Read Message From Viola Mari for Free Online

about—I didn’t even say anything.” Conveniently, the waitress placed our sandwiches on the table.
    I picked up half of my ham sandwich and scooted the manuscript closer to Justin, pointing again.
    His cheeks bulged with sandwich. After he finished chewing, he said, “It says the character needs to show more vulnerability.”
    “And how exactly could I accomplish that? By opening with a scene where Claudia follows her boyfriend to the bathroom? You know, so the reader can see that she can’t go anywhere without her man.”
    Justin placed a hand on his forehead like he’d been struck by a sudden headache.
    “No, of course not, but you need to show her vulnerabilities. Maybe she’s afraid to let others see that she’s lonely or is used to having other people depend on her, but never had anyone in her life she could lean on, that kind of thing.”
    I reached for my glass of ice tea and took a long swallow. Maybe this whole writing my story as fiction wasn’t such a good idea. It meant showing sides of myself I didn’t want to reveal. If I was an adept writer, I could have faked him out, but I wasn’t. Before long—if he hadn’t already—he would identify Claudia as me.
    Between bites, I asked him questions about each place I’d marked. I tried my best to pretend I genuinely wanted to improve my work. When we finished our sandwiches, the waitress returned with the check. When I reached to take hold of it, Justin’s hand came out to meet mine. As his fingers worked their way under mine to take the check, I stopped breathing. Titillating tingles raced up my arm and down the back of my spine.
    “This was my idea,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.”
    His strong, muscular hand felt so perfect intertwined with my own, protecting me, making me feel momentarily safe. I waited, feeling my heart thudding away in my chest, but still he didn’t untangle his fingers from mine. So I took the initiative.
    “Thank you.” I released the check.
    “Would you consider having dinner with me this Friday?” he asked as we stood from the table.
    “Um, I…” I stammered. My mouth felt dry and I heard a pounding in my head that sounded like African drums. This isn’t how it happens in romance novels — I want to hear violin music, to feel all tingly and giddy, to feel my love-entranced heart palpitating. Instead, I feel like I’ve had a frontal lobotomy.
    “Oh, never mind, I guess it was a silly idea.” The sparkle in Justin’s eyes flickered and then went out. His desolation made me want to draw his hands to my lips.
    “Sorry, what I meant to say was…” Is it hot in here? I feel like I’m going to pass out. I’m a scientist who deals with situations much larger than male teachers. I can deal with th… I thought to myself until my head swirled into darkness.
    Moving forms with soft outlines slowly sharpened into intelligible shapes, some so enticing, I almost lost consciousness a second time. As Justin knelt beside me, his hand brushed my cheek and a renegade blond curl fell onto my forehead. His tight blue jeans clung like a second skin to his thighs and calves. This can’t be real?
    He is real, I thought, as I reached up and brushed a hand across his in-need-of-a-razor cheek, which was rough to the touch and warmed my fingertips. I pulled away, blushing. What is going on? Oh crap , now I remember… I came here to have my instructor review my manuscript and everything was going just fine until he asked me out on a date. It was after that, being the worldly wise woman that I am, that I ended up unconscious in the supine position.
    “Should I take that as a yes ?” Justin asked. Every contracted muscle in his face showed genuine concern and the resonance of his voice comforted me, the same way the strain of my father’s trombone once had. Before our family fell apart, I’d often fallen asleep to the strain of its sliding notes.
    I pushed my hands against the tile, righting myself.
    “Why not?” I said,