Once Sasha leaves, not only will I be alone with my self-deprecating thoughts, but my unfinished manuscript, and a stupidly hot fictional hero who refuses to cooperate—my skin feels itchy just thinking about it.
At least my cat, Goonie, will be here for impromptu cuddles.
Sasha plops onto the couch and drags the couch blanket over her lap.
“Remember when we stayed up all night here binge-writing book three?” she asks, her eyes going soft with the memory. “You were eating chips with chopsticks to keep your fingers clean.”
“Best system I ever invented.”
“Back then, you were unstoppable.”
I stare out the big picture window that faces the lake. The water is slick and grey under low-hanging mist, while trees stand sentinel on the opposite bank like watchful shadows.
“I used to know how to get lost in the story,” I say quietly. “Now I can’t even fake it.”
Standing from the couch, my bestie steps over and pulls me into a hug. Warm, tight and familiar, she smells like vanilla and fabric softener.
“You’re gonna be okay,” she whispers into my hair.
“Even if I never write again?”
She pulls back, grips my shoulders and gives me a hard look. “Especiallyif you never write again. You’re more than just your books, Noia. It’s important for you to remember that.”
She stays long enough to unpack the extra groceries we bought and build me a cheese plate I don’t feel like eating. She makes the bed with clean sheets and lights a lavender candle in the kitchen.
When she finally zips up her bag and shrugs on her coat, the setting sun is painting everything in amber and gold burning off some of the mist. But that won’t last long.
“You sure you’re good?” she asks as she stands in the doorway.
I wave her off. “Go. Take your tight yoga ass and leave me here to rot.”
She snorts. “You’ve got Goonie to protect you.” She grins at my fat calico as he jumps onto the couch and spins a couple oftimes before claiming his spot. “Call me if the woods try to murder you.”
“I’ll scream your name into the trees and hope for the best.”
Pulling me into another quick hug, she turns and heads to her car. I stand at the door and watch until her taillights disappear down the gravel road and get swallowed by the fog.
And just like that—I’m alone.
When I realize I’ve been holding my breath, I blow it out in a whoosh.
After pouring myself a glass of wine, I change into an old thermal and a pair of fleece leggings, and light every candle I own. Less musty now, the house smells more like lavender, citrus, and sage.
I crack open the windows to air out the house, just enough to hear the lake lapping softly at the shore as the stars, one by one, slowly start winking into existence against the night sky.
Grabbing my suitcase, I go upstairs to my bedroom, sit at my desk and open my laptop to a blank page. The cursor blinks back at me until after a few minutes, I reluctantly start to type.
Ryder Blackwood stepped out of the dark. Leather jacket soaked in blood and rain, his eyes were full of?—
Ugh. I stop, backspace and try again.
Ryder leaned against the doorframe, smirking like?—
Delete.
Delete.
Delete.
