Elliot sat on the armrest of the couch, tapping her foot in an incessant beat.

The doorknob turned and Elliot hopped up and walked over to Beck.

"Good you're here," she said. "We're leaving."

Beck nodded at this announcement and pulled the door open for her.

"Any reason," he asked, "or has the emptiness of the office scared you again?"

Elliot scoffed as Beck closed the door and followed her down the staircase.

"Please," she said, "I once tried to talk to Tristan at seven o'clock in the morning. Nothing scares me, except trying to talk to Tristan at seven o'clock in the morning."

"Okay. Do you have a destination in mind or have you decided to drop the book and this is your subtle way of telling me I'm fired?"

Elliot turned on him and cocked her head.

"Do you think I would be subtle about telling you, you were fired?"

"You make a good point."

"So you have your answer."

She turned away and pushed through the front doors. The day felt as if spring had been over booked and dropped one of its pleasant days in the middle of summer. The sun's heat was warm, but not overbearing. The light had a soft whiteness to its color. The birds chirped like they were auditioning for the stage. Elliot directed Beck across the street and into the Common.

"Coffee?" Beck asked.

Elliot nodded.

"I broke the machine in the office," she said.

"For fun?"

"I wondered what would happen if I crumbled up cereal and put it with the coffee grounds," she said. "Apparently, the coffee maker took offense at being so harshly used and handed in it's resignation."

Beck gave a single nod and slid his hands in his pockets, looking off to the side.

"Can you blame it?" he said, "Your treatment was below its status."

"I thought it would liven up its life a little," she said. "Obviously not, because now I'm out a coffee maker and the espresso machine was giving me a warning glare."

Beck chuckled and shook his head.

"I've just realized we are talking about inanimate objects," he said.

Elliot looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"Interesting," she said. "I thought you were smart but the more you talk it seems I was mistaken."

"You're personifying a coffee maker and I'm the dumb one here?" he said, doubtfully.

"It took you two minutes to realize we were talking about a coffee maker. Who is the slow one in the situation? My answer, is you."

A grin spread across Beck's face and he chuckled.

"I am seceding from this conversation," he said.

Elliot shrugged. They walked in silence, letting the music of the city twist around them. They were halfway across the Common when Tristan appeared. They stopped and Elliot eyed him with an odd, scrutinizing look.

"Why do you look like someone ate your toast?" she asked.

Tristan's frown deepened.

"If that is the reason you are mad," she added, "I blame Cece. I left before you emerged from your den."

Tristan shook his head and rubbed his forehead as if trying to rid himself of annoying thoughts.

"No," he said, "I have to go work with the most sodding group of dancers I have ever had. And that's including St. Louis."

"I'm sorry," Elliot said. "Sodding? Did you take a trip to Britain that you forgot to mention?"

Tristan pulled himself from his troubled thoughts enough to give her a flat look.

"No. British TV show. I now find myself saying 'dash it, whatto and cheers' all the time."

"Okay," she said. "Not like you weren't odd before. Proceed."

Tristan gave her a brief scowl but he dropped it when it took too much effort. He gave a heavy sigh, that was part for show and part because his current state had come back to him.

"This group is undisciplined and lack anything close to passion," he said, a sour note to his words. "The most they have is a sliver of mild interest. I've known toddlers with more heart for dancing. Part of me is thinking of trading them out."

Elliot crossed her arms.

"What are you going to do about it?" she asked.

"Yell at them to ease my annoyance and throw in a few additional costs."

Elliot put her hand to her heart.

"I'm so honored to be related to you," she said.

Beck glanced between them, a smile fighting to be seen. Tristan waved his hand as if dismissing the issue.

"You're welcome," he said. "I guess this is what I get for agreeing to take the place of a friend and having to work with twelve year olds. This is the last time I decide to do that. What a burden friends are, not sure why I keep them around."

"Now you understand my life in high school," Elliot said.

"You were alone because you were odd," Tristan said, "not because you had friends but were too brilliant to be troubled with them."

"Perspective," Elliot said.

Tristan smiled and she returned it with a smug grin. His own topic of conversation moved to the side, he looked at Beck, then back at Elliot.

"Where do you two stand?" he asked.

"Currently in the Common," Elliot said, "but that might change when you walk away."

"Always good to know where you are located. I wish my dancers knew as much as that. How about relationship wise?"

Elliot nodded in understanding as Beck spoke up.

"Her annoying wanderings no longer make me want to jump out the window," he said.

Elliot turned to him with a surprised look.

"Who knew that was possible?" she said. She looked back at Tristan. "I can say with all certainty that I would accept his friend request, ignore anything he posts, but stalk him later in life when I'm curious what he has made of himself."

Tristan raised his eyebrows, his expression stunned. When he collected himself, he laid a hand on Beck's shoulder.

"You, my good man," he said, "have made it further than many others."

"I would chalk that up to being paid," Beck said.

Tristan dropped his hand and shrugged.

"It's the only reason I talk to her," he said. He looked at Elliot. "Your check bounced by the way."

Elliot made a flippant gesture.

"Your recent conversation sucked, so it's only fitting."

