imagining my world different than it was.” I noticed the concern in her gaze, so I clarified. “Not because it was bad. I wasn’t trying to escape my reality. I simply wondered what it would be like in different scenarios.”
“So, when you say teenager … I assume you’d hit puberty?” Her smile lit up her eyes.
“Because of the sex?” I asked.
Presley nodded.
“I didn’t always write about sex.”
“But you’re so good at it.”
I could tell by the way her eyes widened that she hadn’t meant to say that. I found it adorable.
“You think?”
“Are you fishing for compliments, Chapter One?” she teased.
“Maybe.”
“Well, since I only have a brief experience on how your sex scenes compare to the real deal…”
“We can certainly fix that,” I told her quickly.
“I’m sure we can.”
I suddenly wanted to take her back to my place and never let her leave.
She stared at me, and I could sense she wanted to ask a question, something she obviously didn’t feel comfortable with. “What is it?”
Presley shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s something.” I knew it was.
“Okay, fine.” Presley wrapped both hands around her cup and stared intently at the table.
I waited, curious.
“Do you really believe in happily ever after?” Her eyes lifted to mine. “I mean, everything you write has this rapid acceleration to the happy ending, and the result is everything tied up in a pretty little bow. Do you really believe in that?”
That was a question I’d never received before, and I wasn’t sure she was asking me, Jacob Wild, the author. I think she wanted to know whether or not I personally believed in it.
“I’ve never really thought about it,” I lied. I’d thought about it plenty. And no, I didn’t necessarily believe in happily ever after, but I didn’t discount it, either. Just because I hadn’t experienced it didn’t mean it couldn’t happen.
“You said your mom was married nine times. Doesn’t that seem weird? Yet you write about love and happiness.”
“Nothing’s perfect,” I told her.
“In your books it is.”
“That’s fiction, Presley.” I wasn’t sure where she was going with this.
“My point exactly,” she said with a huff.
I cocked my head to the side and studied her. “Is something wrong?”
Presley shook her head. “No. Sorry. Just ignore me.”
I reached out and touched her hand. “I don’t want to ignore you.” Her eyes met mine. “Have you ever been in love?”
That cute crease in her forehead returned. “No. And I’ve never thought I was.”
Her response was too quick for me to believe her. Someone had hurt this girl. Whether she’d thought it was love or not, her heart had been broken. “Not ever?”
“No.”
She seemed quite adamant about that, so I didn’t push. “Okay.”
“Have you?”
I didn’t even have to think about that. “Yeah. Once.”
Presley frowned and I knew that wasn’t the answer she’d expected.
“Who was she?”
I honestly didn’t want to get into this. “Just a girl I once dated.”
“But you’re obviously not in love now, right?”
“No. That was a long time ago.”
“And no happily ever after.” It wasn’t a question.
I watched her for a minute, rehashing this conversation in my head. I didn’t know what had happened between last night and today that made her veer off on this, but I was curious as to why she was worried about it. “That doesn’t mean it’s not possible. You don’t think so?”
“No,” she said, her admission sounding oddly final.
I had nothing to say to that. It wasn’t like I wanted to sit here and convince her otherwise. I liked this girl, but I didn’t know what would happen tomorrow or the next day. Did I want to see more of her? Absolutely. Was that simply because I was physically attracted to her? I didn’t think so, but I couldn’t be sure.
Knowing we would only be talking in circles, I decided to change the subject when she started looking around the coffee shop, appearing uncomfortable.
“So what do you do on Fridays?” I asked.
“Sleep, then I go to the shop.”
“But you’re not today?”
Presley shrugged.
I glanced down at the pink sketchbook. “Because of the lack of inspiration?”
“Something like that.”
“Can I look?” I asked, nodding down at the book.
Presley slid the sketchbook over, surprising me. While she picked up her coffee, I opened the book, smiling when I saw the tic-tac-toe boards that covered several pages, including the inside of the front cover. I kept flipping, pausing to stare at the picture she’d drawn of my character. It really was exactly how I’d envisioned her.
I flipped to the next page and stopped.
“Shit,” Presley muttered, trying