Mountain Man Bun by Frankie Love

Author:Frankie Love [Love, Frankie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-12-13T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Greta

Later, we walk down the street toward a small cafe that tourists frequent. I figure it is best to avoid as many locals as possible considering the fact no one’s seen me on a date in years.

Ansel holds my hand as we walk, and my stomach flutters, as if filled with butterflies--it’s like I’ve suddenly forgotten how to talk. I want to ask so many things at once.

When we get to Main Street, though, I pull out my gloves, wanting an excuse to let go of his hand.

“Too much, too soon?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

I nod, appreciating that he seems to understand. “It’s a small town, and people talk.”

“You got quiet since we left the house,” he says. “Everything okay?”

I bite my bottom lip, standing under the light of a street lamp. “It’s strange, you having written my favorite book. I feel like I know your deepest thoughts. The words you wrote were so bare, so raw.”

“Does that scare you?”

“I think I’m most scared of being hurt. Of falling for someone who won’t be there to catch me.”

“Are you saying that you’re falling for me after one day?” he asks, smiling down at me. His long hair falls in his eyes, and he brushes it away so our eyes can meet.

I feel heat rising to my cheeks because that is exactly what I mean. “Maybe I’m just infatuated with the idea that you’re a famous writer.”

He laughs, but it’s a sad laugh. “I hate leading with the truth--people hear I wrote that book and they see me differently.”

“I understand. That’s what happens when I tell people about Luke. They get this sad look in their eyes, which I understand--it is sad. But you, Ansel, didn’t act like everyone else when I told you.” I shake my head, not knowing if I’m making sense. “And the thing is, I do see you differently, and that makes me feel crappy, because I’m doing to you what I hate people doing to me.”

“Greta,” he says, reaching for my hand, small-town gossip be damned. “It’s not the same.”

“Why not? I want to ask you why you wrote Sarah the way you did--I want to ask what inspired you and what spoke to you ... a million things I’m sure you get asked all the time. I’m a cliché.” I close my eyes, feeling so basic all of a sudden.

“You’re not a cliché. And it feels different when you say you want to know those things, because I want to know all about you, too. It’s a two way street.”

“But Ansel, after a day, why do you care?”

He shakes his head, then exhales, looking up at the stars. “I wrote that book after dreaming of a woman, of her story.” He runs a hand through his hair, looking down at me. “Sarah experienced loss, and in order to understand that, I spent a lot of time interviewing people who had gone through really hard things to understand my character better. And I don’t know .

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