Mr. Write Read online

  Carrie lifts her eyes, and an adorable blush spreads from cheek to cheek. I don’t see the point in playing coy as I grin. There’s nothing wrong with a little harmless flirting. And besides, it seems only fair that she find me attractive because she is the most stunning woman I have ever seen.

  “Breakfast sounds good,” she says, breaking the silence.

  “Excellent. I’m just going to take a shower. I won’t be long.” I walk toward my bag, deciding to take it with me into the bathroom. Even though I’ve made peace with the fact we’re only friends, that doesn’t mean I have to look like a hobo.

  “When are you flying back home?”

  Her question has me reaching for my cell off the desk. Scrolling through my texts and emails, I see that Nick has yet to reply. “I have no idea. I’m waiting on my agent. If I don’t hear from him today, I’ll book the first flight I can get. How about you?”

  She swallows and nervously hunts through her overnight bag. Finding a pair of white socks, she sits on the edge of the bed to slip them on. “I don’t know. I thought I’d at least survive until the new year at the lake house and deal with my decision then.”

  Thinking back to our conversation yesterday, I say, “Ah, you’re currently homeless, aren’t you?”

  “Yup,” she replies, popping the P. She laces up her sneaker with a sigh. “So I guess I’m in no real hurry to return to Seattle.” There is a bite to her tone which has me wondering why.

  Her comment gives me an idea, but I decide to think on it before I blurt it out.

  Gathering my belongings, I make my way into the bathroom, sampling the air inside because remnants of Carrie’s perfume wafts through the air. I undress as I wait for the shower to heat; my mind focused on what Carrie said.

  The moment I step under the shower spray, my knotted muscles unwind, and my idea begins to take shape. Carrie is in no hurry to get back to Seattle and, honestly, neither am I. Maybe Seattle and the memories that come with it have been the issue these past six months.

  I can’t help but associate the city with Liz, so maybe it’s time for a change of scenery.

  I can write whenever, wherever, and people watching can be done from any place in the world. Both Carrie and I need a break from Seattle, and it seems fitting to start this new book, one completely out of my comfort zone, in a place where everyone is a new face.

  The more I think about it, the more sense it seems to make.

  Once I’m scrubbed clean, I turn off the faucets, excited to venture on this journey. I just hope Carrie wants to come along for the ride. Wiping down the mist from the mirror, I peer at my reflection. I really need to shave. My stubble is thick, but as I rub a hand over it, I decide to leave it.

  Opening my bag, I shove aside the shirts and ties and opt for a pair of dark denim, a fitted gray crewneck sweater, and a black blazer. I want smart casual because I have no idea where the day will take us.

  Once I’ve brushed my teeth, I spray on my favorite cologne but don’t bother with any hair products. I run my fingers through it, allowing the longer strands to fall naturally. Satisfied, I zip my bag and exit the bathroom.

  Carrie is where I left her, but she’s donned her knitted beanie and a scarf. When she looks up from her phone, her mouth parts as she visibly examines me from head to toe. I’m glad I went with the blazer.

  Tossing my bag into the corner of the room, I hunt for my boots, attempting to ignore Carrie. I’m trying to be good, but holy shite, she’s testing my patience with her ogling. “When do you start back at school?” I casually ask as I take a seat and put on my socks.

  She wrestles with how to reply before answering, “Not until after the new year. But I don’t even know if I’ll go back.”

  This is news to me. I’m about to ask why that is, but she beats me to the punch.

  “Why?”

  Always so inquisitive. One of the many things I like about her.

  Tying the laces on my boots, I smile. “I wanted to run something by you, but how about we grab some coffee first?”

  Once both my boots are tied, I risk a look her way, smothering the urge to reach out and brush the hair from her cheek. My memory has done a poor job remembering her because each time I see her, it’s like the first time.

  She licks her lips, then nods. She clearly trusts me, which just ticks another box. “Okay, sounds good. Can I leave my bag?”

  “Yes, of course. I’ve booked the room for two nights as I wasn’t sure when I would be leaving.”

