I sit behind the wheel for a long moment.
Scott’s book was about a man who hid behind walls until someone saw through them. A man whose writer’s block was really fear of being known.
Levi sits in a coffee shop every morning, staring at a blank page.
And I left him twice because I was afraid of what staying might mean.
Grandma Hensley’s question echoes in my head:The question isn’t whether you’ve run before. The question is whether you’re going to run again.
I start the car.
I don’t have an answer yet.
But for the first time in ten years, I think I might want to find one.
SIX
LEVI
I’m staring at my notebook on the couch in my rental when my phone rings.
Not the blank page this time—the page I wrote after Delilah left the coffee shop. The page that has actual words on it. Words I’ve read approximately multiple times trying to figure out if they’re any good.
She crashed into me like she always does?—
The phone keeps ringing.
I don’t recognize the number, which usually means spam or a journalist who somehow got my personal cell. Either way, not great. But I answer anyway because staring at my own handwriting is making me spiral.
“Hello?”
“Levi? It’s Scott Avery.”
I blink. “Scott?”
“Jessica’s fiancé. We met briefly at?—”
“I know who you are.” Everyone in Twin Waves knows who Scott Avery is. Real estate developer turned bestselling romance author. The guy whose secret pen name turned into the most dramatic reveal in this town’s recent history. “I just didn’t expect you to be calling me.”
“Yeah, well.” There’s a pause. “Full disclosure: Jessica put me up to this.”
“Put you up to what?”
“Calling you. Checking in. Doing the whole...” Another pause, longer this time. “Mentorship thing, I guess? She said Michelle mentioned you’re going through some stuff. Creatively.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Did everyone in book club discuss my creative problems last night?”
“Probably. They discuss everything.” He sounds almost sympathetic. “Look, I know this is weird. But I’ve been where you are. The block thing. And it’s...” He trails off. “It sucks. It really sucks. So if you want to talk, I’m around.”
“You want to talk about feelings?”
“Definitely not. But Jessica will ask if I offered, and I’d like to not lie to her, so. I’moffering.”
Despite myself, I almost smile. “That’s very romantic of you.”
“I’m a romance author. It’s contractually obligated.” He clears his throat. “Anyway. I’m just around the corner. I could swing by if you want. Or not. No pressure. Jessica just thought?—”
“Sure.”