"True, but it was at seven in the morning."

"I guess you're right," she said. "Do you take cash?"

"I'll settle for you boring someone else with your conversation next time."

"Deal. Have you seen Cece?" Elliot asked. "I chanced upon her at three in the morning the other night."

Tristan shook his head.

"She's been writing. Inspiration or avoidance?" he asked.

"Avoidance."

Tristan nodded and looked off.

"I figured," he said. "She shot me with a nerf gun when I opened her door." He brought his attention back to Elliot. "Her feelings for Milo or thoughts over the approaching date of Michelle's wedding?"

"Milo this time," Elliot said.

"Do you think she'll do anything about it?"

"I don't know. I figure its a toss up between her admitting her feelings for Milo or an astroid crashing to earth and ending life as we know it."

"Twenty bucks it's the astroid."

"Did you hack into the NASA database as well?"

"No. I got the alert. Eight months left apparently."

Elliot held up her hand, looking puzzled.

"Wait," she said, "You're on NASA's email list?"

Tristan shrugged.

"I know a girl."

Elliot crossed her arms and nodded.

"Right forgot about her," she said. "I never liked her."

"I know, because you told me," Tristan said, "when she was standing next to me."

"Its not my fault she has bad timing. That's why I didn't like her."

"It was a family trait. It's why I dropped the relationship. I couldn't have my kids inheriting that."

"Smart move."

Tristan ran a hand through his hair then glanced at his watch.

"I have to go take care of this group," he said.

He nodded to Beck and left them. Elliot watched him for a second but shifted her gaze to Beck when she became aware of him looking at her. She frowned.

"What?" she said.

He pointed behind him, with his thumb, in the direction Tristan had left.

"Was any of that suppose to be normal?" he asked.

Elliot shrugged.

"I don't know," she said. "I've forgotten what we talked about. Come, I want to get coffee. Maybe if we bring it back to the office the coffee maker will get jealous and start working again."

"Not likely," he said. "Its a stubborn tool."

Elliot turned and headed towards the Starbucks.

"True."

They crossed the street and were approaching the front doors to the coffee shop when Grant stepped out. Beck started at the sight of his brother, but quickly regained his composure. Grant looked up from his phone and paused. A genial smile appeared on his handsome face.

"Hey, Beck," he said.

He looked at Elliot, his eyes narrowing slightly as the edges of recognition slipped into his mind.

"I'm Elliot," she said.

Grant's smile brightened.

"Of course," he said, his eyes flickered to Beck, then back. "You're Beck's friend."

Elliot nodded, but looked at Beck with a wide, mocking smile. A hint of a scowl appeared on Beck's face.

"That's right," Elliot said. "I'm Beck's friend. We see each other so much it's almost as if we work together."

She let out a bright laugh that Grant, out of politeness, joined in with, not completely seeing the humor in the statement. Beck tensed, but achieved in keeping his face from revealing his thoughts. Grant raised his coffee cup to them in salute.

"I have to be off," he said. "It was nice seeing you again, Elliot."

"Likewise."

Grant clapped Beck on the shoulder as he past.

"See you this weekend for dinner, little bro."

Grant disappeared around the corner. Elliot looked at Beck, rocking on the balls of her feet.

"So..."

"We should get coffee and get back to the office," he said.

She studied his face, but could read nothing beyond the emotionless expression. He reached out and pulled the door open.

"I think Weston's timeline is almost complete," he said, "but there is one thought I wanted to talk over with you."

Elliot moved onto the new topic, allowing him to think that she was putting away what had just happened.

Armed with tall, steaming cups of coffee, they left the Starbucks. Beck's thought about Weston was rung dry by the time they entered the Common once more. When Elliot didn't respond to a comment Beck made, he stopped talking. He focused his gaze away from Elliot in hopes of blocking her thought of speaking. His tactic didn't work.

"So why haven't you told your brother that we are working together? Or that you are writing a book?" she asked.

To his credit Beck managed to seem unconcerned by her questions. He merely shrugged and continued gazing at the scenery about them.

"No reason," he said.

"Sure," she said. "I believe that response as much as I believe a man walked on the moon."

Beck looked at her surprised.

"You don't believe a man walked on the moon?"

"Thats not what you were suppose to take away from that. Why do you shy away from telling your brother about your work?"

Beck looked away from her and took a sip of his coffee.

"I told you about the skeleton in my closet," Elliot said. "It's your turn."

Beck leveled her with a unfazed look.

"No," he said, "because unlike you, I have refrained from murder."

Elliot's eyebrow went up.

"Wow," she said. "You must be really defensive because that sounds like an answer I would give."

Beck's face remained impassive, but a slight twitch of his mouth downward showed his irritation.

"I'm not defensive," he said, calmly.

Elliot held up her hands in surrender.

"Alright, you're not defensive."

They continued on in a silence for a moment until Elliot broke it.

"Is it because you're co-writing your first book?" she asked.

"No," Beck said, in a tone that clearly announced he didn't intend to say anything more.

They crossed the street and entered the office building. The door swung closed behind them, muffling the city and enclosing them in with their silence.

