Since you left, I've thought of nothing but you. Night and day, day and night—" "Eastern time, pacific time, standard time!" Chloe added dramatically. Sighing, she bounced her pencil off of the notepad in her lap and crossed her arms over her chest. "This letter is killing me," she said, watching her freshly-sharpened number two ricochet off her paper on its eraser and spin end over end toward the opposite arm of her red plaid sofa. Nick ducked. Her deadeye aim wasn't doing him any favors, either. How had she gotten so much loft on that thing? The pencil thumped into the wall behind him, then dropped harmlessly to her wildly-colored, flower-splashed rug. "I'm not writing something stupid and sappy, Nick," she said. "I'm not. It's just not me." "You're right. You're very intelligent." "Har, har." "Too intelligent to let the father of your child get away. Now concentrate," he ordered, handing her the pencil. She took it, smirked, and saluted him with it. Damn, he hated it when Chloe turned flippant.
