He swallowed. No, they couldn’t. That would not be okay with him. Not just because it would be a blow to his ego and damaging to his career, but because it would mean his career was over.
Had he really reached that point?
He scratched the back of his neck. He wasn’t ready to concede things had gotten that bad. Besides, today would be different. Today he would dig his way past this block and get real work done.
He had to.
He typed out a short response to her.End of the week. Promise.
He hesitated, deleted the word “promise,” then hit Send.
With that done, he returned to the blank page that had been tormenting him for longer than he cared to think about. He had his legal pad of notes and ideas next to him. Maybe he should read through those again and see if anything jumpstarted the creative process.
Or was that procrastinating?
He shook his head. He was already overthinking all of this. He started writing, reminding himself it didn’t matter if it was lackluster. It was words on the page and those could be fixed, but he had to start with something.
Readers expected a big opening. Something interesting and impactful. Something that grabbed them and told them something exciting was going to happen.
He had none of that, so he did the next best thing. He lied and hoped he could figure it out later.
Charlie Nightingale drew the dagger from her boot and crouched, ready to strike at whoever was knocking at her door. Visitors were fine. But not when the stench of death arrived ahead of them.
He sat back and read what he’d written. He had no idea where this was going but it was at least interesting. That was good. That was really good. He nodded at the screen, his fingers poised to type the next sentence. He thought for a moment. He really had no idea what happened next. Might as well wing it and find out.
Sinister tendrils of black smoke curled under the door, reaching for Charlie. She inched back and bumped into—
The doorbell rang. He frowned and growled out a sigh as his train of thought derailed. “You have got to be kidding me.” Maybe Joyce had forgotten something? No, that wasn’t like her. She wouldn’t ring the doorbell. Had to be a delivery. And of course, this was the exact moment it had to show up.
He shoved his chair back and stomped downstairs to see what was so important that his brief moment of creativity had been interrupted.
He opened the door and found his next-door neighbor, smiling at him and holding a small, empty glass container. The very woman Arlington thought could help Mitch. Talk about proving Arlington wrong. “I’m writing. What do you want? It had better be important.”
Her smile faltered. “I was dropping this off. I was hoping to talk to Joyce.”
He took the container from her outstretched hands. “She’s not here. I’ll tell her you came by.” He started to close the door.
“Wait.Please.”
With a sigh, he opened the door. “What?”
“I’m sorry for disturbing you. I thought coming over early would be better than in the middle of the day. Obviously, I was wrong. I apologize. I’m sorry, too, that we got off on the wrong foot for whatever reason. I know you don’t like me. Can I ask what I did to make you feel that way?”
He stared at her, caught off guard by her calm apology and straightforward question. He took a breath and tried to think. “I don’t like anyone.”
She nodded. “I can understand that. People aren’t always great, are they?”
“No,” he was forced to admit.
“Well, I don’t want to bother you. I just really wanted to say that I’d be happy to start over. No need for things to be uncomfortable between us, seeing as how we’re neighbors, at least temporarily.” She smiled again. “I’m not going to fangirl all over you or ask you to sign a book or anything like that, but I do enjoy your work, so thanks for that. It’s given me many hours of enjoyment.”
He nodded and mumbled, “You’re welcome.” Then he reminded himself this was the woman who’d talked Arlington into doing the show. Harper something. He could at least be civil. “Would you, uh, like to come in? Joyce should be back soon.”
Actually, he had no idea when Joyce would be back. Or why he’d just invited in a reason not to go back to his book.
ChapterTwenty-Six
Harper wasn’t sure she’d heard Mitch right. Had he actually invited her into his home? It was very likely he’d said it out of courtesy, not because he’d really meant it. But she wasn’t about to turn down an opportunity to get to know him better.
