Page 43 of The Write Midlife

All he was sure of was that the next chapter of this story was going to be one hell of a page-turner.

TWENTY-THREE

The next evening,Melody stared at her laptop screen, the cursor blinking mockingly at her. The words that usually flowed so easily were stuck somewhere between her brain and her fingers. Instead of her characters' voices, all she heard was Nate's low chuckle, all she saw were his blue eyes crinkled with laughter.

She typed a sentence, deleted it, typed another. Her protagonist, Olivia, was supposed to be having a heated argument with her love interest, but all Melody could think about was the way Nate's hand skimmed hers at the literary event.

After an hour of this torture, she gave up. Clearly, her muse had gone on vacation and left a Nate-shaped distraction in its place. She needed reinforcements.

She grabbed her phone and dialed Hannah's number. Hannah picked up on the third ring, her voice chipper.

"Melly Mel! To what do I owe the pleasure? Don't tell me you've finally decided to let me set you up with my yoga instructor."

Melody snorted. "Sorry to disappoint, but my love life is complicated enough at the moment. Twisting myself in pretzelsfor the fun of it sounds like more complication than I can handle.”

"Ooh," Hannah cooed. "Spill the tea, girl. Is this about the dreamy editor?"

Melody groaned, flopping back onto her couch. "Is it that obvious?"

"Honey, you've been obsessing over Nate Carlisle for weeks. I'm surprised you haven't started doodling his name in little hearts all over your manuscript."

"I'm not that bad," Melody protested weakly.

Hannah's laugh crackled through the phone. “It’s a good thing you’re better at writing fiction than you are at telling it. Now, what's got you all twisted up? Did something happen at that literary event?"

Melody sighed, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "Nothing... and everything. We went for dinner afterwards. And we talked. We laughed. We had these intense discussions about literature and creativity. And then there was this moment..."

"A moment?" Hannah prompted when Melody trailed off.

"Yeah, you know. One of those moments where the world seems to stop, and you're hyper-aware of every little detail. The way he smells, how freaking blue his eyes are, how big his hands are…”

"Wow," Hannah breathed. "That's... that's not nothing, Mel. That's definitely something."

Melody growled out loud, covering her face with a throw pillow. "I know! And that's the problem. He's my editor, Hannah. We're supposed to have a professional relationship."

"Says who? "Last time I checked, there's no law against editors and authors falling for each other. In fact, I bet it happens all the time. It's probably a whole subgenre of romance novels."

"Great, so I'm a walking cliché."

"Hey, clichés become clichés for a reason. They resonate with people. Now, let's break this down. What are the pros and cons of pursuing something with Nate?"

Melody sat up, grabbing a notepad. "Okay, pros: He's intelligent, funny, passionate about literature. He challenges me creatively. He's supportive of my vision for my book. And, well, he's not exactly hard on the eyes."

Hannah whistled. "Sounds like a keeper to me. What about the cons?"

Melody chewed on her pen, thinking. "He's my editor, so there's a power imbalance. If things go south, it could jeopardize my career. His father is the CEO of Carlisle Publishing, which adds another layer of complication. And... I'm scared, Hannah. What if I'm misreading things? What if I'm just another author to him?"

"Melody Archer," Hannah said sternly. "I've known you since college. You're many things, but 'just another' anything isn't one of them. From what you've told me, it's clear Nate sees you as something special."

Melody felt a warmth spread through her chest at her friend's words. "You think so?"

"I know so. The question is, what are you going to do about it?"

Melody sighed, looking at her abandoned manuscript. "Nothing, for now. I've got a deadline looming, and I can't afford to be distracted. I need to focus on my work."

Hannah made a disappointed noise. "Are you sure? Having a career doesn’t mean a fine man can’t, uh…book a one-way ticket for you to Pleasure Town, if you get my drift.”

“Oh, I get your drift, Han. If I were blind, deaf, and dumb, I’d still get your very obvious, borderline R-rated drift. But right now, I need to prove to myself that I can do this. That I can finish this book and make it great, without relying on anyone else."