She closed the door and returned to the living room, where she opened the laptop Travis had loaned her while she was working on his social media marketing. There were comments to respond to from readers on the post she’d made yesterday, which was the final instalment of the Maura Shaw read-along she’d begun a few weeks ago. She’d felt a pang when she added that final post, bringing to an end the shared reading experience she’d enjoyed with Travis’s fans. The experiment had gone down well, but she was glad to be leaving that part of the work behind.
Much as she’d enjoyed reading the first book in Travis’s successful series, the work she’d completed for him now felt tainted by her stupidity at the picnic last week. Better that she returned to dealing with Travis’s original social media posts, rather than creating them herself in response to her book reading.
And his regular assistant, Ruth, would probably be taking over again soon, anyway. No doubt Travis would feel nothingbut relief at the prospect of ending their temporary working arrangement after seeing what a fool she’d made of herself.
She’d be moving on herself, too, in terms of jobs. The conversation she’d had a few days ago with Jacquie Edmund was promising, and Jacquie had suggested a trial period working for her marketing company to see if they were a good fit for one another. The package of company marketing materials Jacquie sent through would keep Courtney occupied for the weekend, learning about the tools of the trade and the types of the work she’d be undertaking. Add in the list of author and publishing clients Jacquie had given her so she could explore their social media presence and examine their marketing approaches, and Courtney knew she had a busy and productive day ahead.
Which was just as well, she thought with a grimace as she sank back into the sofa. Every muscle and ligament ached today, and her cumbersome baby bump felt like it might knock her off her feet whenever she tried to move around for too long.
And the ache in her back… that wasreallystarting to get on her nerves. The niggle had turned into a dull thud overnight that had kept her awake. In addition to the work she wanted to take care of today, there might also be a nap on the horizon, too.
“When are you planning on coming out into the world, little one?” she murmured as she slumped against the sofa cushions, trying—and failing—to get comfortable. “Because I’m not sure how much more of this pregnancy lark I can take.”
There was no response from the baby, just the ache of muscles and joints that had been subjected to more than enough strain. Courtney pulled the laptop closer and tried to take her mind off it.
A few hours later and a little further along Foxglove Street, Travis Stone was thinking about his own aching muscles and joints as he rattled the keys of his computer before pushing back from the desk with a groan.
He’d spent the last three days writing, punctuated by restless sleep as he worked his way towards the end of the next Maura Shaw mystery. The finale turned out to be even more epic than he’d imagined, and the words kept flowing as he grafted to tie up all the loose ends of the complicated murder mystery. This morning, he’d got up at four o’clock to start writing, unable to get back to sleep after waking before dawn with the elegant solution to one of those loose ends spooling through his mind like a film on a cinema screen.
Tying up that loose thread had led inevitably to the solutions about how he could tie up the other remaining open loops too, and so he’d just kept on writing, fuelled by strong coffee and swiftly devoured bowls of cereal to maintain his energy.
Now, as Travis peered at the laptop screen, his fingers aching and his wrists throbbing from typing for so fast and so long, he re-read the last couple of paragraphs with his heart trip-hammering inside his chest thanks to the combination of caffeine and the realisation that… he might actually have finished writing the book.
Could it really be possible?
Taking a deep breath, he scrolled back a few pages and started reading once more. As he read, he saw how the final paragraphs of the chapter flowed effortlessly together, filled with warm quips between Maura Shaw and Phillip Rorkman as they reflected on the adventure they’d just shared, and exchangedwry glances as they contemplated the next mystery to be solved, the seeds of which were revealed during the final stages of the epic detective work they’d only just concluded.
The ending perfectly wrapped up the mystery while also teasing the reader with yet another adventure to come. It did exactly what it needed to do.
As did the rest of the story he’d just written.
Which meant that the novel wasfinished.
Blinking in relief, Travis tapped the last two words onto the page—The End.
And then let out a long sigh that was a mixture of disbelief and amazement at the realisation that he’d written another book, had finished what he’d started, and found his way through the enormous story maze while shepherding his brilliant sleuth safely from the beginning to the end of her latest adventure.
He glanced at the word count at the bottom of the manuscript and winced. The novel was almost twenty-five thousand words longer than his contract stipulated, and while there might be a few sentences here and there he could cheerfully delete with no harm done, the essence of the book required the epic length that was the result of three months of work.
Still, he could already imagine what his editor would have to say about the expanded word length. Automatically, his mind turned to how he’d defend the manuscript against demands that it be cut and trimmed.
But he stopped those thoughts in their tracks. He was exhausted, not just from the last few days of non-stop writing, but from all the hours of work that had preceded it in order to get to this point. After only just typingThe Endat the bottom of the last page, this wasn’t the time to start worrying about what would come next.
This was, instead, the time to celebrate.
His custom was to open a bottle of champagne and raise a glass to his latest manuscript and to Maura Shaw, the sleuth who just kept on sleuthing. In preparation for this moment, and to keep himself going through the final weeks of work, he’d bought a bottle of fizz a week ago and put it in the fridge, where the sight of it had given him motivation whenever he was flagging. Although he wasn’t much of a drinker, and didn’t really care particularly for champagne, the little tradition had become one he looked forward to at the end of each book.
As he drew closer to the finish line, he’d imagine writing the last page of the novel, typingThe End, and then popping the cork and treating himself to a healthy glug of sweet amber nectar. It was the only time he ever drank alone, cherishing the moment by himself, celebrating what he’d accomplished, and enjoying a brief few minutes of peace with a glass fizzing in his hand before his brain could set off in search of the next story and demand he get back to work.
Rising from the desk and hearing his back let out acrackfrom the effects of sitting for far too long, Travis caught sight of himself in the wall mirror that hung on the other side of the room and gasped.
He looked like a madman, with his hair standing on end thanks to the mindless raking of his fingers through it while he was writing, his eyes dark hollows from lack of sleep, his skin pasty.
And then he caught a whiff of himself and remembered he’d skipped the shower after waking so early this morning and coming straight to his desk to work. He needed to wash up, and the sooner the better, to make himself feel human again.
Before he opened the champagne, he wanted to wash away the long hours of writing, brush his teeth, pull a comb through his hair, and wake himself up. The fizz would taste better if he wasn’t half-dead on his feet.
Travis saved his completed manuscript, backed up the work and emailed the file to himself, too, just in case disaster struck.
