The Write Off: An Enemies To Lovers Romantic Comedy (Love In 2C Book 3)

Chapter 6

Rilla

“…make sure the back panel is all the way into the groove in the top shelf, then use a hammer (not included in kit) to nail in 4 small nails…”

Seriously, Ikea? You give me a little screwdriver thingy, but not a hammer?

I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by boards, small parts, and instructions written in Swedish. I’ve been in this position too long. My ass hurts from being on the hardwood and my legs are getting pins and needles.

How did I get to step five of six without realizing that I’m missing a key component? I hear my father’s voice in my head:

“If you haven’t read the instructions twice, you’re not ready to start the task.”

With a groan, I stand up, steadying myself on the couch since my legs are asleep. I will not be defeated by an affordable bookshelf of questionable quality. I’m resourceful. I don’t need a hammer, I just need something heavy.

Something heavy…something heavy. I walk on wobbly legs around the apartment trying to find something to use. I don’t have a lot of stuff. I left most of my things at my parents’ place when I moved. The apartment isn’t that big, so I’d really only packed my clothes and my books. I’m sure a few of my hardcover books could complete the job, but I would never risk damaging them. The thought alone is horrifying.

I spot my laptop where I abandoned it on the kitchen table earlier today. There were definitely times that I would rejoice in bashing it against something, but as much as editing frustrates me, I’m not going to create a two-thousand-dollar electronic hammer.

Lightning strikes in my brain and I enter the kitchen with purpose, opening the drawer next to the dishwasher and pulling out a very old cast iron skillet. Perfect. Heavy pan in hand, I walk back to the living room ready to finish construction. I find the tiny package of nails and take one out just as there’s a knock at the door.

“Come in,” I call, not looking up from the job that lies ahead of me.

“Hey!” Betty’s sweet voice comes from the entry. “We know you’re busy, but we wanted to make sure…”

When she doesn’t finish her sentence, I look up to see both her and my brother staring dumbstruck at me.

“Hey,” I say, refocusing on the task at hand. I’m holding the tiny nail in place on the large piece of furniture and another one between my lips. “How was brunch?”

They’re both clad casually in jeans and sweaters. From this angle, their height difference is easily notable, my brother towering over my friend. Their cheeks are still slightly pink from being outside, but they aren’t wearing their winter coats. I’m guessing they dropped those at their apartment next door before inviting themselves over.

“Um…brunch was good. How…how are things going here?”

She’s acting weird, I think to myself. “You’re acting weird,” I say, careful not to move my lips too much and lose the nail.

“Says the woman holding a frying pan while straddling a bookshelf,” Josh says, eyebrows raised. “Can I give you a hand?”

“Why? I’ve got the situation under control.”

“Clearly.” My big brother’s tone makes me doubt his sincerity. “Do you not own a hammer?”

“I’m a writer and a bartender, Josh. Why would I own a hammer?”

“I own two hammers,” he says smugly as he crosses his arms across his chest.

“I own one, too,” Betty admits, nervously eyeing the chaotic condition of my living room.

“Wow. A three hammer household? I mean, I knew you two were a power couple, but not to that extent.” The nail falls from my mouth and I set the skillet on the floor while I attempt to find it. “Did you two come here for a reason? Other than bragging about how many hammers you have?”

“We brought you bagels.” Betty holds up a paper bag like it’s a peace offering. “We thought you’d be hungry. I know you sometimes forget to eat when you’re,” she pauses once again, taking in the mess, “writing.”

I stand up and push the stray curls away from my face. “Thank you.” Feeling bad, I accept the bagels sheepishly. She was doing something nice and I bit her head off. “I appreciate you thinking of me. I’m sorry I snapped at you. I love you. You both deserve all the hammers in the world.”

I open the bag on my way to the kitchen, inhaling the heavenly scent and wondering to myself if they make fresh bread scented candles. I look back at Josh and Betty who’ve followed me and are pulling out chairs at the table. “Do either of you want one?”

“We just ate,” Betty says rubbing her stomach at the exact moment her boyfriend says–

“Yeah, I could eat.”

Men and their metabolisms. When Josh turned fourteen, my mother joked that she’d need to take a second mortgage out on the house just to be able to keep him fed. He doesn’t consume as much as he did as a teenager, but he can still eat more than most people I know.

“How are your revisions going?” Betty asks, glancing at my now dormant laptop on the table.

“Fine.” I remove two bagels from the bag, grab the breadknife from the drawer, and carefully start to saw through them. “This morning, I was brainstorming how to add context to one of the elven bloodlines. But it was a late night at the bar yesterday, so I made myself a coffee. As you both know, I take my coffee black which reminded me that Holly Black has a new book out that I wanted to order. Once I was online, I saw that a few more books on my list were on sale, and then I got further recommendations of what to read next after them. I wound up ordering ten. Maybe fourteen? I don’t remember. Anyway, they’ll start arriving as early as tomorrow. As you can see, the bookshelf you left behind is already overflowing, so I decided to put together the Ikea bookshelf Mom and Dad brought me when they came to visit a few weeks ago. So yeah. You could say it’s been a productive morning.”

