Write Me A Love Story

12:

For three hours we sat in the quiet room. The notes I had on my phone had been our first mission; to put them in order. Second mission? Figure out my beginning, middle, and end.

We hadn't gone into such detail before. Reece said it was fine to have loose notes. But I knew eventually I'd have to connect the pieces; that was Reece's goal today. We scribbled together on numerous sheets of paper until I saw the full picture. Once I did, it was like fireworks.

"Okay, you've got your beginning, middle, and end. You've got the character's wants and needs. Plot twists." Reece twirled a pen between his fingers before tapping it on his head. "Now we're going to move on to the next steps."

"Oh?" I looked down at my notes. "What's that?"

"Writing routine," he said. I quickly looked at him. "Set a goal of what to write—daily, every few days, or weekly."

Goals. He was right. I needed to put all of this into story form. Especially if I wanted to enter this contest, which was in a month; a weekly goal or routine wouldn't work. I needed to write daily to meet this.

Looking down at my phone, I nodded. "Daily goals," I said. "The last day to enter the contest is the 31st, so this needs to happen." I looked back at him. "I need this."

He bit his lip, nodded, and gently slapped the table. "That's all you need. The motivation to do it. You'll get it, but if you get stuck," he slowly leaned back in his seat and slid his hands forward on his head, "you can call me."

The fact that he was just a call away made me happy. In such a short time, he got me further with this story that'd been circulating in my head for months, all because he asked me the important question that I never asked myself:

"What's stopping you?"

"I will." I wasn't going to turn down the opportunity. "And once I have more, you can read it."

He laughed. "Oh, you know I want to. Keep me updated."

I planned on it. Now that I had his number, I wanted to text him all the time, late at night, in pointless conversations like other people would. And I was sure I'd need his input—stuck on chapters, confused by my plot. I knew Reece would help me.

He cocked his head toward the door. "Think we should head out before Dolores comes knocking again?"

It had been a while. "You're right." I bit my lip and stood, grabbing the few usable, readable sheets and pushed them into my bag. "Then I should get home to write."

"You should." Reece stood and came close. With him directly in front of me, his shoes practically touched mine. "And when you get halfway in your story, would you let me take you to dinner?"

My jaw dropped as I giggled. I wasn't sure where it came from, but I couldn't help it. My cheeks burned. I was giddy. He was asking me out to dinner. Not tea at the diner or time here at the library. Dinner. How could I say no? And where would we go?

"I accept." Clutching my bag's strap, I leaned back and smiled. "You have my number."

He snorted and smirked. "I know I do."

***

I'd never written so much before in my life. After days with Reece, I took all the notes and plot ideas we compiled and managed to put them together and make sense of them. My characters had their wants and needs, and I knew exactly where my climax would be.

But the week after I last saw him, I reached chapter eleven. I wasn't sure if I had made it halfway, but twelve thousand words was a good place to stop. My characters had reached the cyborg facility for the first time and managed to take an hour for themselves; a much-needed break. I deserved one, too, didn't I? And I knew who could help me with it.