“James Byron Thomas?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “I found your book of poems; well a friend of mine found it and brought it to me. I’m a writer as well and,”
“I am not a writer,” he mused, pushing his papers in a neat stack. Kelly about fell over when she heard him speak . His accent made the fantasy even better. It was enchanting just to hear him speak. “I am merely someone who lives to write.” He took the book from her hand. “I have been looking for this, Thank you.” He bowed his head slightly in thanks.
“I hope you don’t mind but I read some of it. It’s very good.”
He stared at her in amazement. He seemed to look over her for an instant as if he were sizing up the competition.
“I’m Kelly.” He smiled holding out her hand. She almost forgot her words…
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