“Too much? It’s too much, you can say it.Ugh!”Ronin runs both hands through his thick hair. “StupidTwilight. Should have just left that at the store.”
“No, Ro. This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. It’s perfect. Thank you.” I reach for his hand. He lets me take it and I give it a squeeze. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”
His face flushes again, but he squeezes my hand back. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had too, Mel.” Ronin’s breath hitches and he doesn’t break eye contact, his gaze soft on my face.
“And, I know exactly what will make me feel better right now.” I hold up the movie, a smile playing on my lips. “You wanna make fun of sparkly vampires with me?”
Chapter Twenty-One
MELLIE
PRESENT DAY
My free time alternates between lounging around the diner and attempting to flirt with Ronin, and wracking my brain, trying to come up with ideas for a short story. I wasn’t kidding when I told Sydney that my creative writing skills haven’t been brushed off in quite some time.
I first consider what genre I want to write. I typically read all genres, but romance as either the main plot or the subplot is a must for me. I decide to try my hand at writing a contemporary romance.
“Would it be too on the nose to write a small-town romance?” I muse, flipping my pencil around in circles between my fingers.
Ronin wipes the bar top in front of where I sit and places my refreshed latte in front of me. “Well, since you’re kind of new to this style of writing, I don’t see the harm in writing what you know—and we all know small-town life pretty well. Maybe it will help the story come to you more easily.”
I sip my latte, grateful for the extra pump of mocha Roninsnuck in. My notepad looks sad and empty, the blank page staring back at me accusingly. I writesmall-town meet-cuteas my first idea. There, now it can’t judge me anymore.
“Okay, so now what?” I laugh. “I’ve never had a meet-cute before. Hit me with some ideas.”
Ronin places his elbows on the counter, his body leaning in close. His soap smells surprisingly sweet and I hide a smile, picturing him using some floral scented body wash in the shower.
Okay, maybe picturing Ronin in the shower wasn’t the smartest idea. I squeeze my thighs together and redirect my attention to his words.
“Well, you could start with ‘A girl walks into a bar’.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, no. Next?”
Ronin rests his chin in one hand. “How about‘It was a dark and stormy night, girl’s car breaks down, guy comes to her rescue, insta love’?”
“Yes, what the world needs is yet another damsel in distress and a man to come rescue her.” I playfully swat at his arm. “Next? Also, how do you even know the terminsta love?”
“My grandmother owns a bookstore, remember? I do read occasionally, you know. And I don’t see you providing any better ideas,” Ronin teases. “Okay, this is the one:‘Guy makes a bet he can get the girl to fall in love with him. Girl makes a bet she can push the guy away. Spoiler alert—they fall in love’.” Ronin winks at me.
“So, the plot ofHow to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. I’m thinking no for that one. Plus, it’s not even a meet-cute. You’re not going to be any help here, are you?” I poke his arm with my pencil eraser.
“Are you saying I’m not romantic enough to help you?” His deep voice washes over my skin and settles into my bones. I look up to find his blue gaze on my face. “I can beveryromantic, Mel.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “I’ve never seen you romance anyone in all of the years I’ve known you.”
Ronin pushes away from the bar, standing to his full height. “Well, perhaps you weren’t paying very close attention.” He walks away, greeting a new customer at the counter.
What the hell does that mean?
Memories of our previous fights wash over me, and my body warms at the notion that Ronin wasn’t just acting on some whim back then. That maybe I’d been so stubborn, I hadn’t noticed he had been trying for years to get me to see him.
Well, Ro. I certainly see you now.
The dinner rush is dying down, and it’s a relatively slow Sunday evening at the bar. Ronin walks back to me, bringing a pastry wrapped up in a napkin and placing it on my notepad.
“What’s this for?” I ask, dropping my pencil to dip my finger into the glaze dripping off of the croissant. I lick it off and glance up at Ronin.
“Just figured Blue Fields’ next bestselling author needed some nourishment to get those creative gears turning,” Ronin says, his gaze on my lips and then darting to my fingers as I lift the croissant to my mouth and take a bite. Clearing his throat, he avoids eye contact, busying himself with wiping down the counter.
