Page 38 of It Couldn't Be You
“You used to write about the thoughts in your head and your little musings before you wrote about all those wild things you see and do. Might I remind you of your angsty high school writing?” I said. “Or your angsty college writing, for that matter?”
He laughed. “I know, I know. Maybe I’ll pitch some couch writing. I can’t live off royalties forever.”
“You could write a piece about the healing elixir in good soft baked cookies?” I offered, stealing one from the box.
He pulled the box of cookies close to his chest protectively. “Or how everyone steals from the sick.”
“Poor injured, Gabe.”
He cleared his throat. “Thanks for coming and seeing me. Katie’s not even over here. I’m not just an add-on to a Katie visit. I have to say I feel honored.”
“You dork.” I gave him a little shove.
“You steal my cookiesandhit me?”
Linda walked over to us in the living room with a cheesy grin. “I haven’t seen you two like this in a couple of years. It’s doing my heart good to hear your little chatter in here.” Then, as awkwardly as only a mom can be, she added, “Gabe needs some cheering up, Emma, so come over more. I know you can work your Emma magic on him.”
“I just have to break my femur to get Emma to come see me,” Gabriel said, his mouth curving into a grin.
“A broken femur is the only thing that gets you to stay in the same town as me,” I retorted.
Linda broke into a laugh at my last remark while she walked out of the room. Gabriel and I were both quiet for a minute, exchanging glances that I couldn’t quite define.
“Well, I’m here for a few months at least. If I have another surgery, maybe even longer,” he said. “So, am I gonna see you now that we’re in the same town?”
“Sure,” I said casually. “I just don’t promise to always have cookies and books every time.”
My heart raced in anticipation. Gabriel was staying put. He hadn’t been in the same city as me for longer than a holiday since we were two awkward high schoolers.
Thirteen
Gabe
Help, I ran out of cookies.
Gabe
My healing elixir is gone.
Gabe
My one source of joy.
Gabe
ps it was Katie who ate the last one.
Alot of my Coffee & Commas shifts began at 6 a.m. We had many early-rising customers, so we would get there and make sure we had warm coffee and fresh baked goods ready for them. This shop was my warm, glowing haven in the dark early mornings. Katie would be humming along to our ever-growing playlist as we ran the little shop.
Around late morning, things would begin to slow down, and I had time to mess around a little. I was stationed at the front desk, so sometimes I would pull out my laptop and fill out a few applications or browse job postings.
But during downtime, I often found myself writing pretend articles about places I’d been or takes on different things happening around the world as if I couldn’t quite turn off the writer-on-assignment part of my mind. I’d even taken to crafting an outline for a book I’d been working on in the back of my mind for years. I had all this extra creative time, making my mind run wild with ideas.
“What’cha working on?” Katie asked, leaning on her elbows at the coffee bar where my laptop was open before me.
“I was taking a minute to put a few touches on a little piece I was writing,” I said.
“A freelance piece?” she asked.
