Steve pushed his manuscript away again to avoid getting syrup on it. Autumn smiled at the thought and cut into her own pancakes. The butter had been soaking in long enough.
Steve didn’t wait for the butter. Or maybe he didn’t like it. Whatever the case, he just poured his syrup on as soon as the pancakes were in front of him, and then started cutting into his meal. Whenever he ate around all the syrup, he’d dump more on, and push his manuscript a little bit farther out of the way. It was actually very cute.
She took a gulp of the water in front of her. “How’s it coming?” She asked.
“It’s good—” he looked up at her, then at his papers, then back at her. He cleared his throat in an effort to sound more serious. “I mean, it’s hard work. But I like it.”
Autumn nodded. “I remember the first time I ever had to really rewrite a novel.”
“How did you do it?”