  We both stand, appearing to appreciate the space between us. I need caffeine before I can deal with this constant longing.

  We exit the room and make our way toward the elevators. The Christmas carol playing softly over the speaker reminds me that today is Christmas Day. The doors open, and I’m thankful a family is already inside because I don’t trust myself in a confined space alone with Carrie.

  The lobby is lit up with Christmas cheer and jovial faces, and although this time of the year is a reminder of the beginning of the end, being with Carrie seems to take some of the doom and gloom away.

  The moment we step out of the revolving doors, the bitter wind and icy temperatures have us both hurrying along the sidewalk, eager to find a warm place and a hot cup of coffee. We stumble upon a vintage looking diner just down the block.

  It’s crowded, but the kind waitress cleans a table, then waves us over. Carrie unwinds her scarf and slips off her beanie. She shakes out her hair, before sliding into the booth. I remember to swallow and follow suit across from her.

  The waitress pours us each coffee, then walks away to allow us time to read over the menu.

  Carrie reaches for the folded menu, smacking her lips when she sees the stack of pancakes the lady at the next table hacks into. Reaching for my coffee, I don’t bother with creamer or sugar and take a sip.

  Carrie watches me, a mischievous smile flickering across her lips. “Okay, so now that you’ve had your coffee, what did you want to run by me?”

  I smile behind my white porcelain cup, amused by her eagerness.

  Placing the cup onto the saucer, I lean back in my seat and watch her closely. If she says no to what I’m proposing, I think I might cry. “If you could go to any place in the world, right now, where would it be?”

  She arches a brow, clearly not expecting my question.

  She mulls over her response as she reaches for a sugar packet and begins to flick a corner. “Paris,” she finally reveals, and I’m unable to hide my approval of her reply.

  She really couldn’t have chosen a better place. The City of Love. If France doesn’t inspire me to write a kick arse book, then I may as well give up now.

  Leaning forward, I place my forearms along the tabletop and pin her with my most serious look. “Carrie…”

  “Jayden…” she counters, mimicking my pose. It’s the ultimate standoff. I only hope I don’t lose.

  The color of her eyes is electric, drawing me into a hypnotic emerald bubble. Here’s to hoping that bubble isn’t about to burst. “Let’s go to Paris.”

  Kudos to her for not flinching. “Now?”

  “Yes, right now.” I nod, my confidence building.

  She purses her lips in thought, which is far better than a fuck you. “What will we do in Paris?”

  “What won’t we do?” I reply, loving this playful banter. She may only be humoring me, but I’ll revel in make-believe for as long as I can.

  She slowly leans back in her seat, eyeing me closely. I know this is a big request, considering she hardly knows me, and under the circumstances of how we met, I wouldn’t blame her if she ran for the hills.

  Just as I’m about to play it off and pretend I was merely joking, she smiles. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” Pulling back, I wonder if I’m hearing things. “Okay as in yes, you’ll come?” I need clarification.

  “I don’t know what okay means in London, but yes, I’ll come,” she quips, her excitement contagious.

  “I left the
UK over sixteen years ago, but that’s beside the point…I can tell you all about that on the flight to Paris!” My voice raises an octave because I can’t believe she said yes.

  She giggles, covering her mouth, while I wonder what I did to deserve her. But a thought suddenly occurs to me, dousing my enthusiasm. “How quickly can you get your passport?” Mine is already packed; I wanted to be prepared in case I needed to flee the lake house for Canada in the dead of night.

  “I never leave home without it,” she replies, reaching for her coffee. “It’s a habit I’ve had since I was a kid. My family has been known to fly around the world at the last minute to snare the latest literary ‘rock star.”’

  “Really?” This is too good to be true.

  She tears open the sugar packet with a smirk. “For someone who is a supposed master of words, you sure as hell lack them at times.”

  I can’t stop the rumble from erupting because she is absolutely right.

  This is so spontaneous, so unlike me, which is exactly why I reach for my cell from my inner breast pocket and dial Nick. He answers on the fifth ring.

  “Ho, ho, ho! Did Santa empty his sack?”

