“No, why would he?”
“Because he’s following her.”
“I know, but that seems like we’re forcing the action.”
“Stand up. Let’s see,” he says, rising from the table.
He wants to act out this scene.
No thanks.
I shake my head.
“It’s fine; we can leave it the way you have it. You’re the expert and know what works.”
“Don’t just say that to please me. I want to show you how this works.”
“It’s really not that big of a deal.”
“Stand up, Natalie,” he says, and my heart hammers at his command, my legs doing as they're told.
I toss up my hands. “Now what?”
“Turn and walk away from me like you’re mad at me.”
I grin. “I don’t know how to fake that.”
“Just do it.”
I shake my head, feeling silly but also excited. “How fast do I walk?”
“As fast as you want to get away from me.”
I narrow my eyes, turn, and then march off with a huff.
I’m about four strides away when he calls out, “Natalie, stop.”
His tone ignites something inside me, but I ignore it and count to three before I stop and turn, assuming that’s how the heroine in our story would do it.
Tobias is there in my space. His body rushes mine so quickly that I stumble back, only to be steadied on my feet by his hands gripping my waist.
His breathing is fast, as is mine, and our lips are inches apart. His chest is brushed up against my own, and even through our clothes, I swear I feel his heart pounding, the beat matching mine as I wait for whatever happens next.
I don’t think this is what we had in mind for our characters, but the move is more realistic than I thought.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
“This is a lot closer than we wrote it.”
“It is,” he agrees. “I like this better.”
“So do I.”
But neither of us move. “What should happen next?”
“Well,” he says in a husky tone, “he should move his hand to her cheek, like this.”
His hand cups my face, his thumb brushing under my chin, gently guiding me to look up.
