By the Book (Meant to Be #2)(26)

This whole conversation was so unexpected.

“It’s okay,” Izzy said. “I…I didn’t realize you really cared about the book, that’s all.”

He took another step into the kitchen. “I just don’t know how to write it. I don’t want to give up on it, but I might have to. I don’t know what to do, and it feels so overwhelming, and I’m already so late on it that every time I think about it, it feels harder to do, and I freeze up.”

He really did care about his book.

He really did need help.

The toaster oven timer went off. He went over to the cabinet, took a plate down, and slid the bread onto it.

“Anyway.” He set the plate in front of her, then turned and walked toward the kitchen door. “You should eat. I just wanted to say that. And that I’m sorry. Again. I’ll tell Marta that you tried as hard as you could with me, but there was nothing you could do.”

He took a step into the hallway. Suddenly, she didn’t want him to walk away.

“Beau.”

He turned around. “Yeah?”

Izzy took a deep breath. “Will you let me help you? With the book. Really help you, I mean.”

Beau looked at her. “Why would you do that for me? I’ve been terrible to you.”

She didn’t really know how to answer that question. She thought for a second. “You seem like you really want to write it. I didn’t realize that before. I want you to get there. I can stay—if Marta lets me—and work with you on it, if you’re willing to do the work. I’m not an expert at this, or anything. But…I’d like to help.”

“Yeah,” he finally said. “I’d like that.”

He smiled at her. He looked a little nervous. Almost friendly. She suddenly…liked him?

She smiled back. “Can I ask you one more question?” she asked.

The smile faded from his face, but after a beat, he nodded. “Sure, okay.”

“Can you please, please, tell me where the wine is in this house? I know it exists, there was some that first night, but I haven’t seen any since, and after the day I’ve had, I desperately need some.”

He laughed out loud. A real laugh.

“Wine is a great idea. And yes, there’s plenty. Hang on, I’ll grab something out of the cellar.” He turned to leave the room, then stopped. “Actually…you don’t have to say yes to this, if you want to have dinner yourself up in your room, I get it, you’ve had a long day. But…do you want to have dinner with me? I’ll get the wine and we can watch a movie or something and I promise I won’t make you give me a pep talk or talk to me about writing or your job or anything else. But it’s okay if you don’t—”

“Yeah,” she said. “I’d like that.”





Beau disappeared in the direction of “the cellar,” wherever that was. This house had cellars and gardens and a moat and a seemingly magic kitchen and probably a dungeon she hadn’t seen yet. She put the other chunk of garlic bread in the toaster oven for him, poured his mason jar full of soup into a bowl, and put it in the microwave to heat up. This had been the strangest day.

She couldn’t believe she’d really volunteered stay here longer and work with Beau Towers on his book. Why had she done that?

Because of that look on his face. That look of shame, and longing, and pain when he’d talked about his book, and how hard it was for him, and how he didn’t think he could do it. That look, and everything else he’d said, made her think he really cared about it and had something he wanted to say. And suddenly, she wanted to help him say it. When she’d first gotten here, she’d been so focused on escaping from the office and proving that she could do this job—to herself and to Marta—that she hadn’t cared at all about the actual book. But now she did.

Well, she’d been looking for an answer to the question of what to do about her job, whether to stay and fight or give up and go. Beau Towers had just given her a way to figure that out, once and for all. If she really managed to do this—coach him through writing his book by the time she had to go back to New York—then she would stay at TAOAT and keep fighting for that dream. But if she couldn’t do it, or gave up, or if he did, that was it: She was done with all this. Beau Towers, and his book, would make this decision for her.

Beau returned to the kitchen, a bottle of wine in one hand and a set of keys in another.

“I got the wine.” He handed her the keys. “And these are for you.”

One looked like a house key, but the other…She looked up at him, not sure what this meant.

“The car’s parked in the garage; use it whenever you want,” he said. “I should have given you the keys on your first day here. I’m sorry you had to walk all the way up the hill in the rain, that’s my fault.”

She hadn’t expected him to do this. “Thank you, but are you sure…?”

He nodded. “Yes, of course. I don’t use the car that much anyway. And I don’t want you to feel like you’re a prisoner here. If you’re going to stay here and help me with this, I want you to feel free to come and go, and go to the beach and the coffee shop and wherever you went today—”

“The bookstore,” she said.