Booked

Chapter 13 | Bring Your A-Game... If You Have it

Miles's "top-secret" inspiration spot was a joke.

Maybe it was my own fault for expecting a gorgeous landscape with beautiful flowers and waterfalls or something when I joined him after work for the trip I had daydreamed about the rest of the afternoon in between manuscripts and business phone calls.

It looked like a wasteland's first cousin once removed.

It seemed to have had flowers at some point but now only dead, yellowing grass covered the length of the field like nothing beautiful could survive growing there.

The only redeemable aspect of that place was the swing sets that stood at the entrance of the field, the creaking sound the only indication of life.

"This is your inspiration spot?" I asked, shooting him a questioning look.

He gauged my expression with amusement. Understated fun lived in his eyes like he was constantly playing a joke on me.

His fingers combed through the misbehaving strands of his hair that seemed to fit right into the current setting.

"It made sense for the book, I swear," he said as we sat down on the two-person swing. "You know, what screams wasted opportunities and regrets like a depressing field?" Then as he noticed the confused look that persisted on my face, he added, "It made me think of second chances. There's a moment in the book when it seems like things would stay ugly for Clara. But despite all the heavy stuff going on, the opportunity that it could only get better always loomed in the background."

"Did things get better?" I asked, and felt curiosity settle in my mind about his infamous Clara, dancer, and now also the manifestation of a desolate field.

"Why don't you find out?"

The grass grazed my feet every so often as I took the book Ace had given me this morning from the backpack I had brought with me.

The laughter that came bubbling out of him brought life back to the otherwise dull surroundings.

"You come prepared." His fingers wrapped around a cup of coffee that he had brought with him as a slight breeze rocked the swing, gentle and soothing.

I stared at the ominous design of his book for a second and felt him mirroring the intensity with which I observed the cover.

"It wouldn't surprise me if you were the tragic kind of writer who murders random characters for fun," I said, turning to the back of the book to read the synopsis.

A small chuckle distracted me from the words I was trying to read. "Don't tempt me."

Tuning him out, I opened the book, bracing myself to read what I assumed would feel like a materialization of a hundred of Miles's smiles.

Unlike I had done just hours earlier, he didn't bug me every second to find out what I was thinking.

He sat next to me and sipped on his coffee. The wasteland lay in front of us, waiting for something that would cause a lasting distraction from its boring impassiveness because relying on the summer breeze hadn't worked so far.

"Starts with a relationship," I mumbled, talking to myself as I read. The terrible habit I had inherited from years of hearing my mom do it about her emails.

"Scandalous, heh?" he joked and brushed his fingers against the discolored chains of the swing set.

"They're traveling now," I said, updating him on every new detail I read. I was doing it more consciously this time, hoping it would tick him off. I had no idea why I even wanted to get under his skin.