Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 138072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
“And you want me to do it?”
“Please?” She pokes her bottom lip out. “I wouldn’t ask, but it’s important!”
“Okay.”
“Breeze-Con is that weekend, and they’re having this big thing for the tenth anniversary of Ghosted.”
“Okay.”
“And I know it probably sounds silly to you but—”
“I said okay. Go. Have fun.”
“You mean it?”
“Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”
She lets out a squeal and hugs me. “Thank you, Kennedy! Oh my god, you’re the best!”
“You’re welcome,” I say, prying her off. “I’m gonna get back to, you know, stuff.”
I nod toward the stockroom.
Her eyes narrow. “What are you really doing?”
“Bye, Bethany.”
I slip back in the room, slamming the door and leaning up against it.
Humor tinges every syllable of Jonathan’s words as he says, “She sounds like you back in high school. How scary could she be?”
Rolling my eyes, I feel along the wall beside me, flicking up the light switch. It doesn’t make it very bright, but I can see him propped up against a crate, a smirk on his lips.
“She writes fanfic,” I tell him. “The self-insert kind.”
His smile only grows.
“I’m not taking about Breezeo. Oh no, I’m talking Johnny Cunning fanfic. Erotica.”
The first flicker of concern shows on his eyes, but he still smiles. “So did you.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s completely different.”
“Still, she’s just a girl with fantasies,” he says. “Nothing to hide from.”
“True, but do you really think she’ll keep it to herself? Come on, her idol shows up where she works? The only way it could ever be more fic-come-true is if we were working in a coffee shop here. Before you even made it out the door, it would be all over social media. But I mean, unless that’s what you want…”
He shakes his head.
Didn’t think so.
It grows quiet for a moment before he says, “Kale.”
“Kale?”
“That’s why I’m here. I needed to grab kale.”
“Oh.”
That’s all I say.
It grows quiet again.
Awkward.
There are no windows in here, making the room feel impossibly small. Just him and I, confined together after all this time, breathing the same air, the room filled to the brim with strained silence. So much to say, but no words strong enough to clear the air between us.
“I wish shit wasn’t so weird,” he says eventually. “I wish you weren’t so distant.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when people break up.”
“I know, I just wish there was a way we could…”
“Could what?”
He doesn’t answer right away, looking away from me like he’s struggling to find a way to explain. Forget? Move on? Start over?
“Be,” he says. “I wish we could just be.”
For such a talented actor, he wasn’t always good at expressing himself with me, but then again, I wasn't much better. Maybe that was why we worked so well. He spoke through the characters he played, and I… well, I used to create. The two of us always seemed to be on the same page until the day we just weren’t anymore, and there was no way to get back to that place once we struggled so much to communicate.
But for a time, we just… were.
It’s the most comforting feeling in the world.
When you lose it, though, it’s the most confusing. It’s like losing a piece of your soul.
“I’m sorry,” he says, glancing at me again.
“How many times are you going to apologize?”
“As many as it takes until you believe me.”
“I do,” I say. “I believe you.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, I do.”
He stares at me when I say that. He doesn’t respond, but I can tell he’s holding back some reaction.
“Anyway, we should get you out of here before you get spotted,” I say, pushing away from the door. “I can grab your kale for you.”
I turn to leave but he stops me, grabbing my arm as he stands up from the crate. I tense, letting out a shuddering exhale when he pulls me to him. It’s just a brief moment as he holds me there, a breath away, so close that if I stood on my tiptoes, I could taste his lips if I wanted to.
I do.
Or at least some part of me, deep down, does, a stirring in my gut that almost spurs me on. The moment he touches me, it’s like I’m drunk. But the moment is over just like that when he says, “I also need milk.”
His voice, those words—they sober me up. “Milk.”
“Yes,” he says, letting go of my arm. “If you don’t mind.”
“Uh, sure, no problem.”
I walk out, and he follows, diverting halfway through the store to head for the exit while I grab his stuff. I don’t hear any frantic screams, so I assume he made it out.
Bethany lingers at her register, not paying attention to any of her surroundings, flipping through the latest edition of Hollywood Chronicles.
“Anything interesting?” I ask, setting the kale and the milk on the conveyer belt.
Bethany sighs, tossing the tabloid aside. “Not really. I swear it’s like Johnny Cunning vanished into thin air. Nobody has seen him anywhere.”