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Jan. 3rd, 2005 10:30 pmHe's been working on writing in the notebook most of the day: in the greenhouse for a while, out by the lake in the snow, in a back booth in the bar over about a pot of black coffee. But now it's time for a break.
Spike opens the door to Room 8 and automatically flicks on the light switch, head buried in the words he spent all day writing.
It's the smell of paint more than anything that attracts his attention and he looks first at the walls, then the inside of the door, then to the floorboards: no fresh paint anywhere. He sets down the notebook and his eye falls on Beth's note.
I can explain.
Love,
Beth
He studies it for a minute, shrugs, lights a cigarette, and sits down on the bed.
And looks up.
Spike blinks in disbelief, standing again and gazing up at the ceiling. He grins and the grin widens into a regulation smile and he looks and looks and can't stop smiling.
Spike opens the door to Room 8 and automatically flicks on the light switch, head buried in the words he spent all day writing.
It's the smell of paint more than anything that attracts his attention and he looks first at the walls, then the inside of the door, then to the floorboards: no fresh paint anywhere. He sets down the notebook and his eye falls on Beth's note.
I can explain.
Love,
Beth
He studies it for a minute, shrugs, lights a cigarette, and sits down on the bed.
And looks up.
Spike blinks in disbelief, standing again and gazing up at the ceiling. He grins and the grin widens into a regulation smile and he looks and looks and can't stop smiling.
