18. Tyson
EIGHTEEN
TYSON
“Before we talk about how the connection between my characters suck, maybe we should move from the kitchen to the living room. These chairs aren’t that comfortable,” Josie notes, pointing in the direction of her living room.
I nod and immediately slide out of my chair.
I’ll go anywhere she wants in this house if it means I get to spend more time with her.
I hold a hand out to help her out of her chair, but she doesn’t take it.
Instead, she easily pushes her body out of her seat and makes her way into the large living room.
It’s dark, but enough moonlight filters in through the windows to allow me to get a good look around.
Two large couches sit in the space. Style-wise, the furniture doesn’t look like it was manufactured anytime recently, but the pieces are still in impeccable shape.
With all these discussions I’ve recently been having with Winnie about furniture and finding new pieces or looking for vintage ones, I can appreciate the furniture in Josie’s living room.
So far, everything looks like the decor was picked straight from a French cottage home and placed in the middle of the Hamptons.
“Feel free to sit anywhere,” Josie instructs. She kicks a pair of slippers underneath the coffee table, her eyes quickly traveling to me as if to see if I saw them or not.
I smile because her version of messy is adorable. The only proof that she’s even been in the living room was the pair of slippers she’s now attempted to hide and a crumpled-up blanket on the couch with a laptop set on top of it.
I stay standing, waiting to see where she’ll sit before taking my own seat. There’s a pull to sit as close to her as possible, but since I’m not sure if she’d be okay with that, I sit down on the opposite side of the couch as she does.
Josie pulls the blanket into her lap just as Mouse jumps up onto the couch with us. He looks over at Josie for a moment before he prances over to me and curls up in my lap.
She stares at her cat with her mouth hanging open. “I really don’t understand why he loves you that much. He doesn’t ever warm up to people, especially men, this fast.”
A rumble comes from deep in my chest. “Like I’ve said, maybe you’ve just been around the wrong men.
” I try to keep my words light and teasing, but there’s a raspiness to them that’s hard to miss.
Even if I just met her and her past is none of my business, there’s still a tinge of jealousy at the mention of any other men in her life.
“Mouse, is he sneaking you treats when I’m not around?” Josie asks playfully, seemingly undeterred by my previous question. In fact, I swear, even in the dimness of the room, I can see a hint of pink on her cheeks.
“Or…Mouse just loves me because he’s a great judge of character, remember?” I retort. Mouse only furthers my case by rubbing his head against my palm, demanding pets from me.
“I can’t believe it,” Josie whispers as she shakes her head. She stares at her cat for a few moments longer before her gaze meets mine.
It’s quiet as we just stare at each other.
It’s weird how comfortable the silence is with her.
I’ve always been someone who kept my thoughts to myself.
I’m on the quiet side, always preferring to analyze things instead of engaging in conversation.
If I need to add anything, I will, but I much prefer to stay quiet.
There’s often an uncomfortable feeling when things get too quiet when talking to someone else.
When the conversation dies and a new one hasn’t begun, things can feel awkward.
And then I’ll feel even more uncomfortable because, as someone who prefers to keep my thoughts to myself, I don’t know how to fill the silence.
That doesn’t happen with Josie. Even as we stare at each other, saying nothing at all, I feel completely at peace.
The thing that’s different with her than with other people is that I do feel the need to fill that silence.
Not with small talk or because it feels like I have to, but because I want to.
I want to dive deeper. I want to understand her more.
And while I know I just met her and I have no idea what will come out of us spending more time together, I’m trying to embrace it.
Winnie wanted me to come to the Hamptons to focus on something other than work, and with Josie around, I barely even think about work.
“Let’s talk more about the book and their connection,” I finally get out. My voice is so quiet as I come to the realization of just how intense the connection is with Josie that my words come out rough.
Josie nods as she leans back against the couch. She pulls her legs into a crossed position as she pulls the blanket around her. “I think it all boils down to the fact that I’m uninspired, and because I’m uninspired, the characters lack a connection.”
“And why do you think you’re uninspired?”
Her chest hitches a bit. It’s almost as if she’s surprised I’ve asked, but surely she knew I’d wonder.
Josie looks down at the blanket in her lap. She runs her hand along the fabric as she thinks about my question. “I don’t know. There could be a lot of reasons.”
“Like what?” Mouse purrs in my lap as I casually run my hand over his spine. Even while petting him, I keep my gaze locked on Josie, paying close attention to her to get a gauge on what she’s thinking and how she’s feeling.
She chews on her lip for a moment as silence settles between us. Neither one of us says anything as I give her time to think. The only sound in the room is the soft purring coming from Mouse.
Eventually, her hazel eyes meet mine as she lifts her shoulder in a shrug.
“I could be jaded, thanks to my past relationship. I could be bored. I could just be a terrible writer, unable to write another good love story. I guess I’m just finding it hard to write passion and desire and this intense connection between two characters after leaving a long-term relationship where I’m learning I never once felt passion the way I should’ve.
Now that it’s over, I know I really wanted to believe I was in love with him, but now I can’t help but wonder if I ever was really in love at all. ”
I swallow slowly as I digest what she’s just said. Her gaze doesn’t waver from mine, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s testing me. She was brutally honest with her answer, and something about the way she looks at me makes me wonder if she thinks I’ll shy away from her honesty.
“Everything you said makes sense,” I rasp. Even though I’m still processing everything, I don’t want her to think I’m avoiding the conversation by not responding right away.
“No, it doesn’t,” she mutters. She shakes her head as her head falls into her hands. “It doesn’t make sense at all. My job is to make up love stories. Nothing from my personal life should matter. No matter if I’m in love, heartbroken, happy, upset…none of that should prevent me from doing my job.”
My fingers twitch as I fight the urge to reach out and comfort her.
I want to wrap my fingers around her wrists and pull her face from her palms. It’s hard to deny how much I want to wrap my arms around her and pull her body against mine because I hate having space between us.
I want to feel her body against mine, to have that level of connection with her in the moment.
“You can’t think like that,” I assure her, making sure to keep my voice as soft as possible. “Your job is spending so much time in your head that it makes sense that writing and creating love stories might be hard if you’ve got a lot of other things on your mind too.”
Josie blinks, her stare focused on me as she processes my words. Her chin still rests in her hands as her gaze stays locked with mine. Eventually, she lets out a long sigh. “Maybe. But right now, no matter how I feel, I need to find a way to get this book done and make it perfect.”
“Then let’s help you find a way,” I offer.
She lets out a clipped laugh. “You make it seem so easy. I’m uninspired, remember?”
I move Mouse from my lap before I scoot closer to her on the couch.
We still don’t touch, but our bodies are much closer than they were previously.
My heart hammers against my chest at the proximity.
We may have been closer before, but it didn’t feel like this.
There’s an electricity in the air that makes this feel different.
I suddenly feel this intense urge to be the one to help her overcome her writer’s block and finish this book.
I don’t know if she’ll let me, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try.
I lean in, careful not to touch her as I bring my face closer to hers. We’re so close that I can hear her sharp intake of breath.
“Let me help inspire you.”