“Cross my heart. I won’t tell another living soul about your place,” Laura assured him.
Dean waited and the waiting was killing her. She wanted to see where he wrote and the type of room he’d created in which to write his stories. She’d tried to search his name on the Internet, but nothing came up, only a backdated paper describing the accident with his wife and child. She hadn’t read any of the papers. She figured in time he’d tell her about it.
He finally opened the doors. The room was large with minimal furniture. A few bookcases lined the walls. A sofa was positioned in front of a fireplace and next to the large French windows sat a dark mahogany desk with his computer on top.
“Have I ruined any of your ideals about writers?” he asked her.
Laura shook her head. “It looks perfect to me. This is exactly what I’d have wanted for my office.” There were few distractions. “May I?” She pointed at the desk.
“Be my guest.”
She placed her bag on the sofa and walked to sit behind the desk. “Do you work often in here?”
“Every day. When the words come, I sit and write,” he said.
“It’s amazing.” She rubbed her hands along the edge of the desk. The computer was switched on and she saw a few documents he had left open.
“I searched your name on the Internet, but couldn’t find any of your titles.”
“Interested little minx, aren’t you?”
Laura nodded and stood. “Always.”
“You wouldn’t find any titles because I use a pen name," he explained. "I’m not going to tell you my pen name yet. Did you bring those stories I asked?”
“Yes.” She grabbed her bag and pulled out a folder. In every aspect she had tried to be mature. There were a few explicit stories she’d written after watching a particularly raunchy film on a cable channel. She didn’t have a clue what she was writing. The words had just flowed from her heart, which she thought was a good thing.
“I’ll begin reading through some of these while you go and make us both a drink. I like mine with milk and two sugars.”
“I’m a glorified slave,” she moaned.
Dean chuckled. “No. You’re here for me to help you and nothing in this life comes free. Be careful or I’ll have you cleaning the walls.”
Making the drinks was easier said than done. Every draw and cupboard needed to be opened to find what she was looking for. When she glanced at the clock, she couldn’t believe twenty minutes had already passed. She needed to go back in and give him his drink. Would he hate her writing? More nervous than she liked, Laura walked back into his study.
Her folder was open and Dean was bent over reading her words. She placed the cup on his desk and turned away to sit on the sofa. The silence was unbearable. Laura tried to think of all the words she’d written over the past five years when she had started writing.
Her rubbed her hands together and the clock suddenly sounded very loud in the small space. She felt open as he perused her work. After some time she heard him close her folder. There was no way he’d read everything. The folder was thick with sheets of paper and all in order with the very first story she’d ever written at the back. She glanced his way and saw him staring at her.
“Are they awful?” she asked.
“How old are you again?”
“Twenty.” She bit into her bottom lip. What would she do if he said they were crap? Shit, doing this was a mistake. She should have kept her writing dreams a secret.
“Okay. Your work is great. Brilliant for your age, but I can sort of tell that you don’t have a lot of experience with this stuff. There’s a lot of head hopping and mistakes that a publisher or editor will catch you out on.” He spent the rest of the afternoon showing her mistakes and giving her advice on writing.
She loved every second being in his company and learning from him.
“Do you really want to learn?” he asked.
“Of course, I’m here.”
“Right, how about you starting a fresh story? We can work on these at a later date. College is almost out and I think we can have a summer project. You write a story in any genre you want, romance, crime, whatever. You decide and I’ll help you work through it and by the end of the summer I expect a fully completed manuscript.”
Every word he spoke sounded like a dream come true.
“Deal.”