“Does your hero know who the body belongs to?”
“He thinks he does, but he’s about to be proven wrong.”
Natalie leaned against the rail. “How do you know what’s going to happen?”
“I have a broad outline of the plot on my computer. After every third chapter I look at what’s coming up and decide if I need to make any changes.”
“Have any of your stories done a complete U-turn and left you wondering what will happen next?”
“My last book was like that.” Gabe thought aboutTaken, the first book in the eight-part series he was writing. “Sometimes a character does something so unexpected that it surprises me. When that happens, you need to decide whether their actions make the story stronger or if it will take you down a dead end.”
Natalie smiled. “And if it takes you down a dead end, you need a dead body, too.”
“Exactly.”
Sherlock ran toward the cottage.
“I’m sorry about this morning,” Gabe muttered. “I didn’t mean to stare at your legs.”
Natalie shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but the blush on her face told him it did. “It’s okay. I don’t normally wear my pajamas outside.”
Gabe’s imagination worked overtime. If they were her pajama bottoms, he wondered what the top looked like.
He cleared his throat, hoping Natalie didn’t realize what he was thinking. “I’m glad you were there to help.”
“I didn’t do much. I’m just happy the man wasn’t badly hurt.” Natalie moved away from the rail. “I hope you don’t think I’m rude or anything, but you’re welcome to share my dinner. I baked roast chicken and vegetables.”
He didn’t have to think twice about her offer. “I’ll bring dessert.”
Natalie’s smile made his breath catch. “I’ll see you soon. Don’t forget Sherlock.”
While the big German Shepherd ambled toward the cottage, Gabe took a carton of ice cream out of the freezer. Between Natalie’s chicken and his dessert, they had a meal fit for royalty. Or a man and a dog who were desperate for a home-cooked dinner.
* * *
After dinner,Natalie rinsed the soapsuds off a plate and handed it to Gabe. “Was that better than your mac and cheese?”
“A lot better. I should have cooked something, but time has a habit of slipping away when I’m writing.”
“It’s the same with painting.”
“I saw some of your landscapes on the Internet. They’re incredible.”
She smiled at his softly spoken compliment. “Thanks. I always try and do something a little different with each canvas.”
Gabe stacked the plate on top of the ones he’d dried. “How long does it usually take to finish a painting?”
“It depends on the size of the canvas and what I’m trying to achieve. If the painting has a lot of layers, it can take five or six months. Each layer needs to dry before the next one can be added. That’s why I work on multiple canvases at the same time. I once had five paintings all in various stages of work. That was a little crazy.”
“Some authors are the same. They’ll write one novel in the morning and another in the afternoon. I guess we all have to find a process that works for us.”
“My process wasn’t great. I used to think that shutting myself off from the world was the only way I could create my paintings. But I’ve turned over a new leaf and I’m trying something different.”
“How different?”
Natalie grinned. “Life-changing different. I’ve given myself three days to lay the foundations for my paintings. From now on, I paint from seven in the morning until four in the afternoon. Unless I’m on a roll and then I’ll take extra time off the next day.”
“What made you want to change your painting process?”
