Page 41 of The Write Midlife

For a moment, the bustling atrium faded away. It was just him and Melody, standing on the precipice of something that felt bigger than both of them.

The spell was broken by a booming voice behind them. "Nathaniel Carlisle! I thought that was you."

He turned to see Gerald Huffington, a pompous old-school publisher who had been a thorn in his side for years.

"Gerald," he greeted, forcing a smile. "What brings you to this den of innovation? I thought anything published after 1950 gave you hives."

Gerald chuckled, oblivious to the sarcasm. "Oh, one must keep up with the times, mustn't one? And who is this lovely young lady?"

He felt a surge of possessiveness as Gerald's gaze raked over Melody. "This is Melody Archer, one of our most promising authors."

Melody extended her hand, her grip firm. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Huffington. I believe I've heard Nate mention you before. Weren't you the one who passed on 'The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo' because you thought readers wouldn't be interested in 'foreign nonsense'?"

He nearly spit out his coffee, torn between horror and admiration. Gerald sputtered, his face turning an alarming shade of puce.

"Yes, well, hindsight is 20/20, isn't it?" he mumbled. "If you'll excuse me, I see someone I must speak with."

As Gerald beat a hasty retreat, he turned to Melody, unable to contain his laughter. "Remind me never to get on your bad side, Archer. You fight dirty."

She shrugged, a wicked smile curving on her pretty face. "What can I say? I've got a low tolerance for pretentious blowhards."

"Present company excluded, I hope?"

Her expression softened. "You're many things, Nate Carlisle, but pretentious isn't one of them."

Something in her tone made his breath catch. They were standing close – too close for colleagues, not close enough for... whatever they were becoming.

"Melody," he murmured, his hand moving of its own accord to brush a stray hair from her face.

She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When they opened again, they were dark with an emotion he was afraid to name.

"Nate, I-"

"Mr. Carlisle!" A chipper voice cut through the moment like a knife. "I'm so glad I caught you. There's someone who'd love to meet you."

He turned to see a bright-eyed intern from Marketing, oblivious to the moment she had just shattered. By the time he extricated himself from the conversation, the spell was broken.

They headed their separate ways, and by the time the event was wrapping, he could kick himself for not saying more.

Heading out of the library, the twilight Seattle sky seemed to taunt him. He was halfway to his car when a voice stopped him, however.

A familiar voice.

"Hey, Carlisle?"

He turned to find Melody standing behind him near the sidewalk, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Didn’t you mention dinner afterwards?”

He stared—unblinking, pocketing his keys. “I did. But I…wasn’t sure you were still up for it.”

Her pointed chin tilted upwards. “I’m up for it.”

It was all the encouragement he needed.

“Good. Then new Italian place on 5th is supposed to be amazing," he told her. "If you're hungry..."

"Starving, actually."