Page 97 of Rewriting the Story

“Of course I did.” She smiles behind the camera. “I’m really proud of you, Henry. You were meant to be an author.”

“Thank you, Amelia. That means a lot,” I say as I stare at the book on my desk next to my laptop. I’ve written plenty of manuscripts, but this one will always be special to me. Not only was it the one that landed me the deal with my publisher, but it was the book I threw part of my soul into. As I skim the pages, I’m hit with a wave of emotions.

My third book is slated to come out next year. I have lines of people excited to meet me. My life is what I always wanted it to be, and here’s Amelia, pointing out my books on the shelf of this bookstore, forcing me to take a picture with it.

“Are you all done meeting readers?” she asks, breaking me out of my haze.

“Yeah, I’m all set,” I say as we head for the checkout counter. “What do you have in that basket of yours?”

“Just a few recommendations from the girls and Grant. I missed a few books while I was gone, and they gave me a few of the top ones they still rave about. I figured I’d catch up. I have a lot of time on my hands since I’m unemployed.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” I say, my voice fading a bit as she checks out. I feel a bit out of place, unsure of what to do with my hands. Does she want to talk? Or is something else on her mind?

“Thank you,” she says as we head for the door. As soon as we step outside, the cold Virginia air hits us both at the same time. “I don’t mean for this to sound so forward, but did you maybe want to come back to my place for some hot chocolate?”

My eyebrows shoot up, and before I can stop myself, I nod.

“Trust me, I would have offered to go out to some sort of coffee shop or something, but I assume they’re all closed.”

“It’s okay, Ames,” I say as I look around. The parking lot is fairly empty, but as she starts for her car, I grab the bag from her hands and escort her. “I’ll follow you?” I say as I grab the top of her car door, handing her the tote bag.

“Sounds good.” She smiles at me. “I’ll try not to drive too fast.”

“Mhm, I bet,” I say as I shut her door, a memory of Ames driving back in college popping into my head.

As I get back into my car, I let myself remember all of it. We had left the grocery store one night, and she had her windows rolled down, music blasting how it always was, and then we heard sirens behind us.

Ames got pulled over. The cop gave her a ticket for driving fifteen over the speed limit in a school zone. I never let her forget it, and even Paige and Oliver brought it up the entire semester.

Lately, I’ve been letting myself remember all the things I tried to push out, and while the ache still exists, Amelia has really surprised me.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m pulling into what I assume is her complex. We haven't really talked much, besides updating one another on our days. Hers are mostly filled with applying to jobs. Mine are usually filled with writing or admin tasks. Even so, it’s nice having her take an interest and be consistent with reaching out to me.

I’ve been leaving that up to her. I wasn't lying when I said I wanted to stop chasing her, and every time we’ve talked, it’s been because she has wanted to, her always reaching out first.

But I’m still cautious. Sure, she can do this for a few weeks, but I need to see the longevity in her showing up and proving she’s not going to run again. Until I’m sure of that, we’re going to keep doing whatever it is we’re doing now.

I follow her to her place, watching her turn the key in her lock before she opens the door to a place that screams Amelia. Photo frames with her favorite lyrics line the walls of her living room, all her furniture a different shade of blue that reminds me of the ocean. Most of her bookshelves seem to be out here, and I even see some National Geographic magazines on an entire shelf. I wonder if those are just her favorite issues, or if those are the ones she worked on in England. I’m about to ask her about it, but she beats me to the punch.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she says as I stroll around her place. “The couch is brand new, along with half the other furniture.”

“It’s all new?” I swing my head around to her in the kitchen, where she’s prepping the hot chocolate.

“When I sold my place in England, I sold it with all my furniture. I got more money for it being furnished, but I had to get out of there.” She scoffs. “It seems I have a track record.”

“Had,” I tell her. “Youhadone.”

“Right.” She grabs her necklace as she pours hot chocolate into mugs for us. “Thank you for giving it back to me.”

I don’t ask for context; I know what she’s referring to.

“It was the right thing to do,” I say as I head over to her small counter, leaning on my forearms as I look at her. “It will never belong to anyone else but you.”

She stirs my mug before handing it to me, leading me over to her couch. I take a sip, thankful to have something to hold while we talk.

“So, why did you really invite me over, Mills?” I ask, wondering if another shoe is going to drop kick me any second.

“Well, I wanted you to see how serious I am about staying here. Not only do I have a job interview next week, but I have a new place. This is my fresh start, Henry, and I’m not going to fuck this one up.”

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