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“Did I say that? Don’t be old Breen.” He tapped a finger to themiddle of her forehead. “I’m saying I’m up at this crazy hour because I want more. Because the first two chapters sucked me right in. Because it’s good, Breen. It’s damn good. And shut up,” he added, “before you say something stupid like maybe I’m saying that because I love you.”
“You do love me.”
“Yeah, and because I do, if it wasn’t so good, I’d say something like…” Considering, he rubbed a fingertip over his goatee. “I got it. I’d say: You really got something started here, girl, I bet you can fix it up and make it shine. Something encouraging, right? But I don’t have to, because it already shines.”
“You mean it?”
“Look at my face.”
His brow beetled, his jaw firmed, his mouth set.
“It’s your SAF face.”
“That’s the one. Handsome, but serious as fuck. You’re going to let me read more.”
“If you really want another chapter—”
“Uh-uh.” Now, he ticktocked a finger in the air. “Three more, total of five. It’s fair. It should give me a better handle on this big world you’re building here. It’s not Talamh—I see pieces of that, but it’s bigger, like, with other countries and continents and seas and all that. Five chapters to give me a handle on the world, the characters—I know there’s more coming.”
“Three more.” She let out a breath. “But if it doesn’t hold up, you’ll tell me. And I get something back. You write out three recipes for the cookbook—write them out your way, then I get to read them.”
“I got recipes written out already.”
“Add in the fun, Marco, the charm. Chat them up—and you know just what I mean. If it doesn’t work, I’ll tell you.”
Saying nothing, he crooked his pinky.
On the oath, she rose. “I’m going to change. I really need the workout now.”
When she came back down, he just held up a finger. “Don’t bother me.” So she went straight in, chose one of her more challenging workouts. Because it didn’t fully sweat out her anxiety, she topped it off with a half hour of yoga.
She came out to the scent of bacon.
“Since I’m up, you’re getting a solid breakfast before you head to your writing cave.” He plated the bacon, cheese omelets, a poached pear half drizzled with honey.
She stood watching, fighting the urge to actively wring her hands.
He set the plates down, then turned, wrapped around her.
“Is this to soften the blow?”
“Breen, I’m so proud. When you let me readBollocks’s Magic Adventures, I laughed out loud. I saw that dog clear as can be before I ever met him. And this? This is different. I can hear you just like I could in the other, but its—scope’s the word, right?—its scope is so wide and, like, rich. If Mila doesn’t make it through, it’s gonna break my heart.”
He pulled her back. “Girl, you’ve got It. Whatever the hell It is for writing, you’ve got It. I want it all.”
“Marco—”
“I’m not gonna push for all at once, but I’m sure as hell gonna nag more out of you every day. Now, you’re gonna listen to me.”
“I am listening to you.”
“You’re gonna listen and trust me. Who was right about you writing a blog?”
“You were.”
“Who was right about you sitting your ass down and doing what you always wanted? Writing books.”
“You were.”
