She wanted to test a theory. He wanted to win a bet. What could possibly go wrong?
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Why was this shit so much easier in the books?!
The Macy Anderson in me would spit out the alternatives to every c...
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So, there you have it, folks.
Those had been the last eight years of my now nonexistent love life and as I sit here in my office, waiting for Beth and my editor to get back to me about having finally turned in my final draft of the book, I take one hell of a deep breath.
These last three years in particular have been quite the roller coaster. A lot of changes were made, many hearts were broken and rebroken, but in some defining way, having had the chance to lose myself in those mesmerizing chocolate brown eyes of his one last time had been worth every shed tear. That man will always have his own special place in my heart.
I smile as I look down at the matching ring that he had gifted me all those years ago, while clutching the journal of entries that he then gave me on my birthday that same year close to my chest. Believe it or not, that's where my real inspiration for the remainder of my book ended up coming from: Ace's words that he once wrote for me.
It -much like the ring that I bring up to my lips to kiss- will forever serve as a reminder that, at some point in my life, I was brave enough to trust another man after the one who should've protected me the most let me down. I will always have a piece of Ace Rivers with me wherever I go, and although that thought hadn't been enough to stop yesterday's tears from falling on my way back to the States, there's always hope that it'll hurt less someday down the road.
At least that's what I've been telling myself ever since I arrived at my apartment this morning, because balling my eyes out every day for the rest of my life sure doesn't sound like a lot of fun to me.
The only comfort in all of this, however, is that I know that Ace will be happy. He might not see it now, but he did the right thing telling Addison 'I do' today. He'll be happy, I'm sure of it.
Letting out a deep breath, I put the journal aside and close my laptop before heading over to the living room. Having spent the last few hours locked up inside my office, I reach for my phone as soon as I spot it on the coffee table.
Thankfully, I have no new notifications -God knows that I had plenty the moment I had landed, though- sparing me from having to communicate with anyone else today. Explaining enough to your family for them not to be worried was one thing, but having to respond to tons of interview and guest appearance requests when your next book wasn't even published yet was already pushing it. Let's just say that I was beyond grateful that it was Beth's job to handle that department for me.
Deciding to take my mind off things, I access the Netflix app on my Smart TV. If I weren't so exhausted, I'd actually search for a title on my own but instead, I just go with the first recommendation that's suggested:
The Notebook...oh, the irony.
Just like I had mentioned towards the end of my book, The Notebook is a film that I've watched plenty of times.
Would now be such a good time to watch it, though, after everything my agonizing heart has been through? Probably not.
But will that stop me from pressing 'play?' Not a fucking chance.
Oh, come on, don't give me that look! I'd like to see just one person out there who'd ever be willing to pass up the opportunity of watching Ryan Gosling devour Rachel McAdams' face on a seventy-two-inch flat screen TV.
That being said, I waste no more time in starting the classic, soon making myself comfortable as the opening credits roll in.
***
By the time the incoming storm forces the couple to row back to the deck, the bowl of popcorn that I decided to make about fifteen minutes into the film is now completely empty. Yet, my fingers are still tightly grasped to the rim of it as I anticipate the big kiss.
Letting out a low whistle when Gosling's big muscles pull in the rowboat, I nearly wince when McAdams' character storms back down the deck to face him. And that's saying a lot, given how many times I've already gushed over this scene.
"Why didn't you write me?" She asked him all sexually frustrated and shit. "Why?" She was determined to know. "It wasn't over for me!" Gosling's beautiful face is shown just as McAdams confesses, "I waited for you for seven years, and now it's too late."
By this time, Gosling's standing right in front of her, McAdams looking up at him now that it's his turn to confront her.
"I wrote you three hundred sixty-five letters," he told her. "I wrote you every day for a year."
And I oop-
Tell me about it, Buffy.
"You wrote me?" McAdams asked in disbelief.
"Yes!" He exclaimed, watching as the love of his life let out a packed breath.
Come on, say it.
Say it, say it, say it!...'It wasn't over, it still isn't over!'
"It wasn't over," he tells her...Yes! Yes! Yes!
And right there and then, just like I had ended my book, the fucking doorbell decides now of all times to ring.
No! No! No!
"Ughhh!" I groan as I'm forced to pause the film literally right before their lips touch. Dropping the remote onto the couch, I stomp my way over to the front door.
Hey, at least you didn't jump up in horror like Luna had, Buffy reminds me.
I guess that's true.
Sighing, I proceed to open the door...
And how my eyes physically remain attached to their sockets at the sight that awaits me on the other side of it, is a whole entire mystery of its own.
---
*Author's Note: Accidentally writing what actually ends up happening in the future can't be all that creepy...I mean, stranger things have happened, right? 😂
Nevertheless, the next six chapters -as promised- will be in ACE'S POINT OF VIEW!!!! I have to say that I absolutely loved writing these chapters, so I hope you enjoy the content! And who knows? They might just shed some light on a few new things along the way as well.
P.S. As always, don't forget to comment, vote, share, etc. if you're feeling like it!
