By the Book (Meant to Be #2)(32)

Seeing him write like that made part of her itch to write herself. To turn a page in her own notebook, brainstorm that new idea that had come to her recently, unbidden, even after she’d told herself she didn’t have the heart to write anymore, didn’t have the strength for it. She looked down at her notebook and picked up her pen. Just then, the timer went off, and Beau dropped his pen with a sigh.

“Okay.” He looked up at her. “What now?”

She smiled at him. “I think that’s enough for our first day, don’t you? Go clear your mind. Go for a walk, or a swim, or something.”

He flipped the notebook closed and stood up. “Thank you.”

She laughed. And then she stopped him as he turned to walk to the door.

“One more thing. Promise me you won’t throw those pages away?” She gestured to the notebook. “Do I need to hold on to that notebook for you?”

She’d been joking, but he didn’t laugh.

“I’m not…I’m not sure I can promise that. At least, not yet.” He looked down at the notebook in his hand. “Can you promise me something? If I give you this, for safekeeping, promise that you won’t read it?”

“I won’t read it,” she said. “I promise.”

He held the notebook out to her, and she took it from him. “Thanks, Isabelle. I appreciate it.”

She followed him to the door. When they walked out, they turned in opposite directions, until she turned back around.

“Just so you know. My friends call me Izzy.”

She didn’t even know why she’d said that. She didn’t let anyone at work call her Izzy, except for Priya. Maybe she’d said it because Beau trusted her, and she wanted to let him know she trusted him, too.

He finally smiled. “Thanks, Izzy.”





On Friday, when she met Beau in the library, she handed his notebook back to him, like she’d done every day that week.

“I’m setting the timer, okay?” she said, and he nodded and flipped open the notebook, like he’d done every day that week.

Every day, as he sat there, writing in the notebook, she wondered what he was writing. Was this impulsive experiment of hers working? She had no idea. And what was it that was so hard for Beau to write about? She was so curious, but she’d promised not to ask him, so she didn’t.

And every day, when she sat there with her own notebook, she felt the pull to write, herself. How could she not, when she was in this perfect library, with her favorite notebook in front of her and her favorite pen in her hand? But even thinking about it felt scary. She’d thrown her whole heart into her book, and she’d hurt so much and for so long after she’d gotten those notes from Gavin. She wasn’t ready for that heartache again.

But as the days went on, she kept thinking about writing. Especially since she felt like such a hypocrite as she gave Beau all this encouragement and ignored every word that came out of her own mouth.

What was it she’d said to him yesterday? “The only way out is through. I know it’s hard, really hard sometimes, but your options are to either give up, or push through the hard parts. And I know you don’t want to give up.”

She didn’t want to give up either.

Fine. FINE. She would just work a little on that one idea. Just until the timer went off. She picked up her pen and flipped open her notebook.

When the waltz trilled from her phone, she stared down at her notebook for a few seconds. Okay. Okay, that was a start.

“Izzy?”

She turned the page of her notebook quickly so Beau wouldn’t see what she’d been doing, and looked up at him. “Yeah. I was thinking.” She gestured to the laptop at the end of the table. “Why don’t you turn that on today?”

He looked at the laptop, and in that moment, she saw some of the fear and shame in his eyes that she hadn’t seen since that day in the kitchen.

“Why? What’s wrong with the notebook? I like the notebook.”

She forced herself not to smile at that. “I know, I do, too. But I thought today, you could type up some of what you’ve written in it. Maybe what you wrote on our first day. You can just type it exactly how you wrote it, or you can make edits to it, expand it, whatever you want. But now’s the time for you to look at it again, and for it to exist in a form that isn’t just the notebook.”

He was already shaking his head, but she kept going.

“I think—correct me if I’m wrong here—that you were almost scared of the laptop, after how hard it all was before. This might be one way to start using it again, and not be afraid of it anymore. Just fifteen minutes. What do you think?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Does it matter what I think? Or are you going to make me do this, no matter what?”

She started to respond, but then she saw he had a tiny smile on his face, and she smiled back. “How about this? It matters what you think, and also, I’m going to make you do it, no matter what.”

He laughed out loud and pulled the laptop toward him. “Fine. I think this sucks, that’s what I think and that you’re mean for springing it on me with no warning on this bright and sunny Friday afternoon, just when I’d gotten used to the stupid notebook.”

She pursed her lips. “I thought you said you liked the notebook, and now you’re calling it stupid?” She had an idea. “Okay, how’s this: If you do this, I’ll drink one of those disgusting juices of yours.”