By the Book (Meant to Be #2)(57)

He dropped his hand. “In the library.”

She reached for the coffeepot and filled up her mug. “Let’s go to the library, then.”

Izzy had worried that the library would be tainted for her after their fight in here yesterday, but as soon as she walked in, it felt like the room welcomed her back in, like a friend who had been gone too long. It felt like the walls, the shelves, the chairs had known she would be back, had been cheering for her the whole time, were cheering for Beau now. She sat down in the chair she always sat in, and felt the way they settled in together. It felt like a hug.

She laughed at herself. Was she anthropomorphizing furniture again? It’s not actually hugging you, Izzy!

Beau set his laptop in front of her, and she scooted the chair in closer to the table.

“That’s it, that’s everything I told you last night, and a little bit more. Maybe this is weird, but, um, I just wrote it like I was writing it to you. I didn’t change that as I typed it up, I was too worried that I’d trash it. It’s…It was easier to write it like that, somehow.”

She looked across the table at him, not sure what to say.

“I’m really glad that made it easier. But also.” She gestured to the notebook on the table. “I don’t think I can trust you alone with this overnight again, can I?”

He shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

They grinned at each other.

Then Izzy turned to the laptop screen.

Beau jumped up, like he hadn’t done since the first time she’d read his work. “I’m not going to go outside again, I’m just going to, um, go over there.” He pointed to the far side of the library. “I’ll look at some books, otherwise I might, like, stare at you too much.”

Izzy laughed. “Okay. I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

Once Beau was at the other end of the room, Izzy concentrated on what he’d written. It was rough, more so than other parts of the book he’d shown her, but it also felt more honest. More like him. She made a few notes, asked a few questions, but she held on to her biggest question.

“I’m done, you can come back now,” she said.

Beau came back so quickly she knew the book in his hands hadn’t distracted him at all.

“I was just reading some…” He looked down at the book he was holding. “Russian literature.”

She tried not to smile. “Russian literature?”

He nodded very quickly. “Oh yeah, totally, all the greats, you learn so much from them about writing, and life, and um, vodka.”

They both burst out laughing. Beau put the book down at the end of the table and sat down across from Izzy.

She pushed the laptop across to him. This was where they usually just sat in silence while he read her notes, but this time she started talking.

“I only had a few notes that I put in there—like you said, it was mostly what you told me last night. I’m glad you wrote it when it was fresh in your mind, it made it have that same urgency, that same honesty that it did when you told me. There’s a lot you can expand on, of course, and this is going to bleed out into a lot more of the book, but I’m sure you know that.” He nodded as he listened to her. “But I had one big question that I didn’t put in there, and I wanted to ask you.”

He let out a big breath. “Okay. Ask.”

Would he get mad if she asked him this? She didn’t think so, but she supposed if he did, it was good to know that now.

“You said last night that you haven’t talked to your mom about all this.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“But yesterday,” she said, “you sat outside and waited for me to come back so you could apologize to me. How long did you sit there, anyway?”

He looked down. “I don’t know, an hour? I wasn’t sure what to do—I don’t have your number, it’s not like I’ve ever had to text you, we live in the same house. I knew Michaela had it, and I almost texted her. I decided I would have, if it got dark before you got home, and it was getting there when you drove up.” He sighed. “But that wasn’t your point. What you meant was, I sat there and waited for you so I could apologize to you right away—why have I waited all this time to talk to my mom? Wasn’t it?”

She nodded. “Sort of, but I wasn’t going to say it quite like that. I mean, I get it, you’ve barely known me a month, it’s not a big deal; your mom is a different story.”

He looked right at her. “It was a big deal, Isabelle. You’re a big deal to me.”

She met his eyes and then looked away. “I…But—” She didn’t know what to say. This conversation was suddenly a lot more than she’d bargained for.

“But yes, I get what you mean,” he said. “It’s different. But I think part of why I sat there and waited for you—part of why I knew I had to talk to you—was because I know how bad it feels not to do it right away, I know how bad it feels to wait until it’s too late. I knew that if I didn’t get to tell you how sorry I was as soon as I could, I’d regret it forever.”

She looked at him, and she could see the sincerity in his eyes.

“Then don’t you think you’ve waited long enough, to talk to your mom?” she asked him. “Just think how much better you’ll feel afterward.”