Page 125 of One Night with Number Nineteen

The house is quiet.

Too quiet.

Especially as I retrieve my laptop then walk down the hall and into my office.

As I sit down at my desk.

Then promptly grab my phone and start to dial Sawyer.

We’ll figure it out, Pages.

I exhale, set my phone down.

You just write.

Another breath before I open my laptop, lay my fingers on the keys.

And…the words just start flowing.

And don’t stop.

Not until I hear the front door open.

My pulse jumps, my gaze finally lifting from my computer screen, and I realize the sky has gone dark as I worked, that literal hours have gone by.

Oh, God, how long have I been in the zone?

I blink at the evidence on my laptop: synopsis finished, three chapters done, and a thousand words I hadn’t planned on writing in The Book That Shall Not Be Written.

Holy shit.

What if I missed a motion notification or⁠—

“Moooom!” I hear as footsteps barrel down the hall and I exhale, heartbeat settling.

“Pages?” Sawyer calls. “You ready for us?”

I push up to my feet, round my desk, and get to the door just in time to catch Ollie in my arms, to see Sawyer a few steps behind him, bags from Molly’s in his hands.

“You have enough time?” he asks. “We can take this out back if you need more.”

Love in my heart. Affection in my soul.

I lean in, kiss him lightly. “No, handsome. This has been perfect.”

His expression warms me down to my toes. “Good. Ready to eat?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Guess what we found, Mom!” Ollie says as we walk back to the kitchen.

“What?” I ask.

Ollie looks to Sawyer and holds out his hands, as though saying, Load ’em up, Buster.

I gasp as Sawyer drops stuffed Ollie into his hands. “You found him?”

“No,” Ollie says. “But we found a temp—” His brow furrows and he looks up at Sawyer.