Page 49 of Meet Me Back Here

I huff but flip it open and do as he says. Writing stream of consciousness hasn’t really been my favorite strategy in the past, but I’ll try anything.

Birthdays. Horses. Summer camp.

A memory surfaces from somewhere deep in my mind. An idea follows. It’s got nothing to do with my book, but at least I know what I’m going to do for Forrest’s birthday.

“This birthday thing,” I start, looking over my shoulder to shout back at Forrest. “When will we be back?”

“Mid-afternoon,” Forrest says.

Perfect.

I smile as I keep going, feeling very pleased with myself.

Separate. Missing you. Missing him. Forbidden love. Disapproving parents. Deep secrets. Deep pockets. Money, corruption, power. Heartbreak. Summer. Beaches.

Oh shit.

I think it’s working.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

bread and butter pickles are garbage. i said what i said

Ididn’t think I’d say this again, but I’ve been writing.

A lot.

That little half-thought about a love story wouldn’t die. So, I hopped on board and decided to see where it would take me. Now I’ve got these two lovesick idiots who can’t get out of their own way that I’m completely obsessed with, and I’m not entirely sure what to do about it.

I figured I’d drop a corrupt and powerful politician into the mix… and make him the woman’s father. And then I made our male character the reporter determined to take him down. Stir in a very expensive contract killer, set it in the most peaceful-seeming beachy small town, and we’ve got something brewing.

I don’t know why I’ve never considered writing a romantic thriller or a suspenseful romance or whatever this is turning out to be before. It’s like a perfect little chocolate covered pretzel. It’s something sweet, but still something salty. I get my happy ending, but there’s also murder, corruption, and manipulation. Things my writing is very familiar with.

But this whole idea is brand new—at least to me. It’s exciting. It has whimsy. And it makes me want to write again. Not because I feel like I have to. But because I really want to.

It feels like I’m riding a fucking high. I don’t know if my publisher will feel the same way—the contract is pretty specific about what I agreed to produce—but I can’t walk away from this when it’s the first piece of writing that has felt right in a long time. I have to believe it’s meant to be.

I’d love some stability in my job, but I need to be doing something that feels right. If I could get both, that’d be ideal, but I’ll take one out of two for now.

Besides, I might be physically unable to stop. The story has been spilling out of me, like my first book did. It’s a living, breathing being, and everything about working on it just feels right. Who am I to say no to that?

“Hey, Shakespeare. You’ve got to eat,” Forrest says, tapping me on the side of my arm with the back of his hand.

A hand that holds a to-go box.

A to-go box that smells amazing.

“I got some things from the resort restaurant,” he explains as I look up at him from beneath my enormous floppy hat.

Out of nowhere, my stomach growls loudly. I didn’t even realize I was hungry. What the hell time is it?

Afraid of scaring my idea off, I’ve been writing anytime the tiniest drop of inspiration hits, even getting up in the middle of the night more than once. It would appear that at some point today, mid-morning became mid-afternoon, and I completely skipped lunch after only having coffee for breakfast.

Because the whole point of coming here early was to give myself time to write, I did leave most of this week unplanned, and we’ve been bouncing around to different spots for writing and studying. We went to the park by Tempe Town Lake, the main library at DCU’s campus, and a picnic area near the base of a mountain where more adventurous people than us like to mountain bike and hike.

When we went for a walk that day, we met a couple that had just gotten engaged at Antelope Canyon in Sedona, and I like to think that’s a good omen for me writing a romance story. They were so giddy they told their whole engagement story to a pair of strangers. It sounded beautiful.

While I’d love to go see the pink rocks up there, I think it might have to wait for another trip. And the longer I’m here, the more I’m desperate to book another trip… or many other trips. I forgot how much I love being here.