Arel rocked a bit in his seat, nervous about the meeting they were about to walk into. Sheila, who was next to him, holding his hand and sitting with perfect posture, seemed completely calm, but he knew she had her own way of handling stress. They had put a lot of time and energy into their book, so both knew that the other was feeling the pressuring weight of the meeting they would walk into in a moment. One moment and all their efforts would be brought under the knife and be thoroughly dissected. Arel swallowed at the thought. His eyes were locked on the door, when he felt a squeeze in his hand. He looked over at Sheila who was looking back at him with her captivating blues, which seemed eloquent at times. At the moment they were saying every comforting word he knew and even some he didn't know. Arel squeezed her hand back before kissing her forehead.
He let a smile spread across his face and the lines took over his features.
"Listen Beautiful," he said in a tone which always foreshadowed a comical comment or sarcasm of some kind, "you really need to calm down. Because all this anxiety you're giving off is just completely unnecessary." he was slouched over, looking up at her and still holding her hand, which he kissed when he finished. She gave a coy smile, which carried its own affection.
"Riiiight, what will you ever do with me?"
"Kiss you," and he kissed her hand again. Sheila rolled her eyes at his romantic gestures, but Arel knew she loved it.
"Are you two Arel and Sheila?"
They both looked up at the man who was inquisitively standing over them. His suit suggested he was a big deal, but his smile didn't boast anything but his genuine kindness.
"Yeah," Arel said, shooting up out of his seat, maybe a bit too quick."Are you...?"
"Atticus Knight," the man offered a hand as he introduced himself. He was not the vicious publisher Arel expected to be pitching to. Nor was he as old as Arel expected. Atticus couldn't have been older than 30. He shook Sheila's hand then walked them into his office around the corner. As they all took their seats an array of thoughts pounded Arel all at one time; he was a poor multi-tasker, thus he founded the barrage rather stressful. His blue button down was probably too wrinkled; he shouldn't have let Sheila gel his hair up; he shouldn't have worn jeans; his tie looked funny with the vest he chose; all of these thoughts prodded him and evoked a nervous energy to cause his leg to fidget. Sheila put her hand on it and his mind quieted. Luckily, Atticus had been facing the other direction sorting something out in his filing cabinet.
"So you two have something to show me? A book I hope." He said turning from his filing cabinet to them, his face inviting their work.
Arel needed no invitation."Ah, yes we do!" He was quickly in and out of his bag with the manuscript. He could feel Sheila's eyes follow the pages they had put so much into, as they were leaving their hands and passing on into another's, onward toward destiny.
"Great! I'm looking forward to this," he said, passing what Arel considered an almost mothering look over the pages. "I've heard a lot of good stuff about you two. Quite the artistic pair I've gathered. You do everything from Youtube to street corner spray painting to writing."
Was this real? Some clouds must have made room for the sunlight to pour in, because the room had become significantly brighter to Arel. He looked over at Sheila, who grabbed his hand as she returned the look.
"Well," Arel began, trying not to let the following words show his improved ego. "We try." Short and simple seemed the best approach.
"We push each other." Sheila added, probably recalling the late nights spent in front of a canvas, with Arel acting as moral support while he sketched the scene in their jointly used sketch book; the countless film projects Arel would throw together for their Youtube page; and all the coffee shops they spent the day in just writing till every word of their vocabulary was used up and the rest of the day could only be spent in silence in front of a T.V. screen, watching a sitcom. The memories of writing were the most recent. They had taken up countless hours from the past several months, but were well worth the trade. They had created a finished piece. All the complaining Arel had heard about how much he was complaining about how much Sheila was complaining about how hard he pushed them on those days when the roles weren't completely reversed. They were a pair alright and now they were a pair of authors.
"So," Atticus began, preparing to word the big question. "What am I about to read?"
There was no small answer to this question and the two had to turn to one another and share a quick glance, as if to decide through eye contact, who would respond. Sheila did a sort of nod mixed with a motion of her brow, giving Arel the go ahead. There was an honor to this. He turned to Atticus and with a strange sense of confidence, said, "You're gonna read about us, actually."
Those were the only words Atticus heard. He was sold, already, without any further explanation. He hadn't been hyperbolizing about what he thought of the young couple. There was something about them that caught his curiosity. How did such an artistically gifted couple get together? now knowing the book would be based off of their lives, his thoughts were wired on reading that book. So, no sooner had he said his goodbyes and sent them on their way, than was the manuscript in his right and a soft drink in his left, while he was kicked back with the rest of the afternoon reserved. As a publicist, Atticus was inherently an avid reader. Books were other worlds to walk into and at the moment, he was in the world of little Arel and little Sheila, neither of whom could recall a time before they met.
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