Hello, blogglings. :)
It’s that time…the weekly wrap-up! At this current time, my word count is 25,858 and I have not yet written today. I will, however, be writing shortly. There are just a few things I’d like to mention.
I read Uglies by Scott Westerfield, which I thoroughly enjoyed and gave four stars. I am now reading The Maze Runner by James Dashner and loving it too. I’m about halfway through that. I won’t be doing any formal reviews until November is over.
Speaking of November…it’s almost over! I am barely holding on to my daily word count.
Kind of like Olaf holding on to his face. [Frozen is not old! I can still use GIFs of Olaf.]
And my computer is kind of being idiotic. IT’S NOT CHARGING!!! Which makes me very very very very very very very very very very very very very very angry. So I have my novel on a flash drive which I switch from computer to computer. It is highly annoying.
I am still extremely obsessed with 1989.
Do not judge me.
I decided that this week I would talk to you lovely blogglings about instalove. Because if you’ve read Nakoma, you know that instalove happened multiple times in that partly-finished book. And I am trying really hard to not have that in Bloggish. Cait and Dean have known each other for ages, so that’s fine. But, um, and I know all of you Cait+Dean shippers are going to hate me for this, Dean is not in the picture any more. He is gone. Adios. Enter, Emile, the cute taxi driver, and cue the instalove! Cait doesn’t even know his last name.
*is running away from the shippers an haters of instalove*
So yeah. That happened. And I swear it was an accident. I swear on Leo Valdez’s life!* Personally, I don’t mind instalove, because it’s like my every day fantasy, but IDK.
Anyway, here’s this week’s excerpt:
“What’re you doing out in the cold?” a voice behind me asked.
A shadow of an umbrella loomed over me. I turned my head and saw that the voice was Emile. My haunting, yet unfortunately charming, ghost. I noticed how a sliver of light hit his chocolate curls in just the right way so they were tinged golden. He had a soft half smile on his face and his voice was that morning brew, sexy and dark.
“Are you kidding?” I spread my arms wide and smiled at the sky. “This is beautiful!”
“Lemme guess,” Emile laughed. “You live in San Francisco. They never see the light of day there, and when they do, it’s still cold.”
“Actually,” I corrected him, “I’m from Monterey. Close, though, and that’s pretty much true for both cities.”
Emile laughed again, which made me smile.
“So, what’s with all the umbrellas?” I asked.
“Oh.” He closed his umbrella sheepishly. “I guess people thought it would rain. Silly, I guess, but…”
The sun was glinting off Emile’s caramel-colored skin, along with his hair. His eyes shone in the light. He looked like an angel.
“My aunt’s apartment is right there.” I pointed to the dirty, white-washed building next to us.
“I’ll walk you up,” Emile offered.
I led the way to the apartment complex. My heart was beating right out of my chest. What was going on? Was I falling for Emile, now, too? I tried to ignore my quickened pulse and knotted stomach. All my senses were on high-radar; Emile’s features seemed highlighted against the gray backdrop and I could see each hair. His breathing seemed to be right next to my ear. Emile’s cologne was sweet and sharp and reminded me of cinnamon.
Emile opened the door for me and I stepped through. I hoped my face wasn’t red. He also let me enter the elevator first.
He pressed the button and we shot up, although that wasn’t the only reason my stomach decided to practice gymnastics for the Olympics. When we landed on my aunt’s floor, Emile took the liberty of saying hi to Shelly.
“Hi,” Emile said as the door opened.
Shelly was in her uniform on lunch break. She smiled brightly when she saw Emile.
“Oh, you’re the taxi driver,” she remembered, grinning. “Come in. Hey, Caity.”
“Hey,” I said.
“So, Emile, what were you up to with Cait?” Shelly asked casually, going into the kitchen and pouring the three of us soda.
Emile ran his fingers through his hair. My heart fluttered.
“She was walking back here from Starbucks so I decided to say hi.”