  I roll my eyes at his not so subtle innuendo. “You are one sick fuck,” I say with nothing but love.

  “And don’t forget agent extraordinaire. How’s Daisy? Was she naughty or nice? Please say naughty.” I can just see him winking in an exaggerated manner as he nudges me in the ribs.

  “Correction. You are the world’s worst agent. If you actually looked at your phone instead of playing Santa so every lass could sit on your lap, you’d have seen that I left there last night, intent on never returning.”

  “What?”

  Carrie bites her top lip to stifle her laughter.

  “Axle is a fucking twat, and Daisy is insane. Between the two of them, I would have become an alcoholic by the new year.” I mouth a sorry to Carrie as I did just insult her family, but she waves me off. It appears she agrees.

  “Jay…you can’t just do that.”

  “I did just do that, and now, it’s time to move on. I’m going to Paris.”

  “Sweet baby Jesus. You’re killing my hard-on.”

  I turn my lip up, suddenly feeling the need to burn the phone, especially when I hear a nameless woman call out to “Nicky” for a quickie. “Look, all you need to know is that I’ll be in Paris. I don’t know how long for, but when I come back, I will have a manuscript that will kick your fucking arse. Oh, and by the way, email Gerry Williams. He is starting his own publishing house, and he wants me as his prized pig. Merry Christmas. Don’t say I never give you anything.”

  “What? Jay…” But I hang up before he has a chance to finish.

  Pocketing my cell, I watch Carrie’s eyes flash in animation. “You’re a man who knows what he wants.” Oh yes, I certainly do—starting with those plump lips.

  “Ready to order?” The waitress saves the day because after the past five minutes, adrenaline is coursing through me, and I might do something stupid like lean over this table and kiss the living fuck out of Carrie.

  I’m certain Carrie is privy to my thoughts, but she doesn’t say a word. She simply orders her breakfast.

  “When do we leave?”

  “Right after breakfast,” I reply, not seeing any reason to wait.

  We’re both packed and have our passports—what’s stopping us?

  “This is fucking crazy,” she says, shaking her head in humor.

  “Yes, it is.” I can’t keep the smile from my lips.

  As I reach for my coffee, I observe a dashing young man, no older than eight, take a seat at the table beside us. He looks positively debonair with his red bow tie and white suit. He places the pink glitter gift bag on the table and adjusts his bow tie as he confidently scans the room.

  Carrie also notices our very chic neighbor and watches him with an amused grin.

  When a blonde girl, similar in age to our Casanova, strolls over wearing a sparkly pink dress and a silver tiara, I know that, without a doubt, she’s his date. She holds a small box wrapped in red and green paper and topped with a gold bow.

  “Merry Christmas, Max,” she says, catching him unaware. He quickly stands and presents her his hand. They shake while I hide my broad smile behind my hand.

  “Merry Christmas, Aubrey,” Max the Casanova replies. “Here.” He reaches for the bag, offering it to her. “I picked it out myself.”

  “Thank you. This is for you.” She hands him the wrapped box. “My mom helped me pick it out.” Mention of her mother has Aubrey glancing over her shoulder, waving her little fingers to two women who sit huddled in a booth, smothering their grins behind their cupped palms.

  Audrey unwraps her gift first— a Disney princess snow globe. She squeals, shaking it vigorously, then watches as the white speckles fall.

  Max’s gift, a science kit featuring a microscope, is also a hit.

  As they take their seats, Max very sensibly tucks his white napkin into the collar of his shirt. Audrey reaches for the menu, her innocent blue eyes scanning over the contents. They talk about what gifts they got for Christmas and how their teacher, Mrs. Ironbark, falls asleep in class. They giggle, and the conversation is never stilted because this is a connection of the purest form.

  I watch on in awe, wondering if these two youngsters will ever tire of one another or if they’ll grow apart. What happens in ten years’ time when both go off to college? Will they remember this particular Christmas and regard it as a cherished memory of their first crush?

  Watching them inspires me, and I suddenly wish I had my laptop.

