on a technicality.
He seemed adamant that the romance in my story couldn’t happen in real life. So, if (when) he did fall in love with me, there was no way I would let him wiggle out of our deal by claiming I hadn’t kept to the script.
On the other hand, would he try and get off on a technicality? The Brooks I knew had integrity and I’d like to think he hadn’t changed. I mean, he had certainly displayed gentlemanly tendencies at the ball. But could that all have been an act? I didn’t think so, but then, who knows? It wasn’t like I’d expected him to dump me out of nowhere before graduation day.
Krista had agreed to let me take over her apartment for the evening, and, with a few adjustments, the scene was set. This was not totally surprising, as I had written the fictional scene with Krista’s place in mind for chapter two.
I checked my phone for the umpteenth time, almost hoping that Brooks had left a message to say he couldn’t make it. I was excited and nervous all at the same time. After all, this was more than just a fake date. This was my future career on the line. But the cell screen was blank, with no missed calls and no texts. The game was on.
I took a deep breath. Okay, it was five breaths, and finally time to put my plan into action. Not wanting to set Krista’s apartment on fire, or even have it smelling of smoke, I took the box of incense sticks from my bag and set them up on the windowsill, before carefully lighting each one. By the time I had lit the tenth one, the first was half burned. A big cloud of smoke was building, so I opened the window a crack, allowing the fragrant smoke to billow out into the evening air. It was exactly seven o’clock, which meant Brooks should be sauntering past down on the street at this precise moment.
Biting my bottom lip, I looked out the window, my belly bubbling with anticipation. When I spotted Brooks below, my stomach did a cartwheel and I smiled. There he was, looking up at the window, his hand over his eyes to shield him from the streetlights.
“Hello?” he asked, using a loud voice. “Are you okay? Ma’am, do you need help?”
That voice using those words from my novel sent shivers up my spine. I shook my head to clear the thoughts. I had to stick to the plan. I leaned out of the window, and felt the incense tickling my throat.
“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for asking. It’s only a little fire, I just need to . . .” I started to cough, the rest of the words lost as I spluttered and choked on the thick scent from a stick, which, multiplied times ten, was actually starting to make me feel sick.
In the book, the heroine actually sets fire to a pan on the stove, but the origin of the smoke didn’t matter to the interaction between the hero and the heroine. Plus, I doubt Krista would appreciate it if I started a real fire in her kitchen.
“Ma’am, would you like me to call the fire department?” he asked, sticking perfectly to the script.
I downed a glass of water and poked my head out of the window again. “No, really, it looks worse than it is.”
I stared at Brooks standing in the street, my heart thumping. Maybe the incense had some kind of hallucinogenic effect because he looked more handsome than I’d ever seen him, and exactly how I’d described the hero in the book. I clapped my hands over my mouth as it dawned on me that I had subconsciously based my hero on Brooks, long before I bumped into him again. I guess the saying is true that you never forget your first love.
Fanning the smoke with a towel, I waited for the next part of the chapter, and right on cue, Brooks’ head appeared above the windowsill, his nose wrinkling at the smell.
“W-what are you doing here?” I asked, putting my hand over my heart. “You didn’t need to climb all the way up the fire escape to rescue me. It’s dangerous. You could have fallen.”
He climbed in through the window and raked his fingers through his hair. “I couldn’t walk away from this fire, not when you’re trapped here.”
I swallowed hard, partly through nerves and partly because I could feel another