AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Some would say my entire life,” I add. “But it’s always nice to hear nice things about yourself, so please do go on, Gershwyn.”
“He can’t because he’s in a big rush,” Hudson says.
Gershwyn nods, then says, “Actually I do have to run, but there’s a bit of a work thing I need to talk to you about first.”
I take that as my cue. “I’ll leave you boys to talk business. Nice to meet you Gershwyn.”
“You too, Allie. I hope we’ll meet in person sometime.”
I slide out of bed and into a pair of slippers before rushing out of the room and closing the door behind me. As soon as I’m in the kitchen, my stomach growls, and I realize I’ve expended way more calories than I normally do on a Friday night, watching TV with my parents.
I dig around in his fridge and pantry, finding some eggs, a jar of red peppers, and some cloves of garlic. Grabbing the peasant bread, I cut four thick slices, then set out the rest of the ingredients to make eggs-in-the-hole when Hudson finishes his phone call. Next, I brew a pot of coffee, so happy, I’m practically singing to myself a la Snow White. He’s been talking to his brother about me, and the particular detail he told him isn’t something you’d share about someone you consider a fling. I wonder what else Hudson’s been saying.
I pour myself a mug of coffee with cream and sugar, then wander into the living room, spotting the script for his movie on the side table next to the sofa. Settling myself on the sofa, I pick up the script and turn to page one. “Let’s have a peek.”
I stare at it for a second before I realize the font is one I’ve seen before. It’s used by people who have dyslexia. My heart stops for a second, as it hits me. Hudson has dyslexia.
The door to the bedroom swings open, and I quickly shut the script and get up. His bare feet slap against the hardwood floor as he wanders in wearing only a pair of low-slung pajama bottoms, looking all sexy-disheveled, with his thick brown hair standing straight up in the back. My heart surges when he looks at me and smiles. “There you are. I thought maybe you decided to leave me and went back to Frank.”
“Don’t worry,” I say, walking over and giving him a kiss. “I’m not the type to get it and forget it.”
“Lucky me,” he answers, pulling me into his arms and leaving a trail of soft kisses down my neck.
My stomach growls in response, and he lets go of me. Grinning, he says, “But first, food.”
“I’m going to make you a family favorite,” I answer, letting go of him even though I don’t want to and walking over to the stove. “Eggs-in-the-hole with red peppers.”
“Sounds amazing,” he says. “Can I help?”
Shaking my head, I smile at him. “Just keep me company while I cook.”
He pours himself a coffee and leans back against the counter next to me while I sauté the peppers and garlic. “A woman of many talents.”
“Yes, I can fry things at will,” I answer. “Say, I had a peek at your script.”
“Oh yeah?” he asks. “Did you find any glaring technical mistakes?”
“I only looked at the first page, but I couldn’t help but notice the font.”
He freezes for a fraction of a second, but it’s long enough for me to know the truth. Giving me an easy smile, he says, “Oh really? Are you a big font aficionado?”
“No, but I’ve seen that one before when I was working on a joint project with a team at NASA. It’s for people with dyslexia.” I look up from the pan to try to gauge his reaction.
He’s suddenly very interested in his coffee. “Is that so?”
“Yeah,” I tell him.
He pushes away from the counter and walks over to the island. Plunking down onto a stool, he says, “That’s weird. Why would they use that font?”
“Because fifty percent of the people at NASA are dyslexic.”
His face turns a little pink, but he manages to keep a nonchalant expression. “Seriously? How’d that happen?”
“It happened when the people who run NASA figured out that dyslexia often comes with an ability to map out problems in one’s brain, which leads to creative problem solving that other people can’t do.”
“Huh, well, you learn something new every day,” he says, having a sip of coffee.
I turn back to the stove and slide the peppers and garlic onto a plate. Adding more butter to the pan, I then place the slices of bread in and start cracking eggs into each hole. The entire time, I’m waiting for him to admit it. To tell me himself. But he doesn’t say anything. My heart picks up its pace a little. He’s definitely trying to avoid the topic, and I’m not sure how he’ll react if I push it. But, after all the things we’ve said and done, surely he can admit something so minor to me. When I turn back to face him, he’s staring at the island while he chews his bottom lip.
