Free The Casual Rule by A.C. Netzel Page A

Marcello,” I say as I give him a quick hug goodbye.
    “Sooner than you think, Julia,” he teases.
    “Marcello, thanks for everything,” Ben says while shaking his hand.
    “It was my pleasure, Ben. Take good care of my girl. Julia is one in a million.”
    “Yes, she is.” He looks at me and smiles.
    He holds the door open for me and we leave the studio. The cold air hits you immediately. Normally, I’d bitch and moan about the temperature, but having Ben so close to me makes it tolerable. I shove my hands in my coat pockets and stare straight ahead, occasionally stealing a quick glimpse of Ben.
    “I had a nice time the other night,” he says.
    “I did too. Thank you again for dinner.”
    “It was my pleasure. How was work today?”
    “Good. Busy. Vivian runs a tight ship. How are your rewrites coming along?”
    “Just about done.  Then I start research for the next book.”
    “What’s that one about?”
    “Baseball stadiums, old and new. Their history. That sort of thing.”
    “Interesting. Are you going to include a chapter on stadium food?”
    “Stadium food?”
    “One of the best things about going to a game is the food. Different parks have different specialties. Just think of all the different ways hotdogs are prepared in ballparks across the country and Canada. You could write a whole book just on that.”
    He laughs.
    I tilt my head and smile. “What?”
    “You.”
    “What about me?”
    “Back to food again. I love the way your mind works.”
    “Are you teasing me?”
    “Never.” He holds up his hands, pretending he’s surrendering.
    “Well, whatever you write, I look forward to reading it.”
    “And sending it back to me with redline mark-ups and revision requests?”
    “I do have bills to pay. If I don’t send something back, I don’t have a job.”
    “So my first book was really perfect?”
    I nod with a wry grin. “Yup, I’m just a working girl looking to keep herself employed.”
    “I knew it. I’m glad I could help. I wouldn’t want you out on the streets.”
    “Thanks. I appreciate that. So…what made you decide to be a writer?”
    “It’s all I ever wanted to do. After college, I worked with my father for a few years. I was miserable. Corporate life isn’t for me. I quit my job and never looked back.”
    “Was your father upset?”
    “He was…less than thrilled. He said I’d never make a living at it. But I have an inheritance from my grandfather’s estate to live off of for a while; I figured I’d give it a shot.”
    “Well, you’re a very talented writer.”
    “Thank you.”
    As we’re turning the corner, a shiny silver object catches my attention. I bend down and pick up a quarter. “Here.” I hand it to Ben. He looks at the quarter, then back up at me with a frown. “I remembered you collect coins,” I explain.
    “Ah, thanks.” He examines the coin. “Common, but always worth a look. Thank you again. I’ll put it in the donation jar.”
    “You have a donation jar? What are you donating to?”
    “I donate the random coins I find to the Alzheimer’s Foundation, in memory of my grandfather.”
    “That’s very sweet.”
    “He couldn’t remember any of my family members by the end of his illness, but he remembered fine details about his coins. Funny the way the mind works.”
     We turn the corner on to Leroy Street. My heart sinks a little; we’re almost home.
    “I was thinking of calling you,” he says.
    “Why didn’t you?”
    “I didn’t know if you’d want to see me again….socially.”
    “Oh.” Nervously, I look down to the sidewalk.
    “Would you?”
    “We work together. I edit your work. I’m supposed to be impartial. I don’t know if I could remain impartial if we had a personal relationship.”
    “I could always stop writing.”
    I shake my head and laugh. “No, you’re too talented.”
    “I could switch publishing houses.”
    “No, Vivian would fire me.”
    “Okay, we’ll do it your way, strictly