When the Heart Falls

I HATE TO delete a sentence, let alone an entire scene, but it can't be helped. Cringing, I hit the delete key, and 3,127 words—words I endured great pain to bring to life—disappear. I want to weep at the loss, but instead, I close my eyes and picture the date as it should have been written. I see them meeting, feel the beating in the protagonist's heart when he pulls out her chair and his hand grazes her cheek, smell the food as it's being served, as the couple takes those first tentative steps toward something more, something deeper.

Details lodge into my mind, I open my eyes and write, letting the feelings, the hopes and dreams of my characters speak to me as I type. The words flow easier, the scene like a movie or memory begging to be transcribed.

The museum must have inspired me, breathed life into my creative mind. Maybe being surrounded by the work of geniuses is like finding creativity through osmosis. I breathed in their talent and transformed it into my own work.

A shiver travels up my spine when my characters reach for each other's hands, when they touch, his hand hot, warming hers. My typing falters when I think of Cade, how he held my hand when I told him about my aunt and uncle. The way his eyes softened in empathy, his body moving closer to mine, offering comfort without words. He's suffered too; I can see it in everything he says and does.

Pushing aside the distracting thoughts of Cade, I dive back into my scene, when Jenifer walks in carrying bags.

She holds them up, smiling. "I shopped. You are not going to believe what I've found." She hands one bag to me. "Got you a present too, for tonight."

"Tonight?" I pull out a dress, a red dress the color of my lipstick, with matching shoes. "What's this?"

Dumping out the contents of her purchases on to her bed, she rummages around until she pulls out a black dress and shoes. "It's your thank you present."

"For what?" I know I'm not going to like the answer.

"For going to the party with me tonight."

Definitely not liking the answer. I toss the dress back to her. "No way. I'm so done with the Paris party scene."

Dropping her carefree attitude, Jenifer goes for the big-eyed pleading look. "You have to go, Winter. I need you there. It sounds like a lot of fun, but I don't want to go alone." She holds up the dress she bought me. "Plus, you'll look stunning in this."

"I can't. I'm finally making progress on my novel, and I'm in the middle of a really great scene."

Jenifer looks at my laptop like it's the anti-Christ. "You can write later. We're only young once, and we have to live it up."

"I think I lived it up plenty last time, if you don't recall. I have work to do." I sit at my desk, ready to ignore her if necessary.

"You're writing a romance, right? Well, what better way to find inspiration than by meeting a hot guy at a party in Paris?"

I shake my head. "Not looking for a relationship, but thanks."

"Who said anything about a relationship? I'm talking about hooking up." She wiggles her hips salaciously. "That's what you really need. Now come on, try on the dress."

Crossing my arms over my chest, I refuse to budge as she attempts to pull me out of my seat.

She huffs and gives up. "You know what your problem is? I've been thinking about this. You're not blocked, you're uninspired. You need some life experience to write this stuff, not just head knowledge. Soak up some real life, and your book will be a cinch to write!"

I hesitate. Her words parrot what Mr. Posthumus told me. Maybe she's not totally wrong. Going to the museum helped. Being out in the real world, watching people interact, feeling the emotion and energy swirling around me, might be what I need to take my writing to the next level.

As if she could sense my weakening resolve, she gets on her knees, hands clasped as if in prayer. "Pleeeeease. For me?"

Kicking myself for what I'm sure will end up being another mistake, I glare at her. "This won't be like our last party, right?"

She holds up two fingers. "No. Never again. Scout's honor."

"You were never a scout, but okay, fine, I'll go. But no hooking up. I'm just going for you."

She launches herself at me and squeals in my ear as she hugs me. I'm sure I'll be deaf for most of the party, but I hug her back before peeling her off of me. "Okay, okay. Personal space, Jen. Can't breathe."

Releasing me, she smiles. "Sorry. Just so excited. Okay, let's get ready. Oh my God, this is going to be the best!"

While I don't share her enthusiasm, I accept the dress. I first change my bra and panties so that my bra line won't stick out of the spaghetti strap dress and my pantie line won't show. Then I slip the silky dress on. It conforms to my body like a second skin, and I shift self-consciously as I slip into the matching shoes and run a brush through my hair. "Should I wear my hair up or down?"

Jenifer watches as I show her both options. "Down. Definitely. It's sexy."

I leave it down, apply a light layer of makeup and lipstick and examine the results in the mirror.

A sexy woman stares back at me, shoulders bare, neckline revealing, enough cleavage to be evocative without being over-exposed. I have to admit I look pretty amazing—like a different person.

"Guys are gonna want a piece of that ass." Jenifer says as she adds the final touches to her own outfit. "You'll have to be careful." She flicks her hair. "Or not."

"You be careful," I tell her. "No more one night stands."