“No.”
I dropped my hand and whipped my head toward him. “Really? Are you sure?” I could hardly contain my excitement.
He swallowed hard as if he wasn’t sure, but his determined look and words said otherwise. “I’m sure. I’ve had to erase mostly everything on it. It’s looking dismal at the moment. I’m hoping you can help.”
You don’t know how disappointed that made me. I thought for sure with all the time he spent in here, he was well into the story. “How can I help?”
“Isabella isn’t speaking to me right now.”
“Um . . . do you hear voices?”
He chuckled. “All the time, well, until the last couple of days. She seems to be giving me the silent treatment after she told me my outline was a load of bollocks.”
“You talk about her like she’s real.”
“Because to me she is as real as you or I am.” He cocked his head. “You think I’m crazy?”
“Not exactly. I guess Idon’t understand the writing process.” And hello, I swore I heard his dead sister talking to me, so who was I to judge?
“Let me show you.” He waved his arm out, inviting me into his office before shutting the door. I was beginning to learn he preferred closed doors.
I did my best not to run over to the white board and sit in front of it like a captivated schoolgirl. Well, what was left of it, at least. Instead, I glanced sideways at it, gleaning what I could until Miles laughed at me.
“You can look,” he gave me permission.
I wasted no time and stood right in front of it, sad I couldn’t bask in its glory liked I’d hoped, but happy to learn anything I could from what remained. Miles stood next to me to make sense of his notes for me. He pointed at the board. “It is separated into chapters, as you can see. The first grid under each chapter states the object, conflict, and emotion. After that are the characters and their connections. Then there are plot points, locations, phrases, and conversation prompts. Or at least there should be.” He sounded discouraged.
Just seeing all the remnants of the words he had erased had me feeling sucker punched for him. “How long does it usually take you to outline?”
“Normally a few weeks, but this took months, and it was all for naught,” he sighed.
“What happened?”
He longingly looked over the mostly empty board while he ran his hand over his head. “I’ve felt a bit paralyzed. The raging success ofSilent Stonescaught me off guard, as did Isabella. I think I’ve been so afraid to finish the next book forfear it won’t live up to the first one, or to Isabella’s expectations, that I’ve been playing it safe.”
“Aren’t you in charge of Isabella?”
“No, darling.” He let the darling stand instead of correcting himself and changing it to Aspen. “She is very much in charge of her story. I am only her medium. And she let me know that she wasn’t exactly happy with the direction I was going.”
I finally took a good look at the board and absorbed what was left. There were still several interesting bits of information, like how part of the story was going to take place in America in a Colorado mountain town, and there were more clues about her father’s death and evidence that he didn’t kill Lord and Lady Alexander. The most interesting plot point available was that Isabella’s captor, Dexter, was also the hero. Her would-be lover. I began to wonder how Isabella would feel about that. So I asked, “Is Isabella ready to love someone, especially her captor?”
Miles studied me for a moment before he spoke. “Why am I not surprised you asked that question?”
I thought back to what my mother had said about how eerily similar Isabella and I were. “Do I remind you of her?” I carelessly asked. Immediately, I felt stupid and presumptuous. It showed in my burning cheeks.
He lifted his hand as if he wanted to smooth my red cheeks, but instead he made a fist and dropped it. “I can hardly get over how much you remind me of her.”
After his admission, we stood locked in a gaze. I don’t think either one of us knew what to do with the truth that hung between us. My heart beat rapidly, not sure whetherit should hope or if it should reinforce the walls it had been building for so many years.
Miles did me a favor and broke the connection by turning his focus back to the board. “You will find that it is very much Isabella who is holding Dexter captive, not the other way around. And I do believe she wants to love him, but is afraid to. I don’t blame her. The men in her past have shattered her trust. Like you, if you don’t mind me saying.” His ears pinked.
I don’t know why, but I liked that the debonair man could get embarrassed. “It is a well-known fact that I distrust men in general.” I kept my tone lighthearted.
“Can I ask you about your ex-husband?”
“What does he have to do with me helping you?”
“I believe getting to know you better will help,” he stated unabashedly.
