“Oh, I know, I know, sweetie.” She pats my hand, then makes a zipping motion across her mouth. Then giggles behind her closed lips like the glee might burst out of her despite the zip.
Allie and Carol exchange a very interested look. They both turn to me, Allie with an arched brow, Carol beaming.
“I’m just staying at his place. He’s not there.”
“Where is he?” Carol asks.
“Oh, he’s staying at George’s place,” Allie says with a knowing look.
“Right. Because we’ve just swapped homes. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
“Mmm.” Allie nods. “Pretty cozy one, too. So, you’re like, sleeping in each other’s beds and stuff?”
“Yes, but we’re not—” They all look at me with emotions ranging from starry-eyed to indulgent. “—You know what, never mind, can you just tell me where I can find the bundles of firewood?”
“Back right corner,” all three women say in unison.
I nod my thanks and escape while I can.
“He’s shit with building fires, but the butt’s not bad,” Allie says behind me, barely lowering her voice.
“He’s afamous author,” Carol hisses. “Also, how can you tell under all those clothes?”
“I just can.”
“Mmm.” Carol hums. “Yeah, okay, I see what you mean.”
“Owen’s a lucky, lucky guy,” says Ruth.
I hurry to the back of the store.
Ten minutes later,I return to the register with two bundles of firewood wrapped in twine. There are handles, sort of, fashioned out of the twine, but they just serve to dig into my hands and allow the logs to knock into me, repeatedly, as I carry them. My legs are probably already black and blue. I hadn’t thought about the logistics of getting a bunch of wood back to the cabin. Ridiculous, but then I have been distracted in any number of ways.
I wonder if there’s any such thing as a delivery service out here in Moonlake Village. I imagine not. I’ll have to call an Uber in from whatever the nearest town with Ubers is to take me less than a mile and a half back to the cabin. I suppose I could just buy one bundle, but I think I might need two, and anyway, the point is moot because who am I kidding, I’m not going to be able to carryoneof these things that far in the cold either.
Carol jumps in as soon as I’ve hoisted the bundles onto the counter.
“I just want you to know I would never say anything to anyone about your being here. I understand how important an author’s privacy is.”
I feel myself relax a tiny bit. She seems sweet and genuine. “Thank you. I’m actually here to work, so I appreciate that.”
“A writer’s retreat! Right here in Moonlake Village! We are honored.” Carol clutches a hand to her chest. “You know, I always think you’re going to run out of ways to keep Sebastian Steele exciting, but you just keep them coming.”
“I try,” I say through a practiced smile. It isn’t that I don’t like the attention. I love that there are people out there I’ve connected with through my books, people my work meanssomething to. But there’s no escaping the fact that they aren’tmyfans, they’re Sebastian Steele’s.
I quickly remind myself how fortunate I am to have created a character who is so popular. That IlikeSteele. That I am grateful for everything I have. That feeling “stuck” writing books that are loved by millions and that have given much-needed queer rep is the definition of privilege.
I pull out my wallet, then grab a local paper from the display in front of me, because why not? Might come in handy for firestarting, and if not, I can always read about the regional maple loaf contest or whatever the breaking headline is today. I hold it up and turn to Ruth. “How much with this?”
“Twenty-one twenty, dear.”
When I’m all checked out, she offers me a warm smile. “Enjoy your fire.”
“Not too much,” Allie adds.
I smirk. “I will bear that in mind.”
I roll the paper and stuff it under my arm. I’m reaching for the wood bundles when Allie grabs one and heads for the door. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”
