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Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner for the word most likely to kill the romance. Congratulations, crusty.
“Right,” I say, swiping my wrist across my eyebrow. The moment is gone—because that’s how it always is, isn’t it? What happens in my head is better than the reality. “Hand me that towel?”
* * *
Once I lock the doors, Neil makes a strange clicking sound with his tongue.
“You know,” he says. “We’re actually not far from that open mic. We have time to make it, if you still want to see Delilah.”
The air bites at my cheeks. “We shouldn’t,” I say. But we have only two clues left, and the thought of this night ending, being done with Neil… it makes me unreasonably sad. The open mic would at least increase our time together.
“Okay.” He jams his hands into his pockets and turns down the street where my car is parked.
“Okay?” I have to jog to keep up with him. “I thought you’d put up more of a fight.”
He shrugs. “If you don’t want to see her, don’t see her.”
“Is this some kind of reverse-psychology bullshit?”
“Depends. Is it working?”
“I really hate you.”
“You don’t have to do it. We can get in the car right now. But you love her, don’t you? If not today, when will you get another chance? What excuse will you make the next time your favorite author is in town, or when someone wants to know what kind of book you’re writing?” He leans in, plants one hand on my shoulder. It’s meant to be encouraging, I think, but it’s incredibly distracting. “I know you can do this. You’re the person who revolutionized garbage collection at Westview, remember?”
Despite myself, I crack a smile at that.
“So hear me out,” he continues. ?
??If you don’t just do it and rip the Band-Aid off—”
“Two clichés in one sentence?” I say, and he shoots daggers at me.
“—you might wish you had. All that regret you were talking about earlier, with the success guide—here’s a goal you can accomplish now, even if you can’t cross it off some list.”
I try to visualize it—but I’ve never been to Bernadette’s, so I can’t. Maybe I’ll stumble over my words, make a fool of myself in front of Delilah. But today was supposed to be about owning this thing that I love, and I’ve already made so much progress with Neil of all people. It felt so great to finally talk about it. Freeing.
And I don’t think I’m done yet.
“You win,” I say.
When he grins, it’s bright enough to light up the night sky.
It’s kind of beautiful.
SIX THINGS ABOUT NEIL MCNAIR THAT ARE NOT ACTUALLY TERRIBLE
- He occasionally wears T-shirts.
- His knowledge of words and languages is somewhat impressive.
- He’s a decent listener—when he’s not being combative.
- He read Nora Roberts.
- He knew, somehow, that I could do that open mic, even if I didn’t.
- His freckles. All seven thousand of them.