"Is it because you're working with a girl?" she asked. She made a funny face. "Woman?" She scrunched her nose. "Lady? Female? Chica? Femme? A member of the opposite sex?"

She shook her head.

"Yeah, none of those sound right," she said. She looked up at Beck. "Is it because of that?"

He flexed his jaw in annoyance and pushed open the office door, not bothering to answer. Elliot followed him in, taking his silence in stride. They tossed aside their bags and settled on opposite couches.

Elliot leaned over her knees, quietly studying the note cards, the full story laid out in detail. For a long moment neither of them spoke, a rising tension filling the room. Elliot glanced up at Beck, his face unreadable.

"Is it because the book is YA?" she blurted out.

Beck clenched his hands and closed his eyes as if by sheer will he could hold himself together. Elliot shrugged and looked away from him. Another moment passed.

"It's because it's a romance, isn't it?" she said.

Beck jerked his head up, glaring at her.

"Just stop!" he said. "I'm not talking about this with you. Got it!"

Elliot's eyes went wide. A bit of his trapped frustration released, Beck seemed to deflate slightly. He ran a hand through his hair, contemplating the floor.

"Interesting," Elliot said. "You can poke holes at my life, but I'm not allowed to do the same."

Beck looked at her.

"I apologize for doing that, but this is not something I am discussing with you."

"Is that because I'm the source of your aversion to telling your brother about this book?"

"No, just leave it!"

Elliot crossed her arms.

"Like you left my life alone?"

"I'm serious."

Elliot tossed up her hands.

"Come on, it can't be that big of a deal!" she said. "You're simply writing a book. Where could be the harm in any of that?"

Beck rubbed his face trying to push away his emotions.

"I mean it's not the next great American novel but it's not bad," she said. She looked at him with her head cocked. "Is that why you won't tell him? Because you should be writing the next Grapes of Wrath?"

Beck dropped his hands away and stared at the table.

"No!" he said, angrily, "It's because if I told him I wanted to be a writer he would never take me seriously."

He looked up at her. Elliot eyebrows shot up.

"Oh," she said.

He leveled her with a fierce glare.

"Now," he said, " can we please drop the subject?"

Elliot nodded.

"It has its bags packed and its out the door."

"Thank you," Beck said.

Silence descended over the office. Beck ran a tired hand through his hair, looking at anything except Elliot.

"Beck," she said.

He let out a weary sigh.

"For what its worth," she continued, "you're an amazing writer and that is something you should never be ashamed of." Beck lifted his gaze to her. "You have a talent others would kill for. Believe me, I had to stop Cece from murdering you countless times. Although, not all of them were for your writing."

He managed a piece of a smile.

"Thanks," he said.

Elliot shrugged and smiled.

"Why do you think I hired you?" she said. "It was not because of your winning personalty."

Beck laughed, the effect dashing away his troubled thoughts for a moment.

"I know that," he said. He rubbed the back of his neck, grinning at the memory of their first encounter. "It was not my best first impression."

Elliot nodded. They fell quiet, then she shifted, a question burning her tongue. Beck met her gaze and she took it as an open door.

"Why?" she asked, softly.

Beck rested his arms on his knees, looking at his clasped hands.

"Grant is a business man, through and through," he said. "To him, pursuing a career that has a very small success rate is idiocy." He let out a self loathing chuckle. "Even my father doesn't fully know what I am doing. My mother does, because she supports me. But my dad and Grant...well they manage businesses. Art is not something they see as profitable. Starving artist is all they picture."

He let out anther tired sigh and brushed back his hair.

"I get it," Elliot said.

Beck looked up, surprised and she nodded.

"You're not the only one with a family that doesn't understand what you do or why you do it," she said. "We moved across the country to get away from that side of the family because they believed we're whacked for not taking the traditional route, college and then a steady job." Elliot shrugged. "But hey, without opposition there wouldn't really be any great artists. Part of the job is passion, the other part if defying those people who said you can't do it. I have my mother to thank for that. Nothing was ever going to stop her from pursuing her art and so I didn't either."

Beck studied her for a long time, as if putting together the new piece of information into the puzzle of her in his mind.

"Don't give up your writing because a few people won't understand it," Elliot said. "It's not worth it and you're too good for that."

Beck gave her a single nod. She clapped her hands together, the mood shifting.

"Okay," she said. "Before you run off to write the next great American novel, help me finish this one."

Beck chuckled and shifted closer to the table.

**********************************************************************

Chicken Soup! (Ha! Something that will not make you hungry, unless you are sick and if so I'm sorry and hope you feel better soon!)

What are we talking about today? Honestly, I have no idea. The sky is gray and you know how I feel about gray days, I want to cuddle up with a book and cup of hot chocolate, or ice cream, really either one works.

Oh! Okay, I figured out what we are talking about, it might sound weird but what are your favorite smells?

I love Hollister cologne (Because nothing is better than that), Home Depot, (I don't know why, maybe because it smells like improvement) and Payless. (It's a shoe store and no lie it has the best smell in the world. And it's shoes so win win.) Gosh why am I so odd?! 🤦🏽‍♀️

⭐️💬🏃🏽🏃🏽(You know what to do 😉)