men I read and write about. But when that’s the world I spend my days in, it’s easy to lose sight.
Once the girls wake up, the morning moves at lightning speed, as it always does. By the time I drop them off at school and get back home, Landon is already gone. I shoot him a quick text to wish him luck before my phone rings with an incoming call from my editor.
“I read the chapters you sent me, and I love the direction you’re moving in. An email is being sent with the deadlines. You need to look over it, insert your electronic signature, and send it back by the end of today.”
“Thanks, Tabitha. I’ll go check my email now.”
I give the dates a quick lookover, and although the deadlines are hard and fast, I shouldn’t have any problems meeting the requirements. I sign the form and email it back. I then take a chunk of time to talk to Brooke before opening up my manuscript and getting to work.
Finding my groove comes easily today. Three hours have passed, and I’ve already hit twenty-five hundred words, which for me is above my average word count for an entire day. I’m in the pocket, actuality has dissolved into a faraway shadow, and I’m immersed in a story so rich and fleshed out that it becomes my reality. I laugh and cry as my fingers skitter across the keys, experiencing every emotion my characters do. But as deep in as I am, I can easily be yanked out with the slightest distraction, and right now, that’s coming from the chime on my cell phone from an incoming text.
I force out another paragraph before grabbing my phone.
Alec: Thinking about you.
His flirtatious words cause something inside me to stir—a warmth I’m not used to feeling, but it intoxicates. I can’t remember the last time anyone has flirted with me. I’m smiling as I quickly save the progress on my manuscript. I close the top and slide it off my lap, returning to my phone with a slight enthusiasm.
Me: Did you get a new phone?
Alec: I did. But it’s missing one important thing.
Me: And what’s that?
Alec: A photo of you. We’ve been talking for a week now, and I still have no clue what you look like. With the amount of information we’ve shared with each other, I wouldn’t assume us strangers anymore.
Me: I went for a run this morning and have yet to take a shower. I look like shit.
Alec: So you’re concerned about what I might think about you?
His words imply that I want to look good for him, and when I think about it for a moment, he’s right. Why do I care? I shouldn’t, and I shouldn’t lead him to believe that I do. I open the camera on my phone, hold out my arm, and snap a shot of me smiling. I don’t feel as awkward about sending him my photo as I did earlier this week. Even though we’ve only been talking for a short time, some of our conversations have run deep. When I text him the photo, I can’t help but scrutinize it—my messy bun, my every flaw free from the camouflage of makeup.
Alec: Who’s catfishing who now?
Me: Please. If I wanted to catfish you, I wouldn’t have sent you that messy picture.
Alec: Messy wouldn’t be the word I would use to describe you.
Me: What word would you use then?
Alec: Beautiful.
His single word elicits a smile, and I respond teasingly.
Me: I think your old age is impairing your vision, but thank you anyway.
Being nearly ten years older than me when Landon is only two years older is noticeable. Alec wears his age in a way I find extremely attractive. It’s not only etched in his face and the gray in his hair, it’s also in the way he talks and his life experiences he’s shared with me. With Landon, we’re equals, discovering life together, teaching each other. But when I think of Alec, the dynamics are different. He doesn’t feel like my peer, like my equal. There’s a divide: I’m young and less ripe, and he’s the opposite. He’s the teacher and I’m the student. This imbalance appeals to me and has a way of making me feel little next to him. As if I could stand still and know he would lead the way because he’s more experienced—seemingly paternal in a way.