Yes, it is three in the a.m. This time I have a really great excuse for being up late. It's not work, and it's not writing. I'm actually doing a mom thing. Kam's up with a fever and I'm being the consoler, the comforter, the get the drinks of waterer. Oh, and the movie buddy.
Yeht, we're watching movies. First we watched Cadet Kelly, a super spectacular Disney special—and I'm not kidding about that. I really learned a lot about both teamwork and individuality. Now we are watching The Last Song, but I won't even get started on what I think of Nicolas Sparks, and no I'm not going to google how to spell his name. Okay, I just laughed, but that's not what this post is about, so forget I mentioned it. Yes, I realize there is a backspace, so that sentence doesn't even have to exist, but honestly, it's faster for me to go forward and since I don't want to be up all night typing into my blog—I actually would rather watch this cheese ball of a movie with my six year old daughter (sorry N-sparks if you're reading this)—there you have it, a sentence I should have erased.
Now, where were we? Well, I doubt you have any idea yet, unless you remembered that I said I would post another excerpt, this one from a book I have still yet to title appropriately. You see my problem? With titles?
Of all the heroines I have written, I like this one the best. She's the oldest and has the most life experience, so she's necessarily not as stupid as the other ones. Not that I'm knocking my other heroines; they have to start out stupid so they can grow emotionally. And probably I identify with her the least of all of them, because I'm still on my way up from stupid.
He sighed and started walking faster.
But I was done keeping up with him. I didn't want to appear tired, but I was pretty sure I could make this look like petulant and uncooperative.
A quarter of an hour later when he finally glanced around to be sure I was keeping up, I was quite a distance behind him enjoying the view. But when he looked at me I inspected the trees, peered into the vegetation, gazed toward the Sidon to the distant north—everywhere but at him.
He didn't stop, but he slowed his pace. I didn't quicken mine, and so we preserved the same distance between us quite nicely.
Quite nicely. I scoffed at myself. I wanted to be walking next to him. Talking. Laughing. Smiling secret smiles. Holding hands. Remembering some stolen moment.
I gave my head a good shake, attempting to shake the daydreams right out of it, but I shook it too hard—they were really good daydreams—and knocked myself off balance. I yelped and went down ungracefully, landing in the dirt.
Fortunately, Ezekiel was turned, walking away from me so he didn't see me fall.
I was sitting up and dusting my hands off by the time he'd jogged back to me.
He stood over me with his hands on his hips shadowing me from the sun. As he looked down at me I couldn't determine if it was anger or humor in his eyes. Neither one was good.
"If you broke your ankle…I swear…" he began.
I raised a brow.
"I'm not carrying you," he finished.
"Ew. I wouldn't let you." But that was just new fodder for my daydreams.
There was an uncomfortable silence between us.
I twisted my lips and swallowed my pride. "I could use a hand up," I admitted.
It was there immediately.