Chapter 33
SCARLETT
The fairy lights that I hung last week glow in the early morning light.
Ezra installed several bookshelves that I’ve already filled with dog-eared and annotated copies of my favorite classic romance novels.
A fuzzy cream-colored throw blanket lives on the back of my chair.
Anytime my eyes wander around the space, I take it in with gratitude.
I’m convinced happiness like this should be illegal.
Months ago, it’s hard to believe how lost I was.
After pulling myself out of that hell, I’m dangerously unstoppable.
I believe I can accomplish anything I put my mind to because I did it.
I open my laptop and launch my word processor.
After reading the last few sentences of what I wrote yesterday, I continue on.
My fingers fly across the keys as Sasha, my musician heroine, argues with her record label manager.
The premise is as foreign to me as it is forbidden.
This is the sexy romance I’ve always wanted to write.
It’s nothing like my other works because it’s not based on my life in any way, but it doesn’t mean parts of me aren’t sprinkled inside.
I’ve already warned Ezra that people will speculate, and I think he just enjoys knowing my secrets are hidden in plain sight.
The parts of me only he knows. My publisher is excited, and so am I.
This project is sexier, flirtier, and fun in a way that has allowed my soul to rest. No more emotional tolls for me, please.
I’d like to not bleed on the page for a little while.
For the next hour, I sip my coffee and let the words pour out of me.
Being here feels good; it feels right in ways that are hard to explain.
My creative well is overflowing, and I’m almost overwhelmed by the rate at which ideas are coming to me.
A part of me believed once I was in love and in a healthy relationship, I’d have nothing to write about.
But the truth is, I get to keep writing happily ever afters while I live mine.
Ezra told me this space was where his mother used to do her pottery, and he knew it belonged to me the moment I opened the door.
I believe there’s magic in these blush-pink walls.
It’s a personal honor to be able to use it in a way I think she’d appreciate.
Just as I wrap up a paragraph, my phone buzzes on the desk. I glance down and see a text from Hallie.
Hallie
I’m going to murder Landon. I swear I’m going to tell him exactly where he needs to go. I hate him! I HATE HIM!
I chuckle and text her back.
Scarlett
It’s too early for all this.
Hallie
RIGHT! That’s what I said! That ASSHOLE showed up to MY office first thing this morning because he had a meeting about his upcoming photo shoot for another cover.
This jerk had the audacity to critique the pose direction I suggested.
Like he’s suddenly an expert on book covers.
He’s a MODEL. His job is to look pretty and shut the actual fuck up.
Scarlett
Hal, you say you hate him every week.
Hallie
This time I really mean it. He embarrassed me in front of my boss! He’s a total prick and I can’t stand him and I can’t escape him either!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Scarlett
That many exclamation points is actually offensive. Guess there is a limit.
Hallie
And I HATE that he looks like THAT while being such an ASSHOLE. It’s just unfair.
I chuckle because when Hallie starts capitalizing words, it’s a sign that she’s pissed.
Scarlett
Want me to punch him in the dick for you?
Hallie
YES! UGH!
Scarlett
Can’t you talk to your brother about this?
Hallie
Clint doesn’t give AF! He thinks it’s hilarious. Anyway, sorry for interrupting your flow! Happy writing.
Scarlett
It’s okay! I’m always here for you. But also fuck him.
Hallie
I set my phone down, returning to my words.
Hallie’s complicated relationship with Landon has been an ongoing saga for as long as I’ve known her.
It doesn’t help that she’s the reason he broke into the industry.
All it took was one photo of them arguing at a mutual friend’s wedding to go viral, and the next thing you know, he’s walking runways in New York and being asked to pose for book covers.
Landon would never give Hallie credit, just because she wants it.
All the book girlies know Hallie and wanted to know who the attractive man was with her.
The argument was so iconic that it became a reaction meme.
The cottage door opens, and Ezra walks in carrying two mugs of coffee with a plate of toast slathered in butter and strawberry jam. My favorite.
