“I’m not exactly sure. Everything I’ve been writing in the last week or so feels so canned. Maybe I do need to revisit it. Maybe this isn’t a true thriller,” I think out loud. “What if I don’t label it? What if I market it as a love story with a twist and just see where it takes me? I have a loyal fan base and if they hate it, they hate it. But somehow, my normal routine, normal approach isn’t working.”
“I love the way your brain works,” he whispers.
I look up at him and chuckle. “You mean, a mess of anxiety and a thought process that only makes sense to me? And even then, sometimes I don’t understand it.”
“Intelligent, on a whole different playing field, with no limitations—take your pick,” he says instead of letting me be a downer to myself.
“It’s not all that glamourous.”
“To you. So, how can I help? Do you want to go home and write all night? Stay here? I’ll cook you food and keep you sustained if you’d like.”
I let out a sigh and burrow into him more. “Can I set up shop here and just see where it goes? I promise not to interrupt your routine and all that.”
“Will.” He cups my cheek and draws it up so I’m looking at him. “Interrupt, please. Helping you is all I want to do, so whatever else I had going on—which, admittedly, isn’t much—is going on the backburner.”
“You’re like a mythical creature, you know that?”
His laugh is loud and strong, and it makes me smile. “How so?”
“You’re ready to drop everything to basically cater to my every need because I’m on a deadline of my own making. Do you see how rare that is?”
“I’ll be honest and say I don’t really keep up with how other people handle their relationships, but I do know that if you need help, whatever that looks like, I want to be the one to do it.” He shrugs.
“Just that simple?” I ask.
“Just that simple.”
I stretch up and kiss him hard. “Thank you,” I whisper against his lips.
“Anytime. So, what do youneed, Trouble?”
I smirk at his rare use of the nickname he gave me our first night together.
“A place to set up? And possibly the use of your brain?” I smile cheekily.
“Done.” He presses one more kiss to my lips before shifting me so he can stand up. He moves to the little dining area he has near the kitchen and clears it off, before grabbing my laptop and notepad, laying them out nicely before turning back to me. I roll my lips inward to stop the smile on my face from spreading.
He really is too adorable.
Standing up, I sit in the chair he’s pulled out for me and start up my laptop.
“So, if I shift everything, do I keep the general storyline?”
“What would the endgame be if you move to a love story?” he asks thoughtfully.
“I mean, a happy ending, but more specifically, I think I would like to keep him as the killer and the barista as the informant. Maybe she figures out who he is and secretly loves it?”
“What if she not so secretly loves it and joins in?” He taps his lips with a finger.
“Joins in the killing?”
“Yeah, I mean, why not? If you want it to fundamentally be a love story, wouldn’t she be accepting of what he does to an extent? Or are you wanting him to get redemption because of her?”
“Well, damn, you’re good at this.” I’m stunned. Sure, he reads a lot, so I figured he could help me talk through this, but what I didn’t expect was him to break down how to write a love story like it was his job and then give me options.
“Am I?” He looks shocked.
“Oh yeah. I think I like the idea of her joining him. Giving him redemption feels too predictable.”
