“... serious,” she says, her voice returning mid-sentence. “You’ve got a career, still. Sort of. You could write a groveling apology post inyour notes app and post it to Instagram with those cute little heart hands and like one or two crying emojis.”
“I’m not writing an apology to people who don’t know the whole story but choose to take sides regardless.”
She sighs. “Well, you have to get back online if you want to save your career. Maybe say your piece on a podcast.”
“I can climb my way out of this hole without stooping to Allister’s level. That’s why I’m going to the cabin to write. I’ll get revenge with my pen.”
There’s a long pause. “But ... you use a laptop. Not a pen.”
“Pensounded more threatening.”
“You’re right. Revenge with your pen. Write the whole story and publish it as a work of fiction. It’ll be a good outlet. Call me later when you’re settled. I have an idea.”
“No, I hate your ideas,” I say.
“But it’s actually a good one this time. I promise.”
“Fine.”
“Don’t turn on another podcast. Listen to some Brudi Brothers or something. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
When I end the call, the podcast automatically cues back up. “She wasn’t the easiest to work with,” Allister says.
The words wash over me like boiling water over ice. I turn off the podcast again and focus on the road curving ahead of me. “Neither were you, Allister McFuckity Fuckface.”
I don’t hate a lot of people, but Allister is at the top of my list. And the bottom. And the middle.
He’s my entire list, actually.
I slow down when my GPS tells me my turn is coming up. Somewhere down this road a cabin is waiting for me, along with a blank screen, a lot of silence, and hopefully whatever is still salvageable of my creativity.
Chapter Two
I don’t know that any part of my creativity will be salvageable if there are neighbors. I avoid booking places with neighbors, but there’s a house on the same road as the cabin I’m staying in.
I looked up the satellite images for this place before I booked it just to make sure it’s not near another cabin. I don’t want to have to listen to someone else’s loud children screaming at all hours of the day and night. The place where I’m staying looked to be secluded on this road, so I didn’t notice the other cabin. It was probably swallowed up in trees when Google took the image.
The cabin I booked is tucked away at the end of the mile-long road I’m on, so I’m relieved to see they aren’t right next door to each other. There’s at least a quarter of a mile that separates the driveways.
I prefer no traffic and no neighbors. I get distracted easily. The fewer people I see and the fewer conversations I’m forced to have, the more focused I can be. I once booked a writing retreat and met the neighbors before I even made it in the front door. It was a group of women on a girls’ weekend, and I ended up getting drunk with them every night and not getting a bit of work done.
It’s not always a bad distraction, but any distraction would feel like a negative one this time around, considering I have so much riding on meeting this deadline.
Which is why I audibly groan as I reach the end of the driveway and see a human. A living, breathing human on the front porch of the property I’m pulling into.
With all the advancements in technology, there is absolutely zero reason the rental host for this cabin should be meeting me in person, but here he is. I don’t even know him, and I already find him the most irritating thing in the world.
I take that back.
The shape of corgis is pretty damn irritating. There’s something about a corgi that’s just ...unfinished. It’s as if God started making the dog breed and walked away from them when he was only halfway into the design, leaving them in this weird limbo. Their bodies are too long for their stumpy legs, their heads too big for the rest of their bodies, like they might face-plant with every step. Anytime I see one, I can’t help but feel like it’s a cosmic mistake walking around on four legs.
If there were a corgi at this guy’s feet, I’d question whether I had died and gone to hell.
The man’s grin stretches, and I half expect his face to split open as if it can’t quite contain all his teeth. There’s a bounce in his step that reminds me of someone who’s far too eager to please, as if he’s trying to sell me on this booking that I paid for months ago.
Why am I in such a bad mood?
