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| This is the Open Door Coffee Company in Hudson, Ohio. I haven't been there yet. |
Inspiration arrived in the form of a man, a young man who strode up to the table with no wasted effort. He was slender, almost slight. His dark brown, almost black, hair just touched his collar, and his face was boyish, with wide, almond-shaped eyes. He wore a quirked smile.
"You're Josh," I said as he sat down across from me. "I owe you an apology."
"What for?" His face fell into serious, studious lines.
"I'm sorry that I didn't let you grow up." It was true -- I chose him for the story I had written at a too young age, so he couldn't show his true potential --
"That's okay," he noted. "I'm a writer too. You just got trapped inside the source material."
"You weren't supposed to know about the source material," I growled. A dream -- a racy dream -- an embarrassing dream that I had written about to exorcise.
"Nothing to be ashamed of," Josh countered. "We write from dreams. Then we revise. Look on the bright side -- you can do a lot more with me now."
"Josh!" I hissed. "Don't you even -- "
That quirky smile spread across his face.
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