He groans. “Thank you for that. Real nice.”
I can’t help laughing; he’s fun to mess with. “I’m just kidding. I think everyone should read what they want to read.”
“Well, I’d readyourromance novel.” The corner of his mouth curls up. “I could probably learn a few things.”
“Everyman could learn a few things from romance novels,” I say firmly. “Why more men don’t take advantage of what are essentially instruction manuals for women is beyond me, though I suppose that’s a conversation for another day.”
He cants his head as if to sayTouché. “So what do you think is holding you back? From writing, I mean.”
Now I’m the one who wants to change the subject. “Oh, you know, the usual suspects: Fear of failure. Unrealistic expectations. Perfectionism. Inadequacy. Self-doubt.”
“Just those, huh?” he teases.
I think of how to explain it. “Writing a two-hundred-word article is simple for me. I do it every day—multiple times a day, actually. Easy-peasy. But writing an entire book? Coming up with a plot that’ll hold someone’s attention for a hundred thousand words? Creating a story that’s memorable, that will resonate, that someone will love so much it’ll become their favorite book? It’s incredibly daunting. It’s such a high bar to clear.”
“And if you don’t try, then you can’t fail,” he says pragmatically.
“Exactly.” It takes me a second to hear what he actually said. “Wait, no.”
He chuckles, his eyes twinkling like he’s pulled the sparkle straight from the stars overhead.
“You think I’m too scared to do it,” I say accusingly. How dare he... peg me so accurately?Damnit.
He throws me a sideways grin. “Are you?”
“Of course I’m not scared!” How insulting. I huff like a marathoner on their last mile. “I’m just... taking my time figuring things out.”
He presses his lips together and nods seriously.
“You know what, I’m not falling for whatever this reverse psychology is you’re using on me, Mr. Smooth Talker. You can just forget I ever said anything.” Greg and Christine are dead to me for bringing this up to begin with. “And how did this even get turned around on me, anyway? I was the one askingyouuncomfortable questions.”
The surge of righteous adrenaline puts some extra spring in my step, and I end up striding ahead of him—only for him to grab me by the crook of the elbow, haul me away from the curb, and shift me to his other side, depositing me on the inside of the sidewalk.
I gape at him, but he keeps right on walking as if nothing at all just happened. “Ahem? What was that?”
“What was what?” He’s the picture of innocence.
“You just moved me to the other side of the sidewalk.”
“Did I? Hmm. S’pose I did.”
I wait, but he doesn’t elaborate. “Andwhydid you do that?”
His shrug is blasé. “Just in case.”
“In case ofwhat?” I make a show of looking around the quiet, mostly empty street. “Is Pennywise going to climb out of the drain and drag me into the sewer?”
He clamps down on his smile like hereallydoesn’t want to admit he’s amused by me. “Women aren’t supposed to walk next to the street.”
Now that perks my ears right up. “And why’s that?”
He opens his mouth, then hesitates, tilting his head. “You know what? I’m not actually sure. It’s just one of those things I’ve been raised to know, like how to throw a spiral or drive a stick. A man should never let a woman walk next to the street.” He shrugs like,Sorry, I don’t make the rules.
“You know that if a car hopped the curb, it’d be just as likely to take me out if I’m only three inches to your right.”
He considers that. “But if it was raining and a car drove through a puddle, I’d be the one to get splashed, not you.” He looks quite pleased with his loophole.
“Maybe I like to walk on the wild side.”
