Page 98 of Fighting Words

“It’s been hard to catch you at the right time. I’m working like mad.”

“Why are you doing that to yourself?”

“The faster I write, the sooner I can come get you.”

“You’re ridiculous.” But I’m smiling ear to ear.

“You think I’m kidding?”

I shiver.

My apartment is just up ahead. The building is nothing to write home about. It’s a third-floor walk-up, not bad actually compared to so many other apartments around the city. I picked it based on its proximity to InkWell. Nothing beats a quick commute.

I sandwich the phone between my shoulder and ear while I fish my key out of my purse.

“Tell me about your day,” Nate prods. “Tell me anything. I’ve been so entrenched in writing I feel like I have nothing to tell you beyond what I ate for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

I tell him about the book I’m reading for work, a domestic thriller from a new up-and-coming author.

“I’m tearing through it. This writer’s voice is so clear and fresh, and there’s a romantic element to the story that doesn’t feel trite. I’ll read more of it tonight after dinner.”

“What are you cooking?”

After updating him on my stove woes, I tell him I’m going to order Thai.

He groans. “I’m jealous. That’s the only thing I miss about the city, the restaurants.”

“You still have your apartment here,” I point out.

“Yes, and like I mentioned, I could see myself spending some of the year there, maybe late spring through early summer. Or fall. I love the city in October. Doyoulike the city in October?”

I laugh, knowing what he’s hinting at. “I talked to Joy about working remotely.”

“What did she say?” he asks, not bothering to mask his hope.

“To give it a few weeks.”

“A few weeks. Okay. That should give me enough time to wrap up this first draft.”

I laugh. “You’re insane.”

“Have you had second thoughts, Summer? Is this…”

“No, Nate,” I say, hurrying to cut him off. “I—I…”

I can’t get the words out.

Silence stretches, and then Nate finally replies, “Me too.”

CHAPTER 27

SUMMER

There’sa knock on my apartment door later that night.

“Coming! Hold on!” I shout, fighting with the zipper on my wallet.

It’s the Thai food I ordered after I hung up with Nate. It’s here faster than I expected, which is amazing because I’m starving. My mouth salivates over the yellow curry I’m about to inhale—

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