“How sweet of you,” my aunt praised him. “Did you see Cait on TV last night? She’s going to have her own reality show!”
I rolled my eyes. “First of all, I’m right here.”
Emile clapped me on the back friendlily. “Of course, Caity.”
Alarms went off in my body. He touched me he touched me! He called me CAITY!!! I told myself to calm down.
“And second of all,” I added shakily, brushing a lock of hair behind my ear, “most reality shows are shit and scripted. If I don’t get it, I’ll be okay.”
Shelly laughed. “Well, hon, it’s true that reality shows are mostly crap-filled and unoriginal, but they’re entertaining! Just imagine, you get famous and then—Hollywood!” She did jazz hands at me. I cracked a smile.
“But I don’t want Hollywood,” I protested. “I just want to be a book blogger and a writer and a cat lady. There is nothing more I want!”
Emilie laughed, and I remembered his presence. “Those are some great life goals,” he said sarcastically.
“You’re one to talk.” I stuck my tongue out at him.
“For your information, the only reason I drive a taxi is to pay for my college tuition, okay?” Emile snarled.
I held my hands up in surrender. “Whatever. I’m gonna go to my room. Thanks for stopping by, Emile.”
I began to push him toward the door, which sent fireworks off in my fingertips.
“Don’t be so rude, Cait,” Shelly scolded me. “Let Emilie stay if he wants. Invite him to your room.”
I sighed. “Wanna come with me?”
“If your aunt’s okay with it,” he agreed.
Emile followed me to the guest bedroom, which was hardly clean.
“Your aunt doesn’t think it’s weird that a guy is in your room, just you?” Emile burst out as soon as I closed the door.
I laughed. “I’m basically a social recluse, so any kind of socializing is like gold to her. Even though I don’t live with her,” I added.
“Right, you’re a Cali girl,” Emile remembered, and bounced onto my bed.
“Heart and soul.”
An awkward silence spanned the room, like a thin mist sheet.
“So,” Emilie broke in, “you mentioned you’re a book blogger? What does that mean exactly?”
I unplugged my laptop and sat next to Emile. I ignored my email and opened up my blog’s page. I was pretty proud of it. I learned coding and used advanced features to design it myself. I especially loved the logo, which Jaz made with a special program on her computer. She’d made practically all of our friends’ logos.
I showed Emile my pages and the last few blog posts.
“Being a book blogger means that you blog about bookish things,” I explained. “So I post book reviews, writing advice, fun bookshelve-y tags, stuff like that. I also like cooking, so I post the occasional recipe or cooking advice in here, too.”
I handed my computer over to him and let him browse through the pages and posts. He examined my sidebar and the number of followers—everything. At last, when he was satisfied, Emile handed me the computer.
“That’s pretty impressive,” Emile gushed in awe.
“Yeah, I worked really hard on it,” I said, shutting my laptop’s lid and beaming.
Emile ran a hand through his hair. I almost died.
“I should get going,” he said. “Thanks for having me over and letting me see your blog.”
“Anytime.” I smiled. “I might be in New York for another month.”
His face lit up. “Awesome! Oh, hey, I don’t think I got your number.”
We switched phones and I added myself as a contact in his. We also took selfies for the contact photos. I adjusted the light so I looked amazing and on point. Which was a bit hard to do, considering my hair was hardly brushed and I didn’t have on any makeup. Emile would have to see my natural beauty.
When we switched back, I looked at his contact photo. And did a double take. Why was it that he looked like he’d just walked off a modeling shoot while I looked like a zombie unicorn with no horn?! Life was so unfair sometimes.
“Bye!” I said to Emile as he exited the apartment.
“See you later,” he replied with a wicked smile.
And then he kissed me. It was too brief, just a second. Then he raced down the hall toward the elevator. I knew what he’d done. He’d made me not forget him, and text him later. Sneaky boy.
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That just might be my favorite part ever. *insert emoji with hearts for eyes*