Thanks to Melanie who sent this scene for us to learn from!

Let’s look at the original:

Heather leaned against the doorframe, attempting to placate her conscience and quiet her pulse. Every moment it took Dean to notice her intensified her embarrassment. She wished she hadn’t come, but there was no way she was turning back now. The short, deserted walk to the offices had felt like a mile long gauntlet. Dean was staring at his computer screen, his finger jabbing the mouse occasionally. Finally, she could stand it no longer. “Welcome home,” she said, relieved that her voice didn’t crack.

When he looked up at her, she completely forgot her anxiety. His handsome blue eyes crinkled with joy at the sight of her. They were eyes that had spent most of their life smiling, and a good deal of time in the sun. If she stood close enough, she could trace his laugh lines. “You’re back earlier than I expected.”

He stood up and pulled her into the room, shutting the door behind her. “I was hoping you’d come find me,” he said, cutting his own sentence short when his lips found hers. His kiss felt more like she hadn’t seen him for months than just two and a half days.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured as he pulled away, and she wondered blissfully what he was apologizing for. Slowly her brain started working again, and her smile faded. “How was Tiffany’s family?” she asked, pulling herself out of his arms and leaning against his desk.

“I didn’t meet them.” He sat back down in his chair and absent mindedly closing screens on his computer.
Hope surged through her body, followed by a small voice of reason. Calm down! This is Dean. Nothing’s ever going to change. “How come?” she asked, her voice charged with emotion.

Dean shrugged, and flipped the monitor off. “We had a fight.” At first he was impassive, but slowly a self-satisfied smile lit up his face. “You can’t hide a single emotion from me, you know that? You ought to take an acting class.”

For her part, Heather wondered how he could possibly see every emotion that was warring for expression on her face. “A fight?” What was that? Saying “We had a fight” wasn’t the same thing as saying “We broke up,” was it? Did she want it to be? Too much emotion¬–she reveled in it, like dancing in the rain after a long drought.

“So she went home, and I came back here to take you on a real date.” He leaned back in his chair and put his legs up on the desk.

A real date…She wished Dean’s tiny, crowded office had a chair she could sit in before she sank into a heap on the floor. Finally she perched precariously on the desk. “Is she coming back?” Somewhere in the back of her mind, flames of guilt were building.

Dean nodded, and Heather let out a sigh of relief. Dean looked at her oddly. That was obviously not the reaction he’d expected.

“Did you fight with her about me?”

Dean nodded again. “I told you I’d break up with her, didn’t I? I just had to wait until the moment was right.”

“I shouldn’t go out with you again, Dean. You were the one that convinced me that the rumors about you and Tiffany were totally false. Then you somehow convinced me that she was mentally unstable and you needed to find a way to explain to her about me without pushing her over the edge.” Heather tried to work up some real, righteous indignation, but she just never could seem to get angry at Dean. He could make her hurt—a good, fresh hurt—and he could make her feel wonderful. But he never made her angry. So she pretended. “Then you took her with you on your business trip. Not a good way to convince her that you want to be with me. Give me one good reason why I should ever go out with you again.”

“Because ever since the day I met you, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. You’ve turned my whole world upside down, Heather. At least let me take you to dinner.” Then he pulled her onto his lap and kissed her again. Oh yeah. That was why she kept coming back to him. Because after years of being numb, the shock of feeling this way again was too wonderful to give up.

****

Susie here: She didn’t tell me exactly what was troubling her with it, but I suspect it doesn’t move fast enough, and there’s not enough real emotion – or at least the emotion is unclear.

Let’s dissect it a bit – Heather is obviously a co-worker of Dean. Dean, apparently, had something going with Tiffany, and went away for the weekend to be with her – and ends up breaking up with her. (A question here – -what is Heather doing kissing him when she thinks he’s with Tiffany? Is Dean that irresistible that she’d sacrifice her pride?) In fact, I think that’s the goals here – Heather is mad, and she wants to rid herself of Dean. Dean loves Heather and has made a choice. Or, at least wants to convince her of it.

One thing, also, is that Heather needs a bit more heroic backbone here. She seems like the other woman. We need to make her the ONLY woman.

Let’s pare down the description, make the dialogue more accessible, add some fightin’ words, some inner monologue, and make their goals more clear.

******

Now that she’d walked the gauntlet to his office, like some sort of French prisoner of love, Heather leaned against the doorframe, hating herself that he looked so good sitting there, suntanned, as if he hadn’t taken her heart with him this weekend when he escaped to see Tiffany and her family.

Tiffany. She tried to push her name from her brain, but it seared in there. If he didn’t want her listening to office gossip, he shouldn’t take her on business trips. And poor Tiffany – she was probably as confused as Heather.

At best, Dean would hurt them both. Worst, well, she’d be the one left with the pieces of her broken heart.

Turn around. Leave. Run –

“Heather?”

She stopped, one hand on the doorframe. Sighed. What was it about his voice that had such power over her?

And, his eyes, so brilliantly blue as he got up, came toward her, as if genuinely glad to see her. She could feel her brain beginning to shut down, hear the faint groan of pain inside. “You’re back earlier than I expected.”

“I missed you.” He closed the door with one hand, wrapping the other around her waist to pull her into the room. “I was hoping you’d come and find me.”

Oh boy, how exactly was she supposed to stay angry with him when he looked at her like that, when he kissed her so sweetly, smelling like coffee and his own masculine scent?

“No – “ She pushed against his chest, stepped away. “Not until you tell me about your weekend. Did you see her family?”

“I didn’t meet them.” He stepped back. Leaning against his desk, legs crossed at the ankles.

Hope surged through her body, followed by a small voice of reason. Calm down. This was Dean. Nothing was ever going to change. “How come?”

“We had a fight.”

A fight? She pressed her hands together, fighting the emotions that wanted to spill across he face. Saying “We had a fight” wasn’t the same thing as saying “We broke up,” was it? Did she want it to be?

Standing three feet away from him and his charm, she didn’t know what she wanted. “Did you fight with her about me?”

Oh, why had she asked that? It sounded desperate, and needy. She held up a hand. “No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know-“

“I told you I’d break up with her, didn’t I? I just had to wait until the moment was right.”

Oh. “So…you broke up with her?”

“She went home, and I came back here to take you on a real date.” He smiled, as if she should launch herself into his arms.

“A real date? How about we start with the truth, Dean? Did you break up? Is Tiffany going to show up on our date and wonder why you’re out with me, when you’re dating her? A fight is not a breakup. And…and you may have….great eyes, but I’m not under your spell any more.” She reached for the door handle while she had strength left, turned. “Until you choose, really choose, I’m staying on my end of the hall—“

His arm went around hers and he spun her. He wore a look she’d never seen before, his smile vanished, his eyes dark – “Ever since the day I met you, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. You’ve turned my whole world upside down.” He stepped back, held up his hands in surrender. “What does a guy….” He blew out a breath, pitching his voice low. “Heather.. please let me take you to dinner.”

For the first time Heather understood. She saw the way his breath sawed out of him, the way he tried to casually lean against his desk, how his eyes held hers, void of their usual twinkle.

She, not he, had the mystical power here. “7pm. And make a reservation.”

*****

One thing I want to point out is that most of that dialogue was in Melanie’s original piece, but that it took out a lot of the padding, the he said, she said, the emotional descriptions. Keep it sleek, and take out anything that slows the flow. Now of course, not knowing the entire book, this is just a stab in the dark, and one possible way to go.

Good Job, Melanie!

Tomorrow we’ll look at a YA novel!