“Well that’s if you haven’t strayed too far from the Bell I know so well.” Over the years he couldn’t help but think of the ways that Bell’s life might’ve changed. She was in a whole new world, distanced from her family, though he was sure going to her parent’s alma matter made it difficult to step out from that shadow. With a profile like hers and a legacy to live up to in the writing world, he could only imagine that having her life out there in the open felt strange, even if it was sprawled across the pages of her book. It was between the lines and in the margins that he had been able to find her again, though. His life was a mystery to her, and yet as soon as he had seen her shop the other day he couldn’t ignore the desire to fill her in on where life had taken him. “Now I’m only predisposed to major felonies, but I’ll tell you about that later,” He teased, the comment partnered with a wink. “Speaking of loneliness in Amory, I bet your dad is over the moon that you’re home. And I hate to break it to you, but that special kind of loneliness doesn’t excuse itself from Amory. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear about it, by the way. And this.” He lifted the novel into the air before setting it down onto a counter, crossing the room to the shelves she had eluded to. “You look good, by the way. Almost as good as your photo on the back of your book that I’m sure was torture for you.” He didn’t waste any time before sorting through the pile of books that were meant to be shelved. “So this shelf is strictly ‘50 Shades of Grey’, right?” If this took them into the early hours of the morning, Jackson could live with that.
That sentence felt odd. Odd because she knew they weren't the same people they had been almost ten years ago. Odd because they were new people, and she knew nothing about him, when she used to know him so intimately — like their souls were made to meet. He was certainly a mystery, by circumstance and by choice, because she had purposefully removed herself from his life, avoided him even, While she suspect some part of her heart would always belong to him, she felt like he deserved a life untainted by her; untainted by the fact that she chose leaving. Past her justified anger — he, too, had chosen staying. As much as he tried to shrug about it, she was always saddened by the potential he chose to overlook. Sometimes, when they were discussing a particularly intricate character arc in their youth, an old The Who album playing in the background, she felt like he was larger than life. Maybe to her, he had been. Maybe that was love. "Colour me intrigued," she replied, one eyebrow arched into mischievous question. "I can't wait to hear about this criminal you've become without my guidance. I was such a good influence on you." Bell was curious about his insight on loneliness. Had he felt it? Even here, surrounded by familiarity? She was startled back into the present by his compliment. She laughed it off, shrugging. "Well, it was torturous. You can't easily capture my appeal and dazzling charm with a quick photoshoot. I wanted to go a little bit more playmate, but my agent thought it was unprofessional...you too, by the way. Look good. You look good," she added, before rolling throwing the coffee sleeve in his general direction. "I curated our inventory carefully. That is a literary abomination, if you can even call it literature. I had poems about you hotter than those books."
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