“What?” North asked as we strode down the castle corridor.
“What, what?”
“You just made a sound of exasperation.”
I did? I flicked him a look. “No, I didn’t.”
“I’m fairly certain you did.” North narrowed his eyes. “In fact, you seem off in general.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I drawled. “I am never off. I am the sun.”
“What? Bad for the skin?”
“Fuck off, old boy.” I usually was in the mood to banter with North, but I was distracted. Little mouse was nowhere in sight and Jack Irving might be producing my adaptation.
“Well, that sounded sharper and more sincere than usual.” North stopped on the stairwell. “Theo … I am here to talk if you ever need me.”
The truth was I knew I could probably trust North with … well, with anything. But I didn’t want to give voice to the fact that my brother was plaguing me and I couldn’t tell him Sarah was S. M. Brodie because it wasn’t my secret to tell.
But … “I’ll explain over a drink.”
Five minutes later, we were seated in a quiet lounge in the castle, each with a whisky in hand. “How is Ms. Howard?” I asked first.
An infatuated curl tugged the corner of North’s mouth. “She’s perfect. I am blissed out on her utter perfection.”
I rolled my eyes because he was being deliberately saccharine to annoy me. “I’m going to need more than one drink to listen to your lovesick piffle.”
“Fuck you,” North said without rancor. “Now tell me what’s going on.”
Eyeing my friend, I shrugged. “I … well, you know I’ve always had a rule about writing my own screenplays, but you also know I’ve been struggling with writer’s block.”
“Aye.” North leaned forward. “Any progress there?”
“No. But … the S. M. Brodie books … I’ve read nine of them in a week.”
He raised an eyebrow in question.
“They’re damn good, North. Damn good. The author … they reached out asking me if I would be interested in adapting them, and I turned them down.”
“But now you’re rethinking it?”
“Yes. Yet I’m not sure if it’s because I want to or because I can’t write a thing of my own.”
“What if it’s both?”
“I pride myself on writing my own shows. It’s the one thing I take seriously, don’t you know.”
North didn’t return my smirk. “It’s the one thing you’re not afraid to admit that you take seriously, you mean.”
A flare of temper caught me by surprise, but I shoved it back down. My amused tone held an edge. “Don’t psychoanalyze me tonight. I’m not really in the mood.”
My friend studied me carefully. “Adapt the books, Theo. The entire time we’ve known each other, I’ve never seen you this distracted or on edge. Others might not see it, but I do. And you need a purpose or you’ll become an even bigger prick than usual. Adapt the books. No one else cares if it’s an adaptation or not. Especially if you write the screenplay.”
“And if the author wants to help me write the screenplay?”
North snorted. “I say hell mend them.”
I chuckled. “I’m not that bad.”
