Can't Turn Back Now, I'm Haunted (A Ben Willbond Rom Com)

Chapter Twelve | Snowfall

The next few days were long and rewarding. We shot all day, careening toward the climax of the season finale — my character's reality show was getting more and more out of hand, so Alison and Mike, along with the ghosts, were conspiring to scare me out of the house. Julian, of course, was at odds with the group, determined to keep my character for himself — which all added up to some hilarious days on set. At night, Ben and I slipped away to his place or mine and we worked on polishing my scripts. It was so much fun, cracking my story open and bouncing ideas off of another person, let alone someone like Ben. He was so smart about tightening jokes and cleaning up arcs to make the storytelling clear, and we worked well together. We'd find space for a funny bit and then build it together, excitedly piling on top of each other (verbally, of course) until it flew.

"I feel like I should be paying you for this," I laughed one night at his place, taking off my glasses and pinching between my eyes. "This is like one-on-one TV tutoring!"

"Don't be ridiculous, you've done all the work," he chuckled. "I'm just enjoying the fun bit. Besides... who says you're not paying me?"

He shot me a cheeky glance before leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

"Right, enough stalling — are you gonna cut the doctor's visit?"

"Urgh," I groaned, dropping my forehead to my hands on the table where we were working. We had been going back and forth on this one for a few days — it was a farcical scene where my character goes to her first appointment with her new British GP. A lot of the humor came from the differences in the US vs. UK healthcare systems, and I did think it was a clever and funny scene — but it didn't do anything at all for the story.

"I'm not saying you have to!" Ben adjusted his glasses and held up a defensive hand. "It's definitely a sweet scene. But..."

"It interrupts the flow," I conceded. "I know. Ugh. It's hard to kill your darlings, isn't it?"

"Oh god," he chuckled in a low voice, looking up wistfully. "I've had so many ideas that I really loved that I ended up having to completely eject because they didn't work with the bigger picture."

"I know I have to, I'm just... sad to see it go. It's one of the first things I wrote when I started. Is that weird?"

"Not at all! I get very attached to some of my stuff. But just think — you can always bring it back for series two, and integrate it more into whatever arcs you're exploring then."

"Series two?" I smiled, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. "You think this could get picked up for a second season?"

"Absolutely," he said. "Why not?"

I shrugged and ran my hands through my hair, uncomfortably. I was still having such trouble imagining letting anyone else see it, let alone pitching it and all that could potentially follow.

I avoided his question, opting instead for leaning back and taking a look around the room. I'd grown to love his home — it was so cozy and warm and lovingly lived-in. Every time I came over, I was instantly at-ease, and more time here had given me the chance to learn even more about this clever, funny man.

My eyes landed on his bookshelves, occupied by a lot of World War II material. He had old photos of unknown men — I presumed family members, but who knew — in uniform, and carefully preserved and presented memorabilia that I hadn't really taken in the first time I'd come.

I'd also gotten to know his lifestyle a little better. He was, indeed, regimented in both his upkeep and his schedule, heading out for a jog at five in the morning, regardless of whether or not he'd been kept up into the wee hours fooling around with me. Everything had a place, and it was kept immaculately tidy and structured — something I actually liked, but balked when I thought of him seeing the bottom of my closet back in LA.