Chapter 17
SCARLETT
Sunlight spills across my keyboard, and I stretch, feeling the satisfying ache in my shoulders from typing at a steady pace.
I want to hit two thousand words. Ezra set the goal high enough to make me work, but not so high that it seems impossible.
It’s just out of reach and keeps me hungry. And God, I’m starving for more of him.
I grin to myself, rolling my shoulders and glancing out the window toward the house. The grass between the two buildings is now a bright emerald.
Something has shifted between us, and I can’t deny the pull that has me stepping away from the computer and slipping my feet into sandals by the door.
I don’t have two thousand words yet, but I need a break.
Outside, the air is fresh, carrying hints of honeysuckle and the sea. It feels good against my skin. I tiptoe across the yard, heart fluttering as I approach his window. Spying feels silly, but curiosity always wins when Ezra’s involved.
Through the glass, I see him in a black T-shirt that’s hugging his muscles as he casually drinks a cup of water. I tilt my head, finding it strangely intimate to watch him exist.
I’ve seen him confident, playful, and passionate, but this is different. Real. It whispers of a future I haven’t dared to picture, but suddenly I can’t stop imagining it.
He glances absently toward the window, and I duck. A blush heats my cheeks.
After a few long seconds, I rise to peek at him again. Ezra moves toward the living room and approaches the couch.
“Pull it together, Scarlett,” I whisper to myself, feeling foolish but giddy.
As I’m about to turn away, movement catches my eye. Ezra settles comfortably onto the sofa. I have a clear view of him through the open archway between rooms.
He stretches out his long leg. The late-morning sunlight catches the edges of his hair, turning it into shades of dark gold. He’s captivating while holding my book in his hand. He mentioned he was reading it, so I’m not sure why I’m so shocked. Maybe it’s because most men don’t give a fuck.
Ezra turns a page, fully absorbed, his expression intense but thoughtful. A smile flickers at the corner of his mouth. It’s barely there, but unmistakable. I wonder what sentence of mine created that response.
I’ve watched strangers read my books in cafés or on park benches, but witnessing Ezra’s reactions isn’t like anything I’ve experienced.
Maybe it’s because I know he’ll find me in those pages.
It’s like he’s tracing his fingertips over the parts of me I’ve hidden in syllables.
Ezra’s astute, and he’ll notice the glimpses of my heart that I haven’t shown him yet. Nervousness twists inside me.
That book will explain things about my past that I can’t. I just hope he looks at me the same way afterward.
I release a steady breath, pull my phone from my pocket, and snap a quick photo of him before I step away from the window. Even though I want to be his distraction, I also need to give him uninterrupted time to read.
When I enter the cottage, I can’t stop thinking about Ezra and how I want him to know every messy, vulnerable piece of me. I can’t hold back.
My phone buzzes, and I see my editor’s name lighting up my screen like a flashing neon sign.
My stomach tightens, and my fingers hover a moment before I answer. I can’t ignore her anymore.
“Hi, Natalie.”
“Scarlett! There you are.” Natalie’s voice is a familiar blend of friendliness and businesslike urgency. “I was beginning to worry. I haven’t heard anything from you in a week.”
“Sorry,” I reply, sinking into the chair. “I’ve just been lost in my words.”
“That’s exactly what I love to hear.” I can almost picture her leaning forward, tapping a pencil restlessly against her desk. “And how’s it going? You’re making good progress with Helena and Jordan?”
“I am,” I say confidently. “The words are flowing again.”
“Amazing,” Natalie says with genuine excitement.
“I wanted to let you know that marketing wants to schedule some pre-release events, a few local signings in the city, and a handful of online interviews. Once I have the first draft and have read it, we’ll start announcing the book.
Readers are dying to get their hands on this, Scarlett. ”
“Great. Can you email that information to me and my agent?”
“Of course,” Natalie says.
I glance anxiously toward my laptop, cursor blinking. I know what she’s going to ask next, so I beat her to it. “I’m still on track. Nothing should stop me from turning it in. How many days do I have?”
“Seven at the most,” she says. “We’re fighting with a tight schedule, and we can’t have the manuscript delayed. Can’t push it again.”
“I understand. I’ll have it for you.” I forgot I had built in a few extra days before it was due. I smile. My goal is to turn it in ahead of time.
Natalie clears her throat, and I realize I was naive in thinking that’s all she wanted. “Since we’re on the subject, do you think you could send me your first three chapters by tomorrow morning?”
Anxiety wraps around me. “By tomorrow?”
