Once upon a time, I couldn’t walk around town without running into someone I knew.Damn!That thought jolts me from my reminiscing about the past and I hurry to my car. I’m not in the mood for a conversation about where I’ve been, and what I’m doing back, at least not yet.
I open the door of my Toyota. It’s got over a hundred and fifty thousand miles on the dial, but it’s still newer than the old rusted truck parked next to it. A car horn blows. Over the roof of the car I see a guy darting across the road, causing a car to brake. His coat collar is up at the back, but I catch a glimpse of his face as he turns and raises a hand in apology to the driver. Then his eyes briefly meet mine, a flash of unexpected bright blue. Something flutters in my belly, a frisson of something exciting. Before I can analyze it, he turns and ducks into the coffee shop. For a moment I regret I’ve left. I shake my head to rid the ridiculous thought and slip into the driver’s seat. Obviously coming back to Collier’s Creek is playing havoc with my emotions.
Maneuvering the car onto the road, I head to the place where I’ll be staying for the next six months, but as I drive along the main street and head to the outskirts of town, it’s hard to not continue my trip down memory lane.
Chapter Three
Kit
The curser blinks on my laptop screen as words escape me. I stare at it a moment longer before giving up. I close the laptop with a sigh and rise from my desk, stretching to relieve the kinks in my back. You’d think I’d be used to spending hours working at my desk, but it seems to take less toll on my body when the words are flowing. However, right now every word is a struggle, despite all the hours I’ve forced myself to work on the manuscript. Obviously, the current approach isn’t working.
After days of solitude, the cabin walls feel as if they’re pressing in. As much as I hate to say it, maybe Shawn is right and getting outside in the fresh air will do me good. It’s time I give myself a break from working non-stop. I vow to resume my morning jog. It probably wouldn’t hurt to eat better too—I’ve been living on coffee, sandwiches, and canned soup—and that means a trip into town to stock up on fresh supplies.
An hour later, I’m parking across from the general store directly outside Ellis Books. I can’t help myself—the lure of the bookstore is irresistible, so instead of crossing the road, I head to the store. I’m not disappointed when I enter, the familiar smell of paper and ink bringing a surge of happiness. A quick glance shows a cute blond guy serving someone at the counter, so I disappear down the aisle, walking between bookcases crammed full. My fingers trail the spines as I walk the aisle, slowing when I reach the mystery section. They have the latest bestsellers, and a wide collection of cozy mysteries too. My eyes land onMystery on the Mountain, the first book in myMountain Mystery Filesseries. I can still remember the thrill of seeing my book in print for the first time. I pick up the book and trace my name on the cover—Christopher Winters. My name on a book was a dream come true.
“It’s a fabulous book. Have you read it?”
I nearly drop the paperback in surprise, gaze darting to find the man from the counter—the same guy I saw working on his laptop in the coffee shop last week—beside me. “Um. Yeah.”
“The whole series is awesome. It’s been really popular. Were you looking for one of the books? I’m still waiting on a back order of a couple, but we should have most of them in stock.”
“No, thanks. I’ve read them all.” I place the book back on the shelf.
“Oh. Then you must be hanging out for the next one. I hear it’s the last book. I can’t wait to see how it wraps up the series.”
And there it is. My chest tightens at the reminder I have to write the perfect book bringing the series arc to a fulfilling close or else I’ll be letting down thousands and thousands of expectant readers. I rub my sweaty palms on my jeans, as I murmur in agreement, then change the subject. “Do you sell stationery?”
“We sure do. Come this way and I’ll show you what we’ve got. Are you after anything in particular?”
I shrug. “Just stocking up on some notebooks.”
“Cool.”
He leaves me to browse the selection. I grab half a dozen, snorting a wry laugh at my own wishful thinking—it’ll take me months to fill the notebooks at the rate I’m going. I’m nearly at the register when an older lady gets there first with a book in hand.
“Good morning, Mrs. Hendricks,” the guy says.
“Logan, dear. You look well.” She places the book on the counter. “How’s Cooper doing? I heard he’s got a touch of the flu. Penny said he’s recovering, but you can never be too sure with these kinds of things. Go back to work too early and you can have a relapse. Make sure you tell him to rest up. And I’m going to drop off some of my soup for you boys.”
“That’s awfully nice of you, Mrs. Hendricks, but totally unnecessary.” The guy, who I now know is Logan, throws me an apologetic look, then reaches for her book. “Let me ring that up for you.”
She keeps chatting as he completes her purchase and doesn’t leave until he’s promised to join her and someone called Gramps for supper one night soon.
“Sorry about that,” he says as soon as she’s left. “She has a heart of gold but loves a chat. Knows everything about everyone. It doesn’t help that she’s obviously been to the salon to have her hair done.” He chuckles. “What is it about hairdressers? They love a good chat and Penny’s no different.”
I’m sensing that’s a common theme in this town.
“No problem,” I reply. “I’m not in a hurry.” And I’m not, because what do I have waiting for me back at the cabin? Nothing but frustration. Procrastination is currently my friend.
Logan passes over the package of notebooks. “Well, thanks for your patience. Hopefully, we’ll see you again soon.”
Leaving the bookstore, I cross the road to the grocery store. I fall back on my usual habits and it doesn’t take long to fill my cart and then history repeats itself as I find Mrs. Hendricks before me at the checkout. She’s happily chatting with the girl I met last time, so I resign myself to another wait.
“I’m so happy that Logan and Cooper found each other.” Mrs. Hendricks is in her element, eyes sparkling. “Isn’t it wonderful? Our Cooper was alone way too long and Logan is such a dear boy. They’re made for each other, and of course, it’s perfect with Logan running the bookstore so that Gramps can retire. Cooper’s leatherwork business is going well too.”
I smile, thinking a romance between a bookstore owner and a leather guy could make an interesting story. My agent would hate it, of course, unless they ran around solving mysteries, but the idea appeals to me. Not that I need an agent to publish stories—self-publishing romance novels is the only thing that keeps me sane.
“You know,” Mrs. Hendricks says, leaning in conspiratorially, “we have a betting pool on whether those two will finally tie the knot. I’ve got ten dollars on a Christmas wedding.”