  I wanted love from the very beginning, and this right here is exactly that. As the waitress takes their orders, I can’t help but feel a melancholy sink low. Liz blamed her infidelity on the fact she couldn’t get pregnant, and after seeing Max and Audrey, I can’t help but wonder what our offspring would have looked like.

  The two mothers who watch their children from afar radiate something I quite possibly may never experience. There is no doubt these mothers would protect their kin unconditionally because that’s what good parents do. They pave the path for their offspring, wanting nothing but to protect, teach, and love.

  Love.

  At this moment, it becomes clear that love isn’t always what you see because most times, it’s the unseen, the insignificant moments that embody the simplicity of what love means. Max and Audrey’s paths may sever, but in this split second, no one else matters but them. And that’s what love is.

  Love is whatever the fuck you want it to be. It doesn’t have any rules. No right or wrong. It’s belonging to the moment. It’s belonging to yourself.

  Carrie is watching me closely because she understands the significance of this. This is what I wanted—to experience love in its many forms.

  When we lock eyes, an epiphany hits. Those who love are brave warriors because nothing is more terrifying than putting your heart on the line. But when you meet your match—the breath to your soul—you can conquer the world.

  So…watch out, world. We’re coming.

  I’ll give it to Nick.

  Although I most likely took about ten years off his life and killed his hard-on, he came through when I needed him to. Within thirty minutes of informing him of my decision to go to Paris, he emailed me my flight and hotel details.

  Kudos to him for not asking questions when I requested he book another ticket for one Carrie Bell. I don’t know how he managed to organize two tickets on such short notice, and on Christmas Day nonetheless, but at midday, we were headed for Paris.

  Thanks to the time difference, we arrive at eight in the morning, but neither of us can sleep. “Merci beaucoup,” Carrie says to the taxi driver as she pays for the ride.

  She insisted she pay for her plane ticket, but I wouldn’t have it. She is my guest, after all. We grab our bags and make our way to my favorite hotel in Paris—the Shangri-La Hotel. It is completely overpriced, but I figure when in Rome…or in ou
r case, Paris.

  The moment we step foot into the lobby, the open archways and beaming chandeliers remind me of when I was here last. It was to promote my book The Last Breath. Liz, of course, insisted we stay here, saying the views are unmatched, and she was right.

  Peering around now at the bright opulence and the grand staircase, I wonder if maybe I should have chosen another hotel.

  Carrie notices my apprehension, sparking my honesty. “The last time I stayed here was with my ex-wife. If that makes you feel uncomfortable at all, we can stay someplace else. I just wanted to be honest.”

  I’ve caught her off guard.

  She removes her black woolen gloves, appearing to mull over her response. Just when I’m about to suggest we stay somewhere else, she wraps her warm fingers around my wrist. A friendly gesture even though I wish it was something more. “No, I want to stay here. Let’s replace your memories with new ones.” She squeezes lightly, affirming her claim. “And besides, holy shit, this place is amazing.”

  A laugh escapes me.

  We make our way to the front desk, and when I pull out my wallet, Carrie slaps my hand away. “It’s on me.”

  I shake my head because this place costs a fortune. “Dove, your money is no good here.”

  The attendant, a gorgeous woman with silver gray hair and striking violet eyes, smiles when she hears Carrie and I arguing. “Bonjour. Bienvenue.”

  “Bonjour. Réservation pour Jayden Evans et Miss Carrie Bell,” I say, all but shoving Carrie out of the way as we race toward the counter.

  The lady nods as she types away at her computer.

  Carrie elbows me softly, blowing her hair from her cheeks. “At least let me pay for half.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I scoff, pulling out my Mastercard.

  The attendant lets out a low, “Hmm,” before reaching for her glasses. She continues typing, but it soon becomes apparent something is wrong. I’m thankful I’m fluent in French. “Désolé. Mais je ne peux trouver que votre reservation, monsieur.”

  “Vraiment?” I ask, confused. I’m about to explain to Carrie that the attendant has just said she can only find my reservation and not hers. Nick assured me via email that he booked two rooms.