Chapter 12 #2
My mouth twitches into a smile. She’s awake. “I’ll take it.”
He hesitates. “I have to take a picture to prove I delivered it.”
“Sure,” I say, holding the pizza. He snaps a photo and gives me a grin. I pull my wallet from my back pocket and slide a twenty out. “Thanks.”
“Thank you, enjoy,” he says, and we part ways.
As I unlock the door, the smell of basil, mozzarella, and garlic wafts upward. I’m tempted to open it and see what kind of pizza a woman like Scarlett orders.
I don’t even make it into the kitchen before the back door swings open, and she appears.
Scarlett is wearing a pink tank top, and it clings to her in all the wrong ways, or the right ones, depending on the direction of my moral compass. She’s braless, and her hair’s messy like she just rolled out of bed.
Our eyes meet. “I hope you’re hungry.”
I stare at her for half a second too long. “Yeah, because you ordered a pizza the size of a satellite dish.”
“I wrote nine thousand words today,” she says, stepping closer. “I very much earned those carbs.”
I clear my throat, trying not to look at her pebbled nipples through the shirt. “How much pizza can a person eat?”
“Lots,” she tells me. “It’s my favorite. This place had great ratings.”
She takes the box from my hands, fingers grazing mine. My brain short-circuits.
“Don’t be shy,” she says, moving to the table. “I know it’s kinda late, but I’m not eating this entire thing alone.”
I watch her flip the box open like it’s a treasure chest. It looks like she ordered half a margherita and half a pepperoni with extra black olives and mushrooms. No nonsense, all flavor.
She grabs a slice and takes a bite out of it, then immediately starts blowing. “Hot. Hot!”
“Spit it out,” I say with a laugh, holding out my hand.
Half-chewed pizza that’s hot as fucking hell lands in my palm, spit and all.
“Great. I think I just burned my tongue off,” she says.
“Want me to kiss it and make it better?” My brows quirk up, and she smirks.
I pull some plates from the cabinet and cloth napkins from the drawer.
“Want a beer?” I move to the fridge.
“Sure,” she tells me.
“Okay, so pilsner goes best with margherita, and you’ll want to pair the pepperoni with an IPA or a stout.”
Her brows raise. “You’re such a foodie nerd. How about you pick one?”
I grab us each an IPA and pop the bottle caps from them. Her fingers brush mine again, and I remind myself to have some self-control.
We eat at the table, sitting side by side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She polishes off two slices before I even finish my first.
I can’t stop looking at her. Scarlett’s cheeks are still pink from sleep, her hair in that messy half-knot.
Eventually, she points to the bag on the counter. “What’s that?”
I grab it and return to the table. “The girl at the bookstore was discussing her favorite author with me.”
She wipes her fingers on the napkin. “Really? Let me guess who. Meadow Wilson?”
I laugh and slide My Everything from inside.
Her mouth parts when she sees it. Recognition flashes in her eyes, and something else flickers there, too.
“You bought my book?” she asks.
“I did,” I say, holding it up like it’s a peace offering. “Thought maybe you’d sign it for me.”
She reaches for it. “Got a pen?”
I grab one from the junk drawer and pass it to her. She flips to the title page, hesitates for a second, then writes. Her lips twitch as she thinks, then the pen moves in a series of quick, confident strokes. When she’s done, she hands it back, eyes sparkling.
I read it.
Ezra—
Thank you for opening your home to me. Total book boyfriend material.
Also, I destroy hearts for a living. Consider yourself warned.
Forever,
Scarlett
I stare at the inscription longer than I should.
“Do you plan on reading it or just putting it on a shelf like a trophy?” she asks, but I can’t figure out what the correct answer is.
I flip the cover shut and set it beside me.
“I want to read it, but if you don’t want me to, I won’t,” I say.
“Read it, please. It’s my best work to date.” She smiles. “I’m really proud of it. However, my next book will be way better. I’m currently writing magic.”
I lift my brows. “The girl at the bookstore told me to grab tissues.”
“Yeah, you should. It’s fucked up,” she admits. Color blooms high on her cheeks.
“But you’ve been warned, so read at your own risk,” she says, biting into the crust.
For a second, I wonder if I should be worried.
She leans back in her chair, swigging the beer as her eyes drift toward me.
The book sits between us, but it feels like something more now. A bridge, maybe, or a line I’ve already started crossing.
“I’m really proud of you,” I tell her.
She snorts. “For what?”
“For writing again. Bailey, from the bookstore, is a mega fan and gave me way too much information.”
Scarlett laughs. “Yeah. Parasocial relationships are weird. I’m sure she told you this book was based on my ex, too.”
Her words are easygoing, playful even, like she’s enjoying this.
“Actually, she did. Is it?” I ask, wanting her confirmation.
“Somewhat. Not everything, but enough. I have a problem with writing my real life into my books. Any man who dates me isn’t safe. Ever,” she says.
I sip my beer. “Is that why you’ve been warning me away from you?”
She nods. “People will pry, Ezra. Rumors will spread. I can’t interrupt your quiet life here. That’s why it’s probably best if—”
“I don’t care,” I say, knowing I’ll never be the same since meeting her. “That’s life. I can handle the ups and downs as long as there is a happily ever after.”
She contemplates my words. “If it’s guaranteed, sure, but I’m not sure everyone gets a happily ever after love story, though, in real life.”
“I think, eventually, we find the person we’re supposed to be with. Or they find us.”
She takes a drink of her beer. “It’s a nice thought.”
“You sound like the Scrooge of love,” I say, peeling a pepperoni from the top of my second slice and popping it in my mouth.
“These days, I am,” she admits. “I’ve been broken, almost beyond repair. That’s why I haven’t been able to write.”
I think about that for a few seconds. “What changed?”
“The scenery.” She grins.
I study her pretty face, happy to see her smiling. “Glad I could be of service.”
“Oh, please don’t flatter yourself,” she says with a playful scoff.
“Okay, then, deny it.” I give her my full attention, waiting.
Sauce sits on the corner of her lip, and I reach over and swipe it off with my finger, placing it in my mouth.
“I can’t deny it,” she whispers, swallowing hard. “You’re my muse.”
“Honored, babe.”
When her eyes soften, it’s like the entire world fades away. I’m tempted to ask her to stay, just a little longer, but the words don’t come.