Write Me A Love Story

Chapter Eleven:

Don't avoid the signs. They aren't obstacles. They're doorways.

*

Three hours. We sat in the quiet room for three hours. The notes I had on my phone had been our first mission—put them in order. Second mission? Figure out my beginning, middle, and end.

We hadn't gone into such detail before. Reece said it was fine to have loose notes. But I knew eventually I'd have to connect the pieces and that was Reece's goal today. We scribbled away together on sheets of paper until I saw the full picture. And once I saw it, it was like fireworks.

"Okay, you've got your beginning, middle, and end. You've got the character's wants and needs. Plot twists." Reece twirled a pen between his fingers before tapping it on his head. "Now we're going to move on to the next steps."

"Oh?" I looked down at my notes and the pen on the paper. "What's that?"

"Writing routine," he said. I quickly looked at him. "Set a goal of what to write—whether it's daily, every few days, or weekly."

Goals. He was right. I needed to actually put all of this into story form. Especially if I wanted to enter this contest, which was in a month. So, a weekly goal or routine wouldn't work. I needed to write daily to meet this.

Looking down at my phone, I nodded. "Daily goals," I said. "The last day to enter the contest is the 31st, so this needs to happen." I looked back at him. "I need this to happen."

"That." He bit his lip, nodded, and gently slapped the table. "That's all you need. The motivation to do it. You'll get it, but if you get stuck," he slowly leaned back in his seat and slid his hands forward on his head, "you can call me."

The fact that he was just a call away made me happy. In such a short time, he got me further with this story that'd been circulating in my head for months, all because he asked me the important question I never asked myself:

"What's stopping you?"

"I will." I wasn't going to turn down the opportunity. "And once I have more, you can read it."

He laughed. "Oh, you know I want to. Keep me updated."

I planned on it. Now that I had his number, I wanted to text him all of the time, late at night, in pointless conversations like other people would do. And I was sure I'd need his input—stuck on chapters, confused by my plot. I knew Reece would help me.

He cocked his head toward the door. "Think we should head out before Dolores comes knocking again?"

It had been three hours. "You're right." I bit my lip and stood, grabbing the few usable, readable I neatly pushed the sheets into my bag. "Then I should get home to write."

"You should." Reece stood and came close. With him directly in front of me, his shoes practically touching mine. His hooded eyes peered into mine as he gently bit his bottom lip. "And when you get to the halfway point, would you let me take you out to dinner?"

My jaw laughed as I giggled. I wasn't sure where it came from, but I couldn't help it. My cheeks burned and I was giddy. He was asking me out to dinner. Not tea at the diner or time here, again, at the quiet room. Dinner. How could I say no? And where would we go?

"I accept." Clutching my bag's strap, I leaned back and smiled as big as I could. "You have my number."

He snorted through his nose, lifting his brows. "I know I do."

*

I'd never written so much before in my life. After days with Reece, I took all of the notes and plot ideas we compiled together and managed—with little struggle, which I was glad for—to put them together and made sense of it all. My characters had their wants and needs, I knew exactly where my climax and plot twist was going to hit.