Violet owned the larger of the two buildings, which contained the hardware store, the bookstore, and the barbershop, while Owen Jameson owned the one where Batter & Bliss and Jameson’s General Store resided. The houses consisted of theCoyote Ridge Gazetteoffices, a vintage toy store, and the third, which was currently unoccupied but at one time was a real estate office, though she’d heard it might become a spa at some point.
As for the second floor of her building, the space was currently being used mainly for storage as she worked out how best to utilize it. Spencer had claimed the first space for his real estate office as soon as he got his broker’s license and branched out on his own. The second was a storage room she used for the bookstore. The third—where Simon had disappeared into—was the space she’d converted into an apartment to supplement her income. And the last was likely going to become her next renovation—another apartment—because she saw no reason not to make a little extra cash where she could.
The door to the apartment was open, so she walked in. It was the first time she’d seen it since Rafe moved out and Holt moved in.
“Wow. Is this what a writing cave usually looks like?”
The part she could see—the living room and the small kitchenette—was spotless. There was a fancy Keurig coffee maker on the counter and several coffee mugs on the shelveswhere dishes were meant to be stored. The small island had a vase of flowers that had seen better days.
“You do this?” Simon asked, pointing at the flowers.
“I don’t like Holt that much,” she joked. “If I had to wager a guess, I’d say Bailey did it.”
“Makes sense.
In the center of the living room was a large black desk—complete with a notepad, pen, and lamp—and a comfortable recliner off in the corner.
“Does he really work here?” she asked, unable to see how this could inspire creativity.
Simon gestured toward the bedroom. “If I had to guess, he works in there.”
“Really? So why the desk out here?”
“For when he needs to clear the clutter from his head.”
“That’s a thing?”
“He says it is.” Simon grinned. “You should go first?”
“What?” she laughed. “Why?”
“Who knows what might jump out. I’d rather it get you than me.”
Violet laughed. “I thought you were a nice guy. Aren’t nice guys supposed to protect the woman from harm?”
“I don’t know what gave you that impression.”
When he still didn’t move, Violet started to wonder if he was serious. She made it one step before his eyes lit up with amusement, and he headed for the bedroom door.
“Here goes nothin’,” he said, turning the knob and pushing it open.
“It’s a little low on the wall,” Violet told him when he reached in, fumbling for the light switch.
Not sure what to expect, Violet held her breath as the room lit up to reveal—
“Oh. My. God.”
There was so much chaos; no wonder Holt needed a clean desk in another room. Papers, Post-it notes, books, pens. They were scattered all over and around the desk. So much so she couldn’t even make out what color the top of the desk was. A rainbow assortment of Post-its were stuck to the side of the desk, the top, even a couple on the small banker’s lamp.
She took a hesitant step into the room.
“Are those storyboards?” she asked, pointing to the walls where someone—presumably Holt—had put corkboard over almost every inch of Sheetrock.
Simon moved from one area to the next, skimming the photos and notes.
“Looks like this one,” he said, pointing to the one nearest the desk, “is for his upcoming novel.”
Violet wanted to look at everything so badly but forced herself not to. She looked forward to every book and feared if she saw the process of getting to the final product, she wouldn’t enjoy it as much.
