The Things We Leave Unfinished Yarros, Rebecca (reading like a writer .TXT) 📖

“There’s talk of the Americans getting their own squadron,” she whispered. Another squadron meant a transfer.

“I’ve heard.” A muscle ticked in his jaw.

“What are we going to do?” Her voice broke on the last word.

“We’re going to face it all head-on. Your parents, the war, the whole Royal Air Force,” he said with a flash of a smile. “We’ll do it together. You are mine, Scarlett Wright, and I am yours, and from this second on, we don’t keep secrets.”

She nodded, then kissed him sweetly. “Okay. Now take me home before we do something that gets us both court-martialed.”

He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

She knew that what was coming for them might very well crush this new, fierce feeling that filled her chest, but for this moment, they were safe, they were together, and they were in love.

Chapter Nine

Georgia

Dearest Jameson,

Here we are again, writing letters. I would give anything to reach through this paper, to stretch across the long miles between us just to touch you, to feel your heartbeat. How many more times can this war separate us before we’re simply allowed to be happy? I know we’re lucky, that we’ve been stationed together longer than most, but I am greedy when it comes to you, and there is no replacement for feeling your arms around me. But don’t worry, my arms only hold the other Mr. Stanton, and he makes every day we’re apart just a little brighter…

I glared down at my phone for what felt like the billionth time that week. Just when I thought Noah might understand, that he might actually grasp the simple fact that I wasn’t backing down, he’d call again and suggest some cheesy conclusion to Gran’s story, and each was worse than the last.

Like right now.

“I’m sorry…did you just say he pops out of a Christmas present?” I pulled the phone away from my ear and glanced at the screen, making sure that was actually Noah on the other end. Yep, that was his number, his low—and I could admit, begrudgingly—sexy voice, spinning an absolutely ludicrous tale.

“Exactly. Just picture it—”

“You have lost your mind, and you might just be driving me to lose mine in the proce—” That was it. My eyes narrowed. “That isn’t your real ending, is it? None of these are.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. That is a joyful celebration of love and hope.” He was good. He even sounded offended.

“Uh-huh. You’re giving me blatantly bad, corny endings to wear me down so I won’t dismiss your actual idea, aren’t you?” I finished pouring my sweet tea and headed for Gran’s office—my office.

“Actually, I had a more…poignant idea, too.” There was a sound like a soft crash, like he’d thrown himself onto his couch—or bed.

Not that I was thinking about his bed, because I wasn’t.

“Okay. Please, do tell.” I set the tea on the coaster and fired up my computer. I’d put off everything possible during the divorce, which meant I had six months of estate work for Gran to dig out of, but I was almost through it.

“So there they are on a passenger ship halfway across the Atlantic, thinking they’ve made it out, and bam! A U-boat sinks them.”

My mouth dropped open. “Well, that’s…dark.” But at least he was giving my stance some real thought, right?

“Just wait. So as the ship goes down, he gets them to a lifeboat, but there’s just not enough room, and Scarlett is torn between taking that remaining seat for William’s safety and fighting the panicked crowd for another boat.”

My brow furrowed. Wait a second.

“Throw in some action to keep the reader on the edge of their seat, but in the end, it’s just them in the water, Jameson pushing Scarlett up onto what’s left of the wreckage—”

“Oh my God, I know you are not giving me the ending to Titanic!” My voice pitched high enough that I winced.

“Hey, you wanted sad.”

“Unbelievable. Are you always this hard to work with?”

“I wouldn’t know, because I don’t work with anyone but Adam, who can’t even start editing this novel until I get it done.” His tone sharpened. “So are you ready to discuss actual options here?”

“Like what? He flies in and lands on the street in front of their house? Or wait, I know, he chases her through the port in a mad dash to catch her before she boards a boat in a reimagined rom-com from hell scene with a forties twist?” I hammered the keys of my laptop with my password. “None of that is happening.”

“I was actually thinking more of a puppy with a little key on its collar—” He’d slipped into sarcasm.

“Ugh!” I hung up.

Mom popped through the door with a smile. “Everything okay?”

“Yep. Just dealing with—” My phone rang again. “Noah,” I said in sheer exasperation as his name appeared on my screen. “What?” I snapped into the phone.

“Do you have any idea how childish it is to keep hanging up on someone you agreed to partner with?” he asked with a voice so smooth and unbothered, it only irked me more.

“The satisfaction it brings me is more than worth what could be seen as a lack of maturity.” Or maybe I was simply reveling in the fact that I could hang up. That I wasn’t at anyone’s beck and call for the first time in six years.

“On that note, how about we end in a beautiful orchard, where they’re picnicking—”

“Noah,” I warned.

“Only to have Jameson stung by a bee—no, dozens of bees, and he’s allergic—”

“It isn’t My Girl!”

Mom’s eyebrows hit the ceiling.

“You’re right, so let’s talk about how to really give them a happy ending readers can root for.”

“Goodbye, Noah.” I hung up.

“Georgia!” Mom gasped.

“What?” I shrugged. “I said goodbye. Don’t worry. He’ll call back tomorrow, and we’ll start all over again.” We’d been going round and round for weeks now.

“Is everything okay with the book?” Mom asked, sitting in the same chair Noah had. Things between