Page 15 of Guys Can’t Write Romance

On the table next to them, a man in a Hawaiian shirt was regaling his friends with the story of a fishing trip gone wrong, complete with exaggerated arm movements that threatened Daisy’s hat.

“Okay. Time out,” Daisy finally said, putting down her pen. “I’m gonna try a drink.”

“Atta girl, Fields,” Chad said, putting his pen down with a triumphant grin. “What do you want?”

“Do they have a wine list?”

Chad snickered. Daisy shot him a confused look before it dawned on her.

“Oh, right,” she said, glancing around at the plastic cups and beer taps. “Not that kind of bar.”

“Nope. But they do have Stella and Sam Adams on tap.”

“Which one’s better?”

“I prefer Stella.”

“Let’s do Stella then.” She smoothed her napkin, arranging it precisely under her drink coaster, a move that earned an amused smirk from Chad.

Chad flagged down a waitress and ordered a round for both of them. As the waitress headed off to fill their orders, Chad turned to Daisy.

“What changed your mind?”

“Watching you write almost three pages in the time it took me to write one sad paragraph. And that was with you stopping at least three times to check out girls in bikinis.”

“Research.”

She rolled her eyes. “Right. Research.”

“So, you’re going for the full immersive experience.”

“Why not? It worked for Hemingway.”

“Should I get us some cigars, too?”

Daisy snorted. “Not there yet.”

The waitress returned shortly with their beers, and Chad held his out. “To new experiences?”

“To not regretting this and having to kill Chad.”

“I can drink to that.”

They both raised their glasses and clinked them together. Daisy took a cautious sip, then a longer one. It was cold and refreshing in the afternoon heat, and she had to admit it wasn’t unpleasant.

As the afternoon rolled on, the minutes slipped into hours without Daisy even realizing it.

The bar grew more crowded as the workday ended, with locals and tourists alike seeking refreshment and ocean views.

Someone switched the music to reggae, creating a laid-back rhythm that seemed to sync with the sound of waves in the distance.

Somewhere after her second beer (a move she blamed entirely on Chad), Daisy found herself jotting down notes and bits of dialog for scenes she hadn’t gotten to yet, then returning to scenes she had been stuck on earlier.

Her usually meticulous handwriting had grown looser, more flowing, and she was scribbling in the margins ideas for later chapters.

She was mid-sentence on one of those scenes when she noticed something.

For the first time in ages, writing felt easy.

When she glanced at Chad, he was mid-chuckle as he re-read something he’d written. His hair was slightly mussed from running his hands through it while working, a habit she’d noticed over the hours, and his sunglasses now hung from the collar of his t-shirt.

“Hey, Chad, can I pick your brain on something?” she said, in a lapse of judgment she blamed entirely on the beers.

“What is it?” He looked up, genuinely curious.

“It’s the setup for my characters. And if you tell me to add a tree monster, I’ll throw my beer on you.”

He grinned. “No promises, but go ahead.”

“So, as you know, my story’s set in the world of minor-league baseball. My heroine’s a journalist, who’s assigned to cover a charity gala for her local minor-league team. That’s where she meets Rick, my male lead. He’s one of the players.”

Chad took a gulp of beer, wiping foam from his upper lip. “Tell me about Rick.”

“He’s a good man. Stable. Driven.”

“Safe?”

“What’s wrong with him being safe?”

“Nothing. But he needs to have some flaws.”

“Why are you and Chloe so big on him having flaws?”

“Because everyone has flaws. I might even have a couple.”

“Or a lot.”

He grinned. “They make your character relatable, so we root for them. What if instead of having him already on the team, he’s trying out for the team? Maybe his dad’s a retired major-league hall-of-famer, who never thought Rick would amount to anything. So, Rick wants to prove his dad wrong.”

As she listened to this, the wheels in her mind began to spin.

And not with thoughts of killing Chad for a change.

The idea had merit: a built-in conflict, emotional stakes, a reason for the reader to root for the character beyond just ‘he’s nice.

