Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Safe to say, I was shaking my leg under the table during the next class. I hadn’t even known it annoyed Aiden before or that I did it that often, but I wasn’t about to stop now.
He glared at me from across the table.
“Knock it off,” he mouthed.
“Pay attention,” I mouthed back.
Our classmates were still giving out their comments on our latest chapters. It felt like everyone was edging around the truth until finally someone spoke up.
“I like what you guys have done, but this isn’t an enemies to lovers. This is just enemies so far,” Tyler said. Out of the corner of my eye, Ida nodded in agreement. I frowned. That was intentional. I mean, if the enemies became lovers too soon, then no one cared.
“It’s obvious Max and Hunter hate each other, and you’re doing a good job of hinting toward some feeling, but there’s no progress. There’s nemesis chemistry, but it’s not translating into any sort of romantic plotline, and without that, all the yearning feels a little stalkerish.”
From the front of the room, Ida gave me a pointed look as if to say, See? I snuck a glance at Aiden, but he was unfazed. I rolled my eyes. He probably wasn’t even listening. I bet he was doing his taxes in his head.
“I agree,” Ida said.
“I think I speak for both of us when I say we’re trying to just build tension at this point,” I rushed out.
“Sure.” Ida tossed her head from side to side like she was considering it. “But the tension needs to come to fruition at some point. It’s obvious there are some sort of feelings there, but they’re walking in circles around each other. Remember—you’re writing a love story. I need there to be definitive romantic moments between the two of them, not just thoughts in their heads.” She paused. “I have a proposal for you two.”
“Another?” Aiden muttered. He held his pen carefully above the lines of his black notebook, preparing for whatever she was about to say.
“You two need to get to know each other better so these characters can really experience the romance they’ll eventually have. Try a little roleplay.”
I started coughing in surprise, and Aiden finally looked up from his notebook.
“Go on a date—as Max and Hunter—this weekend,” Ida said. “Then go home and write about it. Pretend you’re the characters, and let the romance build in your book.”
Aiden frowned. “Is this a suggestion, or are you telling us?”
“If anyone else asks, I’m suggesting. But since you’re asking, I’m telling.”
Aiden and I shared a quick, panicked glance.
Ida laughed softly. “You two will be fine,” she soothed. “Just focus on not killing each other so we can hear all about it next class.”
When my friends and I left the Writer’s House, they were silent for a minute, sharing glances with each other.
“Go ahead.” I rolled my eyes.
At once, they all burst into laughter.
“It’s not that funny,” I scolded. “I’m glad you find the inhumanity of forcing me to hang out with Aiden hilarious.”
“Oh God,” Logan said, wiping a tear from his eye. “Don’t make us laugh any harder.”
“That really does suck,” Tyler said sympathetically. “But hopefully it’ll go by fast.”
“It’s going to be a slow painful death,” I muttered.
“It is a lot like a romance novel,” Jess said thoughtfully between laughs. “Enemies to lovers, forced proximity—”
“Don’t even say that around me,” I said grouchily. “It’s nothing like that. We aren’t enemies to lovers. We’re enemies to near murderers. I swear every time we talk we come this close to strangling each other.” The door to the Writer’s House opened and as Aiden began walking down the stairs, I said, “I’ll text y’all later.” I chased after him until I fell into step with him outside.
Now that the weather was turning frigid, his peacoat had finally come out of the closet. I hadn’t seen it since last winter, and I hated how much I liked it on him. I’d tried not to stare at him too hard at the beginning of class when he walked in with it on.
“We need to plan out tomorrow.”
He jumped at my words and looked down at me, bewildered. “Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me.”
“We need to plan our ‘date,’ ” I deadpanned.
He scowled, crossing the street toward University Place and Union Square. “Can we not call it a date?”
“Why? Too romantic?” I teased.
“Yes,” he said, matter-of-factly.
“You’ll need to get used to romance.” I had trouble keeping pace with him as we walked through the streets. The holiday season had begun, which meant there were more tourists around than normal. Not only did I have to dodge groups of people standing side by side, crowding the sidewalks, but his long legs made easy, long strides. I was nearly jogging trying to keep up with him. “Or at least the word ‘date.’ That’s some free life advice for you. Most women won’t date a guy who calls what they’re doing ‘hanging out.’ ”
“I can say the word.” He noticed my struggle, and I swear he sped up. “I just don’t want to call it a date with you .”
“Oh, you should be so lucky. I’ll have you know, I’m an excellent dater.”
“That’s right, what’s your boyfriend’s name again?”
“The same as your girlfriend’s,” I spluttered. He stopped at a busy intersection and turned to face me. I had to crane my neck to look up and meet his gaze. “Be real—what do you want to do for our date?”
