Page 59 of Where Roads Lead

His eyes were warm. Far kinder than she’d given credit for the first time she laid eyes on him. She supposed he wasn’t quite what she’d expected, in the best way.

It seemed as if he had walls up, walls that he was just waiting for someone to ascend.

She stared into the depths of his eyes, wondering what lay beneath the surface and what type of person it would take to uncover it.

“No,” I groaned, backspacing a few lines. “Why is she spending so much time thinking about his eyes?”

It’s because I’d transformed Andrew into the villain of the manuscript, thus making Will’s character far more redeemable in comparison.

I guess it was only natural for Ellie to take notice of that. It seemed I’d written them into a reluctant friendship of sorts.

But still, why is she focused on his eyes?

I exhaled heavily. I couldn’t even get a grip on my fictional life—never mind my real one.

“Why won’t you do what I want you to do!” I said, shaking my laptop screen back and forth maniacally.

“Who won’t?”

“Ah!” I squealed at the sound of the voice that infiltrated my daydreams. “When did you get there?”

“Amazing.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Not even a hint of a survival instinct.”

“Hey!”

“I’ve been standing here for a solid minute,” he said, seemingly disappointed, “but glad you were too busy writing to notice your surroundings. Very safe.”

“I’m in a café,” I argued. “What do I need to worry about happening to me here? Especially with you around.” I muttered the last part under my breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” I said breezily. “What’s up?”

He flipped the chair around and straddled it backward. “Just checking on you.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“I mean, do you check on all your customers, or am I just special?”

“Not all of my customers need to be checked on.”

“Aw, Will. Why can’t you just admit I’m special? Feed my ego a little.”

“I doubt it needs to be fed.”

“Hey, I—” I started before something launched itself at me.

“Elsie!” a child’s voice called as small arms wrapped around my torso.

“Max?” I asked, staring down at the child I’d met in the park a few days before. “Where’s your—”

“Max!” My answer came in the form of his nanny bursting through the door. “I specifically asked you to stop running off.”

“I told you where I was going.” He turned to shoot her an aggravated expression, as if her presence was a nuisance on his day of pleasure.

“You are a child. You do not tell me where you are going. I tell you.” The nanny puffed out, breathless and exasperated.