Setting the knife down, I look up and catch them exchanging a meaningful glance. I hate when they do that. They’ve reached the hive mind state of their relationship where they communicate telepathically. Betty and I used to have our own secret language too, but now she’s got that with my brother and that’s just fine.

Don’t get me wrong. I was thrilled when these two idiots finally figured out they loved one another and decided to do something about it. They’re not only my two favorite people, but two of the best people I know. If anyone deserves to be happy, it’s them.

And I’m happy for them. Truly. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel like a third wheel sometimes. Most of the time. The longer I live in the same city as the happy couple, the more I feel the growing disconnect between us.

I put all four bagel halves in the toaster and force the levers down hard. Yeah, that’s right. It’s a four-slice toaster. Josh and Betty might have three hammers, but how many slices of bread can they cook at once?

“So no actual editing then?” Josh asks.

I remind myself that I love my brother and therefore should resist the urge to pelt him with the remaining bagels. The poppyseeds would get everywhere and Betty’s anxiety is already being tested by the cluttered living room

“No,” I sigh, closing my eyes. “No actual editing.”

He uses his foot to push one of the chairs out for me and I accept the invite, joining them at the table.

“You spent years working and reworking your manuscript, Rill.” His tone is soft and without a trace of condensation.

My brother isn’t wrong. I started writing Of Cinder And Sand when I was twenty years old. Between the research and the world building, it took me almost two years to finish my first draft. And then there was the second, third, and fourth, etc. I revised and reworked it a dozen times before submitting it to an agent.

“I know, but that was for me. I was making those changes because I wasn’t happy with it. Because I wanted to change things. Now someone else is looking at it and passing judgment and it’s making me doubt everything.”

I love every single part of writing. The creative process was exhilarating and empowering. I felt like the story wasn’t coming from me, but through me like I was some sort of vessel channeling it onto the page. But sharing it with others? Opening myself up to their opinions and interpretation? Changing things because someone else tells me to?

It’s terrifying. And I don’t scare easily.

The toaster pops behind me. Before I can stand, Josh is out of his seat grabbing the cream cheese from the fridge.

“But you said your meeting with Logan went well?” Betty asks with a hopeful look. “Can’t he help with any of this?”

As much as I loathe to admit it, the meeting with Logan did go well. It may have started off strained, but once we actually got into talking about the book itself, things leveled out and we actually made progress. He was encouraging and surprisingly insightful. He kept me focused and moving forward. We spent hours talking through the changes and while he didn’t always tell me what I wanted to hear, I was at least able to understand where he and his bosses were coming from.

I can’t help but wonder if I hadn’t written him off so hastily last year how much we could have accomplished.

“It was productive. We planned out all the areas I needed to work on, but left to my own devices this week, everything kind of went to hell.”

Josh returns to the table, putting a bagel with far too much cream cheese on it in front of me. “Ask him for another meeting.” He sees me about to protest, so he continues. “I know how independent you are and that you’re terrible at asking people for help.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m terrible at anything,” I sniff. “I just don’t like doing it.”

“Think of it this way. You’re not asking him to help you, you’re asking him to help the book.”

I eye him warily. “Keep talking.”

“Whatever benefits the book benefits him too, right?”

“Definitely. He’s the editor. The book’s success increases his success. Not to mention I assume it will make him look good to his bosses.”

“Exactly.” He takes a large bite of his bagel, looking thoughtful as he chews. “Whether you love or hate the guy, you’re kind of on the same team.”

I scoff into my bagel. While I no longer want to stick him with pointy objects, I definitely do not love Logan. I don’t hate the way that chiseled jaw clenches when I’m intentionally irritating him. And at one point during our latest meeting, he rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, exposing thick forearms. I may have loved that.

I stuff the rest of my bagel into my mouth and stand, walking to the counter to start another pot of coffee. As I scoop the fresh coffee beans into the grinder, I mull over Josh’s suggestion. He’s right. I’ve always been fiercely independent, preferring to work alone than in groups. Even as a kid, I was happy to do my own thing and not worry about fitting in with the herds of sheeple around me.

Logan has years of experience in an industry I’ve barely dipped my toes into. I need to stop viewing him as an obstacle and start using him as a resource whose job it is to help me. At this stage, I have nothing to lose and everything to gain.

“I’ll message him and set up another meeting.” Leaning back on the counter, I add, “Thanks for helping me talk through this. And for the snack. I know I tend to get cranky when I’m hungry and I’m sorry for it.”

Betty beams at me while my brother just smirks. “Are you saying you’ve just been hungry for the last twenty-seven years?”

I didn’t want to do it, but he forced my hand. I grab a bagel from the paper bag and throw it hard, right at his head.

There are poppyseeds everywhere.