Page 74 of Love Felt Like This

She hesitates. “It isn’t entirely ready.”

“You’ve been working on it for a bit now, right?”

Her eyes dart up to meet mine.

My damn mouth.

“I meant…” I say slowly, and I’m relieved when her smile twitches once more. “I can read it, if you want. If you’re stuck.”

“You probably won’t like it. It’s intended for kids.”

“I know what I signed up for, Beverly.”

She looks down to her laptop, then back up. Her fingers hover over the keys for a moment before she finally picks up the laptop and hands it to me. I walk over, take it in my palms, and sit down on the couch next to her. Our elbows touch. She jerks hers close to her waist.

“I don’t bite,” I say.

“No, but you can always say my writing sucks.”

I prop up my feet on the coffee table. “I could. But I doubt I will.”

“Wait,” she says quickly. “If you hate it, just…tell me it’s good anyway.”

“And what if I love it?”

“Then tell me it’s…magical.”

I blow out a small exhausted chuckle. “Magical?”

“Yes. And I know it’s ridiculous. But that’s because you won’t say it.” She points her index finger, as if she’s just checkmated me. As if we’re both in agreement that the script will be trash.

Shaking my head, I turn back to the screen. “All right.”

“Wait wait wait.”

I chuckle. “Bev, let me read.”

Her hand that looked centimeters away from my forearm jerks back.

“Sorry. Yes. Go on.” Her attention turns to a blank wall.

And then I fall into the world of Birds on the Block.

I read one page, two…then my heart starts to beat a little faster. The script is instantly funny. Smart. Educational, but not talking down to the audience. I keep reading, scrolling faster as the show starts to play out in my head. It’s just how I remember it as a kid. It’s the long nights with Ava months ago. It’s good memories and bad and comfort all wrapped into one. A familiar twitch in my finger starts to tap on the side of the laptop, longing for a beat.

“This is amazing,” I say.

Beverly chokes out a laugh. “You’re kidding.”

“No. This is gonna be big.”

Her knees start to bounce. “How do you know?”

“I just have a feeling. It’s a fuzzy kind of feeling,” I answer, handing her back the laptop. “Like how you were with that napkin in the diner. It’s clever.”

She takes the laptop from me and closes it. Her smile turns almost giddy. “You feel fuzzy?”

My finger continues tapping. It’s begging to play.