“Yes. Just so the team can review and make sure we’re on the right track,” Natalie says, her tone firm. “I promise it’s nothing to stress about. I have to confirm.”
I close my eyes, forcing calm into my voice. I turned in a manuscript last year that they rejected and told me to rewrite. It’s understandable they’re concerned. “Of course. I’ll make it happen.”
“I’m sure it’s incredible,” Natalie says. “Just breathe. You’re brilliant. And your readers have missed you more than you realize.”
“Thanks,” I reply, her words easing some of my tension.
“Can’t wait,” she says. “And remember to enjoy the process.”
I end the call feeling unsettled. Regardless of Natalie’s encouragement, the pressure suddenly feels heavy on my chest again.
I pull up Hallie’s contact and press it, desperate to hear my best friend’s voice.
She picks up after one ring, as if she sensed the urgency across the miles.
“Scar?” Her voice is steady.
I exhale, sinking back into the chair. “Hey. Can you chat?”
“Of course,” she replies without hesitation. “What’s going on?”
“Natalie just called.” I sigh. “She wants my first three chapters tomorrow morning. Like, actual chapters. Finished ones.”
“Whoa, that’s great!” Hallie says excitedly. “Wait—why don’t you sound thrilled? You’ve been writing like crazy.”
“I know,” I whisper, rubbing a hand over my face. “But what if they’re not ready? What if they’re terrible, Hallie? They hated the last draft I turned in and told me to start over. What if that happens again?”
“Breathe. Take a deep breath. See, isn’t that better?” Her words ease some of the tension. “Send them to me first. I’ll read it and be totally honest with you, okay?”
“Hal, you don’t have time for that. You’re so busy,” I say.
“I will always have time to read whatever you send me. No matter what.”
“Aw,” I say, puckering my bottom lip. “Thank you. You’re the best.”
“I get the first signed copy,” she says.
“Deal!”
“Good. Email them over. I’ll be waiting.”
“I’m going to read through them first, then they’re yours.” The tightness in my chest loosens. “Oh, before I forget…”
“Yeah?”
“Ezra’s reading My Everything.”
“Shut up!” It’s a Hallie reaction. “Are you nervous?”
“Kinda,” I admit, scrolling through my phone to the snapshot I took of him through the window earlier. I text her the picture.
Hallie goes quiet for a long second before responding breathlessly. “Wow.”
My laughter bursts from me because I can imagine the look on her face. “You’re ridiculous.”
“He’s a walking dream. And he’s reading your book. Voluntarily?” she asks. “Do you realize how attractive that is?”
“I do.” My heart does that flutter thing again.
“Damn. Keep the Ezra pictures coming. You’re inspiring me.”
“Thanks for everything, Hal. Thanks for standing by me through all this.”
“Always, babe. Ride or die.”
I end the call and open my laptop, fingers steadier now.
Over the next two hours, I read through the first chapter, then the second, and finally the third, tweaking sentences and adding my finesse.
Excitement overtakes me because I know my first few chapters are solid.
They’re exactly what they need to be, or at least, I hope.
I email Hallie and close my laptop, staring out the window.
My thoughts go back to Ezra on the couch, absorbed in my book.
Unable to resist, I leave the cottage and cross the yard. My heartbeat quickens with every step up the back porch. When I reach the door, I don’t knock. I twist the knob and enter.
The house is quiet, and sunlight streams lazily through the windows. I move through the kitchen and pause at the open archway to the living room, leaning against the frame.
Ezra is exactly where I left him hours ago, with his bare feet casually propped up.
His brows are furrowed, and his lips are slightly parted.
He’s lost in my words, and the sight makes my heart squeeze tight.
I feel so vulnerable seeing him like this, holding my story, discovering pieces of me.
He turns another page, exhaling softly, unaware that he’s captured my attention without even trying.
“That must be a great read,” I finally say, breaking the silence.
Ezra glances up, and surprise quickly transforms into a smoldering gaze as he sets the book aside.
“Scarlett,” he says, sitting upright.
“Hi.” I cross the room, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. I sit next to him on the couch, our legs touching. “You looked very invested.”
“I am,” Ezra admits with a laugh, reaching out to thread his fingers through mine. His hand steadies me.
“I’m hooked on your words.”
“Yeah?” I ask. My eyes drop to our joined hands. “Even after meeting the author behind them?”
Ezra’s thumb brushes across my knuckles. “Especially after meeting her.”
The way Ezra looks at me, like he sees something I don’t, has my heart rate increasing. “Seeing you read my book is kinda weird.”
“How so?” His voice is calm.