Deleted scenes

Deleted Scene From Unlovable

As most of you know, I am working on the script with my director. I was telling her about a scene I deleted from the book. She really liked and  asked me to send it to her. She MAY use it in the movie. I thought you all might enjoy reading it too. It is one of my favorite scenes from the book and lets us see inside of Seth's childhood a little. I deleted it because the book was originally 135,000 words!! Yikes! Hope you like it.

Setting: Maggie and Seth sitting on the couch and he is helping her with a math problem. (Maggie's point of view)

“I hate math.” I shoved the calculus book off my lap and onto the floor while batting away the tears on my cheeks, embarrassed by my temper tantrum.

Seth gave me a side hug. “Hold on. I have an idea.” I followed him into the kitchen. He slid the table against the wall with little effort. Not going to lie, I did enjoy watching those gorgeous biceps of his flexing as he worked.

“What are you doing?” I asked as he crossed to the end table next to the couch and picked up the remote for the stereo.

“You’ll see.” He grinned playfully.

“And you think this . . . whatever it is you’re doing . . . will make me like math?” I folded my arms, doubtful, as the dulcet tones of Michael Bublé singing Hold On filled the room.

Seth beckoned me with smoldering eyes and a wave of his hand to him and took me in his arms. 

“I can’t dance,” I warned, snuggling up to his chest.

“You’ll do fine,” he promised as we swayed to the music. “When I was a child, I used to watch my parents dancing in the kitchen.”

“They danced in the kitchen?” My gaze met his and the soft grin on his face. He brushed a strand of hair from my cheek. Probably the strand I’d been twisting the life out of just a few moments ago.

“Yup. Whenever my mom had a bad day, or felt sad after having another miscarriage,” he explained. “She desperately wanted more children, but wasn’t able to. It upset her quite a bit. My dad, too, but he never let on in front of her, not wanting her to feel bad. Anyway, if she was having an off day, he’d put on some music, slide the table out of the way, and dance her around the kitchen. Sometimes it’d be a slow tune, like this.” He nodded to the stereo. “Other times it’d be something with a beat and they’d dance around the room.” He laughed as if recalling a funny moment.

“What a great memory,” I said with envy. His childhood was so very different than mine.

“When I was little, I’d often join in and the three of us would hold hands and dance…well, for me it was more bouncing than dancing,” he admitted. “When I was a teen, I’d storm from the room in disgust at the overt display of love, though deep inside it made me feel good knowing how much they cared for each other.”

He gathered me close again as we swayed to the music, letting it fill us.

So this is what it feels like to be loved.