Seraphina - 25 Years Old #3
“I can smell it.”
“You cannot smell romance.”
“I absolutely can.”
Frank climbed onto the coffee table.
“For the record…”
“He smiled.”
Rosemary gasped dramatically.
“He smiled?”
“It was… more of a polite smile.”
“IT COUNTS.”
Gerald pinched the bridge of his ceramic nose.
“It does not count.”
“It absolutely counts.”
“He was being courteous.”
“He was enchanted.”
“He was existing.”
“Same thing.”
I laughed.
“I don’t even know his favourite colour.”
Rosemary waved a tiny hand.
“Details.”
“I don’t know if he likes coffee.”
“You’ll find out.”
“I don’t know if he has a girlfriend.”
The room went silent. Rosemary frowned.
“…We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Gerald muttered,
“I miss when it was just the three of us.”
Stacks of novels greeted me from every available surface. Bookshelves overflowed into neat little towers on the floor. Sticky notes decorated the walls. Half-finished outlines covered the dining table. Three empty coffee mugs occupied my desk like tiny monuments to poor life choices. I sighed.
“Hello, Home.”
Gerald looked around.
“You say that every time.”
“And every time I’m happy to be home.”
Because stories lived here. Ideas lived here. Characters lived here. Sometimes…They were better company than people. I slipped off my heels with an audible sigh of relief.
“Oh, thank goodness.”
“My condolences,” Frank said to the shoes.
“They served bravely.”
“They tried.”
I padded barefoot toward the kitchen.
“Coffee?” I asked.
Gerald looked horrified.
“It’s nearly midnight.”
“So?”
“You already had four cups.”
“I fail to see the issue.”
“You stopped blinking for twenty minutes.”
“I was thinking.”
“You were vibrating.”
“…Creative vibration.”
Frank shrugged.
“I’ve seen worse.”
The kettle clicked on. As it hummed to life, my laptop sat waiting on the desk. Closed. Patient. Judgmental. Gerald noticed it first.
“You’re avoiding it.”
“I’m making coffee.”
“You’re procrastinating.”
“I prefer strategic delaying.”
“The chapter won’t write itself.”
I glanced at the blinking notification on my screen. Editor
Subject: Just checking in :)
I sighed.
“Oh, she’s going to kill me.”
Gerald tilted his head.
“Probably.”
“Figuratively.”
“Hopefully.”
I wrapped both hands around my mug and carried it to the desk. The chair creaked as I sat. The laptop opened with a soft click. A blinking cursor greeted me. Waiting. Always waiting. I rested my fingers on the keyboard.
"Sorry," I whispered.
"I know I've kept you waiting."
I placed Gerald onto the edge of the desk.
"She won't be pleased."
"No."
I frown.
"She never is."
The document opened and across the top of the page sat a single word.
JOEY.
For a moment, none of us spoke. The cursor blinked, patient, waiting. It almost looked excited. Frank tilted his head.
"Do you think they'll like her?"
I thought about it.
"...Eventually."
Gerald folded his tiny ceramic arms.
"You're smiling again, in that creepy way."
"I know."
"That's usually how this starts."
I picked Rosie up and placed her next to the keyboard, she clasped her little ceramic hands beneath her chin.
"I already love her."
"You would," Gerald muttered.
"She has excellent taste."
"In murder?" Frank asked.
"In stories."
Gerald groaned.
"We haven't even read it yet."
"We will."
"Rosie."
"What?"
"Stop manifesting."
She gasped dramatically.
"I don't manifest."
"You absolutely manifest."
"I romanticize."
"That's somehow worse."
I laughed.
"You three are exhausting."
"We're ceramic," Gerald replied.
"We have the time."
Silence settled over the room again. The cursor continued blinking. Waiting for me. Waiting for her. Gerald looked from the screen to me.
"...Should we warn them?"
I pretended to think about it.
"Hmm."
Rosie shook her head immediately.
"No."
Frank looked conflicted.
"It would be the polite thing to do."
"It would," I agreed.
Gerald raised an eyebrow.
"So?"
I looked back at the title.
JOEY.
I cracked my knuckles.
"Well...Let's ruin someone's emotional stability."
Gerald sighed.
"I knew that's where this was going."
I rested my hands on the keyboard.
You know...The funny thing about stories...People always think they're safe because they're reading them. I smirked. Just for a second. A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. They think danger only exists on the page. They forget...The page has a funny way of reaching back.
I tilted my head.
And you. You’re comfortable, aren't you?
Curled up somewhere warm. Convinced you're only watching, reading.
A quiet laugh escaped me. That's adorable.
Tell me... How many pages does it take before your heart starts racing?
Ten? Fifty? A hundred? How long before you stop reading because you want to... and start reading because you have to?
I looked down at the blinking cursor.
The best stories don't let you leave unchanged. They crawl under your skin. They whisper. They wait. And by the time you realize where they're taking you... It's already too late. But don’t worry. You’ll love her or not. Just… Try not to get too attached.
ENTER