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His eyes widened. “Hey, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
She smiled. “You didn’t. I mean, I’m not crying. Not really. I’m just overwhelmed. At how beautiful it is. And at how thankful I am that you chose me to share your special place with.”
He smiled back, but his smile had a touch of sadness to it. “I haven’t been here in a while. I used to come up here all the time. Especially after Beth died. I call it my thinking spot, but Faye’s always called it my ‘really bench.’”
“Really bench?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, ‘cause I come up here when I’mreallysad orreallymad orreallyneed to think about something.”
“What kind of things do you think about?” She didn’t want to delve into questions about Beth’s death, but she also wanted to leave it open in case he wanted to talk about it.
“Everything. The weather, the price of beef, when I should sell my cattle, what I want the ranch to be like in five years, in ten years, what sounds good for dinner. You know, just normal life stuff.”
“I do know. I’m a thinker too. But I spend most of my time thinking aboutotherpeople’s lives.”
“Otherpeople?”
This time it was her turn to shrug. “Well, otherfictionalpeople. The majority of my headspace gets taken up with making up stories and adventures for my characters. If I’m not thinking through one of my character’s back stories or pondering their inner motivations, I’m racking my brain to come up with a black moment and a grand gesture that seems new and unique and hasn’t been done a million times before. And if I’m not working on my own character’s stories, I’m making up a meet cute for the two people in line in front of me at the coffee shop or plotting a thriller novel from a piece of news story I’ve heard on the radio. My brain is always racing with stories.”
“That sure makes my pondering of my supper menu seem dull in comparison.”
She laughed. “But there’s no pressure for you to come up with an amazing list of food options. You can throw together anything from the fridge or pantry and not have to present it to your editor or agent and hope they love it enough to offer you the money you need to pay your rent for the next several months.”
“I think my rent would fall short if I offered them my specialty of beanies and weenies.”
“I’m always worried my rent is in jeopardy.”
“Why? You’re a great writer.”
Heat warmed her neck at his compliment, but she rolled her eyes as she shook her head.
“You are,” he insisted. “You had me reading a romance at midnight last night, and I was so engrossed, I read another whole chapter before I went to bed.”
“You did?”
“Heck yeah I did. I had to see if Duke showed up in time to save Sassy from those cattle rustlers. Although I loved it when she ended up saving herselfandhim after they caught him sneaking around the barn.” He shook his head. “I could never do what you do. Make up stories like that then make sure they all fit together and make sense.”
She let out a sigh. “Some days it’s tough. There are a few times when the writing just flows and the words come faster than I can type. But most of the time, being a writer is like having really hard homework. Every. Single. Day. And now writers basically run their own businesses, so when I’m not writing books, I’m trying to come up with newsletter content, cover copy, doing edits, and trying to learn how to run ads on social media.”
“Geez. That’s a lot. Do you ever stop to have fun? Don’t you go out with friends?”
She shook her head. “Not really. I don’t have any close ones in the city. Faye drags me out to lunch once a month. But most of my social interactions are online, with readers and other writers who live all over the country.”
He’d been worrying a small stone between his fingers, and he looked down at it as he nonchalantly asked, “What about going out on dates?”
She huffed out a laugh as her cheeks heated again. “I haven’t been out on a date in alongtime. I used to force myself to go out on at least one every six months. But the last one was such a disaster, it made me not want to even try again.”
“Disaster? Uh oh.” He grinned as he casually leaned back against the stone bench. “I’ve had one of those too. Want to bet on whose was worse?”
She covered her face with her hands. “No way. Then I would have to tell you about mine.”
He laughed as he leaned forward and planted his elbows on his knees. “Come on. It can’t be that bad.”
“It is.”
“Okay, here’s the deal. Whoever has the worst date story has to buy dinner at the rodeo tonight.”
“Wait. Then that will make me seem like a loser twice.”
