Page 68 of Myths and Manuscripts
I sat up straighter. “What’s the point when it all ends badanyway? Look at mom and dad or you and Grandpa. Nobody’s happy.”
“But wewerehappy.” She let go of me with a sigh and poured us both a cup of tea. “We were happy until the end and that’s better than most people can say. I think you were happy too, with Thorne.”
“You never even saw us together.”
She pushed a teacup at me. “No, but I heard the way he talked about you and the stories he told me. He said you spent time gardening together, helped him find a mattress that finally let him sleep well, and you even took breaks from your writing to eat meals with him.” She smirked at me. “I’ve never seen you take a break like that for anyone, not even me when you’re really in the zone. But he said you stopped what you were doing every single time he brought you food. What’s that if not happiness?” She leaned closer. “You enjoyed spending time with him and that blush on your face confirms it.”
“Gran!” I turned away, hiding my face behind my tea as I took a sip of burning hot liquid. She was right though. I enjoyed those meals far more than I’d ever told him. I’d wanted them to drag on longer and longer each day. “Okay, fine, I was happy. So what?”
“So you should go after him!” Gran jumped up so suddenly she spilled her tea. “Who cares if you finish the book or not? He’s the important part. Don’t you dare lose him because you’re afraid to let yourself care!”
“It’s not just that.” I leaned back, refusing to get swept up in her excitement. “He cares if I finish the book. It’s his life after all. And I just can’t do that if he doesn’t like my ideas.”
“So come up with more ideas.” Gran pinned me with a stare. “Find something you both agree on and write that. Unless...” She sat down again slowly. “Unless you really don’t want to write anymore. I don’t want you to change your mind just because Ipressured you or because you feel like you owe Thorne anything. If you keep writing, it should be because you want to.”
She was right. If I was going to try again, it had to be for me. No more making excuses and pretending like I only did things because she nagged me about them. I started writing after Grandpa passed away because I wanted to be closer to him. I wanted to feel that connection we used to have and make it into something others could see too.
Talking about my ideas with him had been one of my favorite parts about storytelling, but I hadn’t let myself open up like that again, not really. If I had, I’d have let Thorne see the messy middle instead of just hoping he’d love the ending. I would have asked him what he thought about killing the King before ever putting pen to paper.
I was just too afraid to do it.
Afraid he’d hate my ideas, afraid we’d lose the competition, but most of all, afraid that I’d never be good enough to write something worthy of being added to a book series I loved so much.
I stared into my tea as steam curled around the cup, slowly growing colder as Gran waited patiently for me to respond. Grandpa had hated plenty of my ideas over the years and I’d hated a lot of his too. We’d never let that stop us from brainstorming new ones though. It was the opposite actually. We usually came up with even better ideas later on.
Not every idea was right for every story, but that didn’t make those ideas bad. It just meant there was something that would work better for that story. So why had I given up so easily? Not just on Thorne’s book, but on my own before that. One bad reaction from the story gods and I’d thrown my book away like it was garbage.
Garbage.
My gaze drifted over to the bin Gran had set up for Thorne’sfailures. It was full to the brim of different herbs, mixtures, and broken glass. He must have spent so much time trying different things to see what would work and what wouldn’t. I was the same way when I was learning. Sometimes you had to mess up a few potions to understand how things worked.
Just like Grandpa and I sometimes had to come up with the wrong ideas to discover the right ones.
I reached over to pick up the empty bottle with Thorne’s writing on it. He’d written the label so carefully with his little note about how it was for me. He’d tried to support me as much as possible, and then I just shut him out and ran away. I hadn’t even really asked why he disliked killing the King so much or what else he might want to do instead.
“I think I should go back and talk to Thorne.” I slipped the bottle in my pocket and finished my cup of tea. “Are you okay running the shop for a bit longer on your own?”
Gran grinned. “Absolutely. Go get him, Willow. Dream big and don’t let anything hold you back.”
I stood up, giving her a hug on my way out. I didn’t know if Thorne would forgive me or if we could figure out a better way to end the story, but I knew one thing for sure. I was done running away from the things I cared about.
The bell above the door chimed softly as I opened it, ready to charge up the mountain and beg the library to send me back into Thorne’s book, but there he was standing right in front of me. Excitement rushed through me. It was like he knew I’d changed my mind and wanted to work things out, but how?
“What are you doing here?” I asked softly.
A faint blush swept over his cheeks. “I was just coming to find you...”
“He means we,” Leo added. “We came to find you.”
Dain nodded. “Our Lord thought you might want help with your story.”
“Don’t give up on your writing.” Thorne reached out, taking my hand in his. “I’m sorry I put such a burden on you, expecting you to figure out who I was.Ishould have been the one to do that. If you let me, I want to help with the book. We all do.”
Behind him, Leo and Dain were both smiling, but they weren’t the only ones. Inkheart was darting around, scribbling about how I should kiss the demon already and Cinder was tucked into the hero’s shirt, poking her head out like she was just waking up from a nap. Even Dawnbreaker was here, looking extra shiny on the hero’s hip.
They’d all come out of the book for me. I’d always thought writing was supposed to be a solo process, but maybe, just maybe, it was better with friends. Writing a perfect ending didn’t feel so scary knowing they’d all be by my side. Especially Thorne.
“I’d love to write with you.” I leaned in close, kissing him softly. “Thank you for coming here.”
