Imagine With Me (With Me in Seattle 15)

Normally, I’d be itching to go home. To be wrapped up in my blankets and reading a book.

But I’m enjoying myself here—much more than anticipated.

“I’m actually fine where I am,” I say and eat more of my stew. “Is there bread to go with this?”

“Of course.” He slices and butters a fresh roll, then passes it to me.

“So good,” I say with a sigh. “Yeah, I’m good here. I’ll gain a million pounds, but who cares?”

“Who indeed?”* * *Last night, I was charmed by the clever pub and the wonderful patrons there, the music, and the O’Callaghan siblings. Especially Shawn. I spent several hours with him in the kitchen, and even jumped up to help him fill some orders when he had an extra-busy streak at about ten o’clock.

Today, I’m back to wanting to commit the kind of murder I write about. Bloody, sinister slaughter.

“You’re not listening to me,” I say, crushing a pillow with my fist. “Seriously, I listened to you the other day, and you’re not hearing me.”

“Fine. Do whatever you want, Lexi.”

“Oh my God. That’s not what I want either!”

I’m going to scream, so I turn and stomp out of the room into the foyer, where I shove my feet into some shoes and storm out the door, slamming it behind me.

That felt good.

Yes, it was childish, but I don’t care.

I need fresh air.

I want to walk on the beach.

I frown as I glance around the house. I know where the beach is, I just have no idea how to get down to it.

Instead, I walk in large circles around Shawn’s driveway, breathing deeply.

Why won’t he just listen to me? As soon as I start explaining why I think something should be written differently, he clams up. Doesn’t talk, won’t listen.

Simply acts like a freaking child.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to work like this.

I hear the door open, but I don’t turn to look at him. I just keep marching around the driveway.

“What are you doing?”

“Walking off a mad.”

I glance over. He’s standing on the bottom step, his hands in his pockets.

“In the driveway?”

“I wanted to walk on the beach, but I don’t know how to get down there.”

He starts to walk, and I follow him. Mostly because I really want to walk on the beach. I’ve heard people talk about it all my life, and I want to see what the hype is about. Will it calm me? Will it terrify me?

Most things scare me.

There’s a path behind the house that leads down to the sand. At the bottom, I look both north and south, then back to the path that leads to the house so I don’t forget what it looks like. And then I turn to Shawn.

“You can leave now.”

I set off, headed south. The sand is packed and wet, I assume because the tide reaches up this far. The waves crash against the shore about fifty yards from me. Far enough away that I’m not afraid of being swept out by a riptide, or fear getting eaten by a beached whale.

Not that I know anything about those things.

The sound of the water is soothing, and before long, I feel my blood pressure start to lower.

When I turn around to head back the way I came, I’m surprised to find Shawn not even a hundred yards behind me, his hands still in his pockets, his face impassive as he waits patiently.

I walk toward him, pretty sure that the urge to kill him has passed. When I reach him, he surprises me by tucking a piece of my hair behind my ear.

He’s done that before.

Both times have made me sigh.

“You infuriate me,” I admit in a calm voice.

“I know. It’s not on purpose.”

“Feels like it is.” We start to walk back down the beach, side by side. “When I tell you I don’t like something about what you’ve written, you clam up on me. You don’t say anything in response to me, and you don’t listen.”

“I’m thinking,” he says. “If I’m not responding, it’s because I’m thinking, Lexi. It’s not because I’m deliberately being a jerk.”

“It shouldn’t take you ten minutes to think of a response.”

“No, but it might take me two minutes to wrap my head around something. I don’t think aloud like you and so many others. I process internally.”

“Okay.” I sigh and step around a piece of driftwood. “Maybe in the future, if I disagree with you on something, I should state my case and then let you ponder it while I use the restroom or grab a snack or something.”

“That would help, yes.” He takes my hand in his, surprising me. But I don’t pull away. “You’re not the most patient of women, Lexi.”

I laugh. “You’re right. I’m not. I’ll try to work on it.”

I wish we could spend all of our time away from the office. Because as much as we are at odds while we work, Shawn and I get along really well when we’re not talking business.