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Patrick said goodnight to me and headed up to his bedroom, so I followed, ending up in my room which was right beside his. Everything was still bright pink and purple, but the bookshelf stacked with YA books and teen dramas was still by the door.
I picked one out at random and brought it to bed with me, then I pulled out my phone.
I didn’t have to look very far into the book to find the perfect sentiment.
Me: The Wonderful World Of Oz. Pg 15 lines 22-23
Leaning back in bed, I waited and hoped for a response, but I would’ve understood if he needed some time away from me, too.
Eventually, my eyes closed and I let out a deep breath.
Then my phone gave a familiar ping and it was him.
Chapter 17
-Owen-
The text came in, breaking up the silence in my office while I was banging my head against a wall.
Writer’s block was no joke.
I glanced at the little rectangle on my desk and frowned. Immediately my mind went to the percentage of possibility that it could be Mia, but most likely it was Paula or maybe even Charlie.
Knowing it could be my son, I blew out a long breath and flipped my phone to look at it.
Mia Miller’s name stood out against the black screen and my heart started beating an intense tattoo against my ribs.
I couldn’t get the message open fast enough.
Mia Miller: The Wonderful World Of Oz. Pg 15 lines 22-23
I frowned at the words, until I realized she was giving me lines of a book.
What the actual fuck?
I stood, then browsed over to the bookshelves with my very, very old classics on it. Hopefully the lines were the same, because all I had was the original Wizard of Oz.
Opening it up, I flipped through the pages until I reached fifteen, then tried to count down the lines, but my blurry eyes prevented that.
With a sigh of frustration, I brought the book to my desk and flicked on the lamp. It illuminated the page enough so I could use my capped pen to count. Fuck it all, why do old eyes struggle with stupid, everyday shit? I hated getting old.
‘Hour after hour passed away, and slowly Dorothy got over her fright; but she felt quite lonely—’
Those fucking words shouldn’t have been so sweet.
But they were.
She missed me. Maybe almost as much as I’d missed her.
Me: I miss you too.
Mia Miller: I’m sorry if I’m bugging you.
Me: You could never bug me.
Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true, but she’d have to work damn hard at it to succeed in irritating me.
Mia Miller: I almost take that as a challenge.
