One Shots with Chris Evans

Memory I Don't Mess With

My shoulders and neck ache worse than they have in years. Leaning over my desk, putting pen to paper the way I prefer when it comes to writing, isn't quite as conducive to my body as it would be to just type the manuscript onto the computer.

According to Joni I'm messing up all parts of not just my back but my eyes and my 'oneness' in creativity by just letting my fingers glide across a keyboard as quickly as my mind thinks up the words.

Truth be told, I'd rather have the cramping in my fingers and pain in my knuckles after a long day of scribbling words across my papers than burning eyes from staring at a glowing computer screen.

Even now, sitting in my home office, I've got the black out curtains drawn, just the light from a small, but obnoxious looking, seashell lamp giving a soft glow to a room that would normally be filled with light from the afternoon sun. It gives the illusion that I can shut off the outside world, even if there's a number of people that could be on the other side of my door at any given moment.

This is my sanctuary, off limits to everyone else unless they're invited in by me and even then it's for as short of an amount as possible.  Which is why I find myself rolling my eyes when I hear the knock against the wood.  At this time of day, it could be a plethora of different people from family to my fiance who should know that I'm in my zone considering I haven't opened the door or answered any of her messages in the last three hours.

  "Hugh," she calls out through the door. "We need to talk."

  "Can it wait a little longer?"

  "Not really, I have an appointment I need to get to and I really need to run something by you."

  I toss the pen against the paper, ink splattering over my work. My elbow leans on the armrest of my desk chair while my hand slides over my face. "Sure," I answer curtly. 

  Tandy slowly pushes the door open, seeming genuinely afraid to enter once she sees that my hand is covering my  mouth rather than giving her an award winning Drysdale smug grin. 

  "I'm sorry, Hughie." She steps further in, her stilletos clicking against the marbled floor. It was a ridiculous choice she made when I was renovating the house. I tried to convince her that just doing it in the foyer and staircase was enough, but she pushed and begged for it to be everywhere.

  And I mean everywhere.

  The bedroom even. I drew the line on the bathroom flooring, conceding with at least having it heated.

  "How's the writing?"

  I draw out a long sigh and sit further back into my chair. "I thought you had something we needed to talk about. You know I don't talk about my writing when I'm in the midst of it."

  She steps around my desk, settling her backside against the edge. One hand reaches out to brush the hair away from my forehead. "I wish you'd tell me about it," she whispers. "Especially if it's about me, or you, or something you'd like for us to maybe try."

  I don't bite, wishing to get back to my work before the flow of thought vanishes. "Spit it out, Tan."

  "Well," she opens the folder she'd been holding tightly in her hand. "I decided on a honeymoon. It's nothing too fancy, not even out of the country since your next release is around the same time."

  I scoot my chair back, feeling a little like a jackass for my agitation when she's just trying to work on plans for our future together.  I spread my legs, with my hands on her hips I slide her against the desk directly in front of me. 

  "What did you decide on, sweetie?"

   A smile finally finds its way across her pink lips. "There's this little resort in Alabama-

"Alabama?" I repeat. "You want to honeymoon in Alabama?" There's a certain amount of distaste on my tongue as I try to reconcile the idea of my pageant princess fiance wanting to go down to hillbilly hell.

 "Well, you have a signing in Florida the week after and I figured we could maybe have a whole tour of the different beaches?" 

She sounds so hopeful. "Tell me more," I sigh. 

"I was thinking maybe we could go there, have massages on the beach. Dinners at sunset and breakfast by the pool."

  She passes over the papers with all the information and my stomach sinks just as soon as I notice where exactly in Alabama she's chosen for this escape.  

 "Dauphin Island?"

  Tandy's face lights up, her hands clapping in excitement. "It's brand new. It opens the week before, so we'll practically be the first ones there. And, I used your name to secure their Presidential Suite."

  She's speaking, but I'm hearing nothing but muffled noise as my heart races and my stomach rolls. I close the folder before throwing it on top of my desk. "You have an appointment?" I remind her.

  She flips her wrist over, eyes glancing over the diamond encrusted Cartier. "Shoot. I'm already late. Wanna come with me? It's for the wedding after all."

  "No," I bite. "You interrupted a really important part of the story and I need to get back to it." 

  "Oh, sorry again," she smiles sheepishly, placing her hands on my shoulders before leaning in for a kiss.  She attempts to linger, but I pull back, wanting desperately for her to leave my space.  "I'll pick up take out?"

  I nod, using my hands on her waist once more to move her. "Be careful."

  With her hand on the knob she looks over her shoulder, blowing me a kiss. "Love you, Hughie."

  "Love you too, sweetie," I say before swallowing the lump that's grown in my throat as I pick my pen back up.

  For the next thirty minutes, try as I might I can't write another word. The point I'd stopped at was the middle of a sentence. My eyes keep drifting to the lower drawer of my desk, the one that Tandy was standing in front of just minutes earlier.

  My fingers run along the underneath lip of the desk, grazing over a key I've hidden there. With it I unlock the bottom drawer, pulling out the photograph that has only ever been privy to myself and one other person.

  The woman who took it.

   There on the beach of Dauphin Island, our hands interlocked with our feet sinking into the sand as the waves dissolved around us.  

  Flipping it over, I read the words for the thousandth time in the last two years.

  Ransom, never let the waves wash away your dreams.  Hold onto them tightly, just as I will hold on to you. ~ Gwyneth