’ It was surprisingly insightful coming from someone who thought bikini-clad ghosts were the height of romantic fiction.

“And maybe when Rick makes the team, his dad gives him his Super Bowl ring to show Rick how proud he is of him.”

Chad nodded. “Wrong sport, but you get the idea.”

A flush crept up Daisy’s neck, partly from embarrassment and partly from the beer. “Right. World Series ring.”

“Or just his own rookie baseball card. Something meaningful that shows forgiveness and acceptance without being too on-the-nose.”

Daisy leaned back and thought about this for a moment. “You know, that doesn’t totally suck.”

“You’re welcome.”

For the first time in history, she gave him a warm smile. “Thanks, Chad. But I’m gonna hate you again tomorrow when the hangover kicks in.” She took another gulp of beer, then leaned back over her papers and jotted down these new ideas before she forgot them.

A cool breeze drifted in from the ocean as the sun began its descent, bringing with it the scent of salt and sunscreen.

Someone at a nearby table ordered a round of tequila shots, resulting in a rowdy toast that made Daisy jump.

But rather than finding it annoying as she would have just hours ago, she found herself observing the group with writerly interest. There was a story there, in their friendship, their laughter, the inside jokes that had clearly developed over years.

“What about you?” Chad asked, interrupting her people-watching. “What would you suggest for my ghost romance disaster?”

“No more slime monster?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I’m thinking now about having a female ghost become the muse for a horror writer who’s trying to write a romance novel.”

Daisy sat back and thought about it. “That’s actually pretty good. And she’s clothed?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Daisy rolled her eyes. “Well, for starters, give your ghost a personality beyond ‘hot dead girl.’ What was she like when she was alive? What regrets does she have? Why is she helping this guy?”

“I was thinking maybe she drowned in a surfing accident.”

“That’s her backstory, not her personality,” Daisy explained. “Think about it — if you died tomorrow, would you want people to remember you only as ‘that guy who got killed’ or as Chad McKenzie, with all your quirks and dreams and terrible jokes?”

Chad nodded slowly, scribbling notes. “So I need to flesh her out, and not just have her be some plot device.”

“Exactly. And then figure out why she’s helping this specific guy. Is there a connection beyond ‘he’s hot’? Maybe she has something to teach him beyond just being his muse.”

Chad tapped his pen on the table for a moment as he thought about this. “What if… maybe she has a sister she wants this guy to meet?”

“I like that,” Daisy said, her eyes brightening at the idea. “And that lets you give the story a happily ever after ending. Because, let’s face it, it’s hard to have a happy ending when she’s a ghost.”

Chad sat back. “I’m liking this idea.”

Daisy nodded. “Me too. And you do this right, you’ll have your readers crying at the end when the ghost has to leave.”

Chad gave her an appreciative nod. “I’m going with this. Thanks, Daisy.” He turned back to his notepad and began scribbling down these new ideas.

It didn’t escape her that he called her by her first name for the first time in history. “Anytime.”

As the afternoon turned into evening, the string lights above them flickered on. In the distance, the sun slipped behind the horizon, painting the patio in hues of orange and gold. The rush of the day melted into the steady hum of evening beach traffic.

Daisy leaned back, her posture way less rigid than it had been hours ago. Her hat rested on the table, her carefully styled hair now slightly disheveled from the ocean breeze. The pages in front of her were filled with more writing than she’d managed in weeks.

“So, what’d you think?” Chad said as he closed his notebook and slid it into his backpack. “Was my office everything you hoped and dreamed?”

Her eyes fixed on him for a moment, taking in his relaxed smile and the genuine interest in his question.

There was something disarming about Chad when he wasn’t deliberately trying to annoy her.

“I think there might be more to you than the chaotic frat boy who never grew up. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I had fun. And I actually got a lot done.”

“So, you admit I was right?”

She grinned. “I admit nothing. But maybe you’re not the worst writing partner in the world. Let’s meet at my apartment tomorrow and work on your romance plot points.”

“What’s wrong with my romance plot points?”

“Everything. But I’m gonna help you fix them.”