This is research.
This is…
I sigh.
Hard.
After a month and a half with someone always around, now it’s dreadfully apparent how empty my house is. I got used to having Alister here in a good way. I got used to the way my heart would trip when I caught sight of him out of the corner of my eye. I got used to the underlying tension between us. I got used to anticipating when he might flip the casual narrative on its head.
Every day was another chapter in a story I was loving to write.
And now?
Now, I’m stuck in those bone-dead boring fifty pages where I don’t really care at all what’s happening and just want the stupid male lead to get his stupid rump back home to the poor, sad female lead who misses him.
Dumb, dumb, dumb.
I rage type.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I jut my lip and puff as another chapter comes to a close in my book. I’m steadily heading toward the climax now. Probably only two more chapters and an epilogue, where they’llalmostkiss and I shall keep my promise to December by writingFinin lieu of any description.
Surely that shall morale me?
Surely, surely…
While I’m not at all contemplating how evil I can be, I hear my front door open.
My heart leaps.
I scoot my chair out and rush to my hall, peering past my living room to find—
“A burglar!” I declare when December’s rump bops my front door closed behind her. “Please, take my money! Take my coffin! But don’t take my books! Anything but my books!”
December’s giggle dances into the air. “Silly. I’m not a burglar, it’s not a coffin, and I wouldneverwrench a manuscript out of your hands before its time.” Her pretty eyelashes bat. “Unless?”
“It’s not ready yet. I am almost done, though.”
“Aw. I continue to suffer then.”
My attention lowers, to her arms, which appear to be…full of dark roses scattered with sunflowers. Covering my mouth with my hands, I whisper, “Oh, December. You should have told me sooner you were in love with me. How painful it must have been to watch Dominic woo me this past month. I choose you. Of course I choose you.”
Horrified, my dearest and oldest friend beholds me, aghast. “I cannot believe you’d make this positively lovely story into a love triangle.”
Losing my theatrics, I cross my arms, turn my face away, and cock my hip against the wall. “Ican’t believe you’re conspiring with that man. He’s trying to get me all wedded up, you know?”
A happy little sigh escapes her. “Iknow.” Trotting across my living room, she fills my arms with the roses. “It’s so romantic. I can’t believe he’s really going to marry you against your will like this. I, for one, am absolutely obsessed.”
“Marry me against my will?” I ask.
December holds up a gilded card. Golden ink dresses the front withMy Beloved Author