“Just open it.” He shut the door, then came up beside her, half sitting on the desk to face her.
“It’s not my birthday.” She tugged one flap open.
“No, but it’s the start of a new era for you.”
She opened the next flap, and again, peering down into the wide box as it opened.
Then she gasped, her chest constricting at what she found.
“Jameson,” she whispered.
“Do you like it?” he asked with a grin.
She ran her fingers lightly over the cool metal casing. “It’s…” Amazing. Wonderful. Thoughtful. Too much.
“I thought maybe you could write down some of those stories you’re always thinking up inside that beautiful brain of yours.”
A joyful laugh burst from her throat, and she flung herself into his arms, holding him tight. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”
He’d bought her a typewriter.
Chapter Twenty-One
Georgia
Jameson,
I miss you. How long has it been since we’ve written letters? Months? Even living in the same house, your flight schedule and my watches have us missing each other by minutes. It’s the sweetest form of torture, sleeping next to your pillow, my head filled with your scent, knowing you’re flying in the skies above me. I pray that you’re safe, that you’re reading this while I’m already at work, smiling as you fall asleep next to my pillow with my scent, wishing you were holding me. Sleep well, my love, and maybe I’ll make it home this afternoon before you’re due on the flight line. I love you.
Scarlett
“You’re sure?” Helen asked, her tone efficient as always. Gran’s agent had always left minimal room for nonsense, which was why Gran had chosen her after the first had passed away twenty years into her career.
“Absolutely,” I assured her, switching the phone to my other hand and crossing into the entry way. “I already told him when he called a couple of weeks ago, but Damian has all the Scarlett Stanton rights he’s going to get. And you know how Gran felt about movies. I don’t care what he’s offering: the answer is no.”
She chuckled. “I sure do. Okay, then, no manuscript for Ellsworth Productions.”
My heart ached at the mention of the company I’d helped build, which only made me that much more determined not to give my ex another single thing.
“Thank you.” I headed for the giant bowl of candy on the entry table and refilled it with a fresh stock of Snickers bars.
“Of course,” Helen said. “And honestly, I’m looking forward to telling him to stick it. I think I’ll give him a call when we’re done. How is that manuscript coming, anyway?”
I paused at the foyer mirror, adjusting my witch hat while taking in the added bonus of seeing Noah in the reflection, typing at Gran’s desk behind me. Lord, that man even made writing look sexy. His shirtsleeves were pushed up his forearms, and his brow was furrowed in concentration as his fingers flew over his keyboard.
“Georgia?” Helen prompted.
“It’s coming.” Which was more than I could say for me, since I’d dutifully kept my hands off the writer-in-residence. There wasn’t a day I didn’t think about that almost-kiss or contemplate climbing into his lap for a do-over so I could follow through with at least one of the daydreams I’d had about his mouth on mine. The doorbell rang for the millionth time that evening. “Gotta run, Helen; it’s a madhouse around here tonight.”
“Happy Halloween!”
We hung up, and I opened the front door, offering the kids a wide smile. Halloween was the best. For one night, you could be whomever you wanted—whatever you wanted. Witches, Ghostbusters, princesses, astronauts, the Black Knight from Monty Python, nothing was off the table.
“Trick or treat!” two kids said in unison, their parents bundled up behind them. Halloween snowstorms happened in Poplar Grove more often than not.
“What do we have here?” I asked, dropping to their eye level. “A firefighter and a…” Oh God help me, I was clueless. What was that costume?
“Raven!” the boy answered enthusiastically, muffled a bit by the scarf awkwardly wedged into his costume.
“Right!” I plunked a full-size Snickers bar into each bag.
“Whoa, nice Fortnite skin!” Noah said behind me, his voice alone sending a thrill down my spine. Of course he knew.
“Thanks!” The boy waved.
“Thank you!” his sister added.
The two raced back to their parents and started the walk down the drive, leaving footprints in the fresh inch of fallen snow.
“I didn’t think you’d get so many trick-or-treaters, since you’re so far out of town.” Noah moved back so I could close the door.
“Gran always gave out full-size bars. Earned her quite the crowd.” I put the candy on the table and turned to face him. “How’s it going in there?”
“Finished for the day.” He tilted the brim of my hat upward, drawing my eyes to meet his. “How about you? Feel like a badass after closing on the studio today? Because you are.”
“Maybe a little.” I couldn’t help but smile. It was really happening. “Plus, I got both furnaces and the annealing oven ordered. Which ending are you working on?” I asked, willing my body not to heat, my cheeks not to flush. Not that it mattered—the look in those deep brown eyes told me Noah Morelli was more than aware of the effect he had on me. I recognized the same need in him, from the scalding hot gazes to the innocent touches that only lasted long enough to singe my skin and leave me craving more.
“Mine,” he answered with a shameless grin.
“Hmmm.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll write your sobfest next.”
“Poignant,” I reminded him.
“Whatever you want to call it. I’ll win you over in the end.” Oh yeah, that was a definite smirk.
“We’ll see.” After all these weeks, it was still my go-to answer, even though I was more certain than ever about the ending I’d pushed for. And as for him winning me over in real life? Okay, he had me there.
He glanced around the entry, then stepped into the sitting room.
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
“It just occurred to me. I’ve never seen the phonograph.”
“You wouldn’t,” I said with a shrug. “Gran said it broke or something back in the late fifties.”