“Morning, babe,” he says, switching the mug with the one that’s almost empty. “Thought you could use a refill. Guess I was right.”
Even though it’s early October, he’s shirtless and dressed only in joggers. His dark hair is still messy from sleep.
“My hero.” I save my document, and he leans over to kiss me.
“Sleep good?”
“Great,” I say.
“How many words?”
“About a thousand so far.”
“Wow. Way to show off, Scar.” He leans against the desk and takes a sip of his coffee.
This has become our routine. I wake up early and write in the cottage until he brings me another cup of coffee around seven. We drink it together while I tell him about whatever scene I’m working on, and he tells me about his schedule for the day. Then we go our separate ways until lunch.
“Oh, Natalie emailed me yesterday,” I say, pulling up my inbox on my phone. “One hundred thousand preorders for Her Forever.”
Ezra’s eyes go wide, and he’s suddenly very awake. “Are you serious?”
“Funny, that’s what I asked when I emailed her back. Apparently, they’ve already sold through their print runs and are having to do another one.” I still can’t quite wrap my head around it.
“While it’s on preorder?” he asks. “Is that normal?”
“No,” I say. “My other books have done well but nothing like this.”
The publicity around us has pre-emptively turned the book into a phenomenon, and everyone wants to know if it’s really about our relationship. It is, but we’ll never confirm it.
“That’s incredible, Scar.” He sets his mug down and pulls me to my feet. Ezra wraps his arms around me and holds me so tight. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”
“It’s because of us.”
“They’ll buy it because of us, but they’ll love it because you wrote a damn good book.”
I kiss him softly. His hands slide into my hair as he pulls me closer. When we finally pull apart, I want to be done for the day.
“Want to do something fun for lunch?” he asks. “Get out of the house for a bit?”
“Sure. What did you have in mind?”
“It’s a surprise.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I don’t want to jump out of anything, okay? Especially not planes. No hot-air balloon rides, either. It’s the heights.”
He bursts into laughter. “It’s nothing like that.”
I shrug. “Just want to make it clear.”
He kisses me once more, then turns to head back toward the house. “Meet me around eleven?”
“It’s a date,” I say, tugging his lips to my mouth one more time. A groan releases from him. “You’re mine after lunch.”
“I can be yours for lunch,” I whisper.
“After, because I’m taking my time with you today,” he says, grabbing my ass.
“Mm. Keep inspiring me,” I tell him, and he shakes his head, pulling away.
“Happy writing, babe.”
“Thanks.”
His laughter carries across the garden as he walks away, and I turn back to my laptop.
I try to focus on my characters, but my mind keeps drifting to preorder numbers, Ezra’s smile, and how different my life is now.
After a few clunky sentences, I fall back into my scene and continue forward.
Two hours pass, and I complete another chapter.
With a grin on my face, I close my laptop and stretch because I’m done working for the day.
At this rate, I’ll finish this book in two weeks. Afterward, I’ll start the next one.
Once I’m dressed, we head toward downtown Charleston.
October has finally brought cooler weather, and the breeze coming through the open windows smells like fresh rain.
I watch the neighborhoods blur past the window.
One of the things I love most about Charleston is the historic homes, with their wide porches and oak trees covered in hanging Spanish moss. I can’t imagine being anywhere else.
Ezra’s hand rests on my thigh, and I place mine over his. I glance over at him, and my eyes trace the strong line of his jaw with that scruff I love. We exchange a smile, and flutters tumble through me.
He parks near downtown, and when we start walking, I realize where we’re going. Millie’s bakery. When I notice, I immediately smile.
“Best lunch spot in Charleston,” he says with a grin. “She’s been dying to see you. Texted this morning.”
Ezra opens the door and lets me step inside first. The bakery smells like butter and sugar and fresh bread. It’s packed with the lunch crowd, but Millie spots us immediately from behind the counter.
“There’s my favorite nephew and niece!” she calls out, wiping her hands on her apron. She comes around the counter and pulls me into a hug. “I was starting to think you two were avoiding me.”
“Never,” I tell her, scanning the case behind her. “Oh my goodness. You have blueberry muffins today?”
“Yes, I do, but the sweets will ruin your lunch. How about some chicken salad sandwiches?” she asks, glancing between us.
“Sure,” Ezra says, finding a small table by the window.
Millie gets to work helping other customers while also making our sandwiches.
The bakery is decorated with mismatched vintage furniture, and there’s local artwork hanging on the walls.
There’s a chalkboard listing daily specials and a glass case full of pastries that almost look too beautiful to eat.
“This place is always so busy,” I say, watching Millie work behind the counter with practiced efficiency. There are three other women working with her, and every person is taken care of quickly, and the line moves fast.
“Millie’s been running it for thirty years.”
Five minutes later, Millie is setting down two plates of chicken salad sandwiches on fluffy croissants. She also places a basket of her homemade chips between them. Ezra tries to hand her some money, but she refuses to take it.
“Please,” he tells her.
“On the house,” she says. “You’re family.” She pats my shoulder. “How’s the new book coming along, sweetheart?”
“Really good. I’m over halfway done.”
“That’s wonderful. And Her Forever? I saw something online about a movie deal?”
“Major motion picture,” Ezra says proudly.
Millie’s eyes go wide. “Really? Need a cute old lady for a cameo?”
Laughter escapes me.
“I’m so proud of you, sweetie. Look at you, making your dreams come true.”
Ezra’s expression softens, and I see him swallow hard.
“Thanks, Millie,” I say.
“I get one of them invites for the red-carpet things in California, right?” she asks in her southern accent.
“Of course,” I say with a chuckle. “You’re always invited.”
She gives us both another squeeze, then heads back to the counter to help other customers. I take a bite of my sandwich, and it’s perfect.
“Oh my,” I say with my mouth full. “This is amazing.”
“Yeah, it’s so fucking good.” Ezra pops a chip in his mouth.
We eat and watch people come and go through the bakery.
I recognize a few faces of the locals who’ve started to nod at me when they see me around town.
It feels good to be part of the community.
The two of us make small talk about the weather, about our work, about our lives. It’s full of heated glances and smirks.
After we finish, we say goodbye to Millie, who gives us a sack of pastries to take home.
We take them because arguing with Millie is useless.
Outside, the afternoon sun is warm, and the breeze carries the smell of the harbor.
Ezra’s hand finds mine as we head to the truck.
I can’t imagine choosing anything other than him.
“Are you done working for the day?” he asks as we drive home.
“Very done,” I tell him.
He chews on the corner of his bottom lip. “Me too. I’m ahead of schedule, actually.”
“Me too,” I admit.
“We’re good for each other creatively.”
“Damn right about that. The purple mugs are our best seller. Thanks for the suggestion,” he says.
“Thanks for glazing my favorite color.”
He reaches for my hand and kisses my knuckles.
By the time we pull into the driveway, there’s a different kind of tension between us.
After we park, he comes around to the passenger side, and when my feet hit the ground, he’s lifting me over his shoulder, caveman-style.
“What are you doing?” I ask, laughing, but I don’t dare drop my pastries.
“You’re mine,” he says, smacking my ass. “For the rest of the day.”
He carries me up the steps, inside the house, and up the stairs while I’m laughing and halfheartedly protesting. When we get to the bedroom, he lays me gently on the bed and hovers over me with that sexy as hell smile that makes my heart race.
“Hi,” I whisper, swimming in his blue eyes.
“Hi,” he says, smirking.
“You make life fun,” I say.
“I love you. So. Fucking. Much. Thank you for finding me.”
“I love you, too.”
When Ezra kisses me, the world fades away. And I know being here with him is the only place on earth I’m supposed to be.