It Started With A Book

Chapter 18

"I can show you some of my work. Here," Elliott swiped through phone pictures settling on the right one.

An image of a blue bicycle leaning beside a cobblestone wall overlooking a large vineyard was thrust in her direction.

"Beautiful," Brin told Elliott.

"Thank you. Eyes on the road."

"But you just said-- never mind."

"I kinda have a knack for it," Elliott let the screen fade to black, sliding it back into his bag. "It's therapeutic being able to create something from nothing."

"That's exactly how I feel when I write. I'd like to think Michelangelo did as well when he sculpted. And no, not the ninja turtle."

"Oh," he wiped the confusion off his tired features. "Seeing as I don't have my supplies to keep me occupied I was thinking you could..."

"Not a chance. We've been over this. If I wanted you to read my work, I would've given you the opportunity. Now drop it. Please."

"Dropped."

"Tell me more about your Watercolouring," Brin slid through traffic being careful with her maneuvers. "Seems interesting."

"You'd like to hear about it?"

"Eh. I have nothing better to do. Humour me."

Elliott eyed her with a smidge of disdain.

"I'm kidding! I'm kidding!" Brin said, not hiding behind a thin veil of expression. Behind her words was a hearty amount of amusement. "I'd love nothing more."

Elliott's demeanour lit up instantly. His ramblings as Brin described it were insanely cute. In the middle of a sentence he would stop, insert a side note then head back to the original thought. In doing this he would apologize for getting distracted which Brin found rather sad. After the fourth time, she grabbed his hand ceasing him immediately.

"Hey," she softly began. 'You don't have to apologize. I'm here to listen to all your excited glory, got it? When you're passionate about something it's an amazing thing. Don't let anyone tell you differently."

"You know exactly what to say at times, do you know that?"

"I'm a writer after all. It's what I do."

Huh.

That sounded strange yet so right coming from her lips. She repeated the sentence over in her head enjoying the sound. A writer.

In that moment it didn't matter if McMullen declined nor accepted her application. She was determined to write.

"Wow."

"Wow what?" Brin asked.

"Your confidence. I've never met a person with so much of it. It's actually admirable really. You walk through life not giving a damn what people think of you."

"I'm gonna stop you right there and let you in on a secret."

Elliott leaned in closer. "I'm all ears."

"I don't have much of that, though I'm working on it. I just make it look like I do. Ever heard of fake it till you make it?"

"Yes."

She tipped an imaginary hat, sending him one of her favourite smiles. "There you go."

___

The weather eased up, blending into pitch black with clouds remaining.

Stomachs churned with each mile, getting more relentless by the passing minutes.

"No more gas station food. Alright?" Elliott announced after they passed the seventh one. The nachos he ate hours before were out for vengeance.

"I didn't tell you to get the nachos," Brin said. "You should've got what I did-- a slushie. Though I'm starting regret that decision. There has to be a washroom somewhere."

"We're on the highway so unless..."

"Not using the washroom on the side of the road. What if," she whispered, "what if people see?"

"Who cares?"

"I do! I'm not using the washroom outside," she shot him a crude look.

"I'm not suggesting you do that. You didn't let me finish. If you weren't here I probably would no doubt. But since you are, exit at the next turn. Maybe there's one nearby."