Page 102 of Catching Kyle
“Yes” I say. “Sounds heavenly.”
“If I don’t see you again,” Martha says as Llewellyn heads to the café. “You all have a wonderful Thanksgiving. And thank you for taking Silas in. It really means a lot to him.”
“You probably know my ma by now,” he says. “She’d take care of the whole world if she could.”
“That’s right,” Martha says. “You boys enjoy.”
“Alright,” Kyle says, a grin on his face. He seems so natural here.
I sit down at one of the café tables and take out my laptop.
“I’m gonna look around,” he says. “I’ll find something to read and join you.”
I nod to him and crack my computer open. As it’s booting up, I watch as Martha and Llewellyn giggle behind the café counter. Llewellyn says something I can’t hear, and Martha grins and kisses her on the cheek. Warmth tickles my chest.
I didn’t know such a place existed, in Mississippi of all places. It’s giving me inspiration to how we could be more inclusive to queer folks up at Ruckers. And to think that this is where Kyle considers home. For months, I’ve been afraid he’s too afraid to accept me. But being here makes me think he clearly does.
I start writing while Kyle checks out a book. I open up to a scene that has been giving me grief for days. I try to write every day, but in the past week I’ve only gotten a few words in. I just can’t seem to figure out the chemistry between the two gay magicians in my new work-in-progress. Is it grumpy-sunshine? Or second chance? Nothing feels right.
Our ciders are ready, and Kyle picks them on his stroll back. He hands me my drink.
“Thanks,” I say. I blow on my drink. “What did you get?”
“Cat Sebastian’s other mid-century book,” he says. “Silas had a note written by it that it was just as good as the baseball one.”
“Then it must be wonderful,” I say.
He nods and sets the book down. He’s laying back with the drink in his hand, his arms crossed, making his biceps, triceps, and chest bulge. The title of his book isWe Could Be So Good, and I can’t help but disagree. Kyle and Iaregood—it’s not a hypothetical. So why am I thinking about ending this at all?
“How’s the writing going?” he asks, taking a sip.
“It’s not,” I say with a sigh. “Can’t figure out the dynamic between my love interests, which is like the entire point of a romance novel.”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I’m sorry, babe. But I know you’ll get it. I’ve read plenty of you’re writing. You know how to write connection well. It might be hard now, but you’ll get there.”
My chest swells. “You think?”
“Iknow,” he says, nodding. “Plus, I feel so connected to you. That could count for something, right? As inspiration?”
I could swoon so hard that I fall off this chair. Where has this Kyle been? This is the man that I like—love.
“I love you,” I say.
“I love you, too,” he says.
I take a sip of my apple cider, then sigh, contented. “Now to writing.”
He reaches over and pats me on the arm. “You got this.”
He starts reading, and I start writing.
I start writing.
Holy shit. Of course. They’re not grumpy sunshine or second chance. They’re unlikely lovers. Just like me and Kyle. One’s a magician trained in the order, the other orphaned and destitute. Yes. And as the experienced one trains the other one, they grow closer, similar to my first book. That’s exactly it.
The inspiration has been in front of me this whole time. Literally. It’s Kyle.
I get into that flow state where all I can think about are the words coming out of my fingertips, the kind that makes anyone with writers block jealous.