Aiden studied my face for a moment silently, before shaking his head. “Let’s not, and say we did.” He continued walking, his hands shoved into his coat pockets and his shoulders pulled up against his ears as the wind picked up.
“No!” I protested. “I think they’re right, we need to do this for the book. A few weeks ago, I didn’t even know if you had siblings, let alone a cousin who’s in middle school. Or a mom!” He rolled his eyes at that. “If we want our characters to connect, we need to learn things about each other.”
He squinted. “I thought we weren’t writing about each other.”
I let out a frustrated sigh. “Is the idea of a couple of hours with me so unbearable? I can at least tolerate you.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll pick you up from your place tomorrow, alright?”
His pace increased once again, and I nearly sprinted after him.
“You can’t just phone it in.”
He jumped again. “Jesus, I’ll be sure to bring a bell, too.”
“It needs to be romantic. You can’t just take me to McDonald’s and expect everything to fall into place.”
When we reached a crosswalk, I tried to walk despite the red light. But Aiden held his arm out as a bike whirled by, stopping me from stepping in its path and giving me an annoyed glance. “I can’t plan something romantic.” He grimaced. “I’m not good at that.”
“I don’t care.” He gave me a flat look. “I don’t! Okay, if it’s not romantic, then whatever. We just spruce it up in the chapter. Anything is romantic if you look at it in the right light. You just have to try , Aiden. I will, too.”
He rubbed his hand at the side of his jaw where stubble was just appearing. The muscle in his jaw ticked back and forth, making me lose all coherent thought. “Text me your address. I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow.”
The next morning, I whipped Ida’s door open and, once again, she didn’t even look up from her laptop.
“I’m glad we’re back to normal,” she murmured. “I was afraid that you’d start knocking and coming in here like a quiet mouse like you did at the beginning of the semester.”
I fell into my usual seat as I pulled off my coat. “You’ve betrayed me. You’re a traitor. You’ve crossed enemy lines.”
She rolled her eyes and shut her computer. “Oh please, don’t be so dramatic.”
“That man is my worst nightmare. And now I have to sit across from him by myself and make polite conversation.”
Ida looked like she was trying to suppress a smile. “You’ll be fine.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Why are you so invested in our book? You don’t ever push anyone else like you do us.”
She frowned. “That’s not true. I made Logan go to a comedy show last week after his chapter about the stand-up comic made no sense. I suggested three young adult novels to Amelia when hers kept including scenes set at house parties with weed and I made her call her fifteen-year-old niece to see how real kids talk these days.”
I huffed. “That’s convenient.”
Ida laughed. “Listen, I believe in you and Aiden as writers. But you’re both stubborn and too comfortable in what you’re writing. I’m just trying to push that comfort.”
“You rarely write anything other than romance,” I pointed out.
“But I had to learn to write other things before I could feel comfortable in the genre. I had to learn how to give my female characters agency and control over their lives and sexuality by making them believable. I wrote so many character studies and character-driven novels before I ever attempted my first romance novel.”
She leaned forward. “I know romance is a big passion of yours. And it’s a big passion of mine, too. But what makes romance novels so good is the fact that they’re a complex dive into human emotion. There’s so much more to a romance than just love. That’s important too, don’t get me wrong, but your characters need a bigger range than that. A tragic ending may not be what you want, but I think writing a scene like that and making that pain visceral will help you in the long run.”
I knew she was right. My characters had only ever felt flat, never dynamic. I was too afraid to hurt them or make them suffer. Working with Aiden was going to force me to go there .
“Fine.” I reached into my bag, pulling out my laptop. “Besides complaining about how you stabbed me in the back, I was hoping we could look at some pieces I was thinking about submitting for the fellowship?”
She smiled. “Of course. I’m really glad you decided to submit.”
“Me too. I mean, I might not get it, but I think it’s important that I try.”
“As a writer, Rosie, you’re going to face a lot more rejection than praise. We all do. I personally think you have a good shot, but it’s important to get out there and pick yourself up when you’re told no.” She reached out for my laptop. “Let me see what you’ve got.”
“I was thinking of submitting a piece I worked on last semester. It’s an epistolary story about a couple trying long distance.”
We went over the story for a while, discussing plot and some line edits. But it was the way her eyes lit up when she read my story that made me really believe I had a good shot at this thing.
Of course I wanted to grab dinner with Max. This felt like my one shot to prove to her that I wasn’t as bad as she thought. I felt like the best version of myself around her and I wanted to chase that feeling.
I wanted to prove to her that this mattered to me. This opportunity wouldn’t come twice, and I couldn’t risk squandering it. When it proved difficult to get a reservation on such late notice, I did the one thing I hated: I called my father.
— Excerpt from Untitled by Rosie Maxwell and Aiden Huntington