"I know, it was all very smoke and daggers," he joked,glad that she understood why. He was far too used to people latching onto him when they heard his name. When he had been younger, he'd liked the attention, but by this point in his life he wanted to know that people were around him because they wanted to be, not because of who he was or what he could offer them. He didn't like to just be the man who opened doors for them.
She blushed, and it was utterly adorable. "My guess is that it was probably a drunken conversation that got out of hand. Some smartass guy wouldn't believe a pretty little thing like you knew anything about real literature, and when you said you liked Fitzgerald, he'd have rolled his eyes and told you that you probably missed the whole point of Gatsby, and that it wasn't just about the parties, you know? And if you tried to discuss it any further, he'd have demanded that you list all Fitzgerald's work, in order, from memory, because he would bet that you only know the one, maybe two at most. Until eventually, to your drunk self, it seems like permenantly inking yourself with his name would prove a point. He was probably going to get one too, but freaked out at the last minute. He might've even passed out." Apparently he could still let a narrative run away with him. "Or something like that," he added with a chuckle at himself.
She was right, of course. Ernest had fought against it for so damn long, and it had really taken falling in love with the woman across the table from him to make him consider what was more important. "So, it's an experience. You'll meet people you never would've otherwise, more doors will open, different cultures, different worlds, and you won't have to pay a damn penny to see it all. And sometimes having no one to write for is the best way to find your own voice. Learn to write without the expectation of an audience, to write because it's the story you want to tell rather than the one you think they want to read. It could be the best thing that could've happened for your career."
Ernest laughed loudly, enjoying her lack of filter. She was so damn refreshing. "I have asked myself that question so many times. And it's... the future, these are at least partly intentional pregnancies. Over and over, you'll get sick of the network announcements," he chuckled.
"So, coffee and chocolate cake?" he asked, about to go and get it for her.