cocked his head. “Hey, why do you takenotes like that?”

She stopped writing and looked at him. “Why do I take notes forthe article? That I’m writing? About you?” She pursed her lips. “Well, Brandon,it’s my job to profile the real you. That includes details about yourlife, your work, and any inside jokes you share with your friends. All of itwill help me create a vivid picture of who you really are.”

Ollie snickered under his breath. “What you see is what youget.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“No, no. Why do you write your notes like that?” Hewalked over and picked up Blake’s notebook.

“Hey!”

“Dude, give it back.”

“God, this thing is tiny.” His hand dwarfed the small book.“And your handwriting is atrocious. How can anyone read this?”

Snatching it from him, Ollie handed it back to her. “Sorryabout that. He’s an idiot.”

Blake glared at Bran. “This is not for anyone else’s eyesbut mine, and I can read it just fine.”

“Most of the time,” Ollie added.

Her head whipped his way. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He only had to say two words. “Seven tables.”

“Oh, my God.” Blake’s smile was slow. “Jesus,” she sputteredas she burst into laughter.

“What?” Bran asked, smiling.

When she seemed unable to answer, laughing so hard therewere tears in the corners of her eyes, Ollie tried to explain.

“We had a group assignment in Comparative Literature whereeach member of your team had to choose a work for you to read. You weresupposed to deliver an oral report before the group moved onto the next phaseof the assignment. Anyway, we met and discussed our titles and…let’s just sayBlake’s handwriting caused some issues.”

Bran grinned wide. “What happened?”

“She was given The Grey Gables, this gothic novelabout a young, queer boy and his abusive aunt. Deals with some dark stuff. Butshe read The Grey Tables which was a study of a woman developing andliving with a violent allergy to spices.”

“Sh-she spends the whole book lamenting how bleak the foodwas,” she managed to say between fits.

“It’s awful, really,” Ollie said. “I think it was some kindof Victorian metaphor for the times. Spices were plentiful but the skies werefull of pollution, the world was rapidly changing. Anyway, Blake delivered heroral summary and most of us were confused but went along with it. Then, whenshe was done, Colin, the guy who chose Grey Gables turns to her andsays what the hell book did you read?”

Bran barked out a laugh. “That’s hilarious!”

Having recovered, Blake groaned. “Look, the pencil must haveslipped or something. I could’ve sworn it was a T and not a G.”

“Those two letters look nothing alike, if your handwritingdidn’t look like you held the pen in place and moved the paper around instead.”

“We got an A,” she protested, feigning outrage.

“How?” Bran asked, laughing more.

Ollie met her eyes. “We made it work.”

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