untitled #3
by angela
the west wing
november 2004
Ainsley's never seen someone write so intently before.
She watches him from her vantage point on Toby's couch. They've commandeered the office for an afternoon, and he paces back and forth, fingers waving nimbly in the air as he gestures to an imaginary audience.
"Sam," she interrupts awkwardly. "Am I distracting you?"
He stops in the middle of a sentence and frowns bemusedly.
"What?"
She dusts off her skirt and makes for the open door. "You have a speech to write. I should leave."
His laugh pulls her back.
"You're my muse, Ainsley. What makes you think you're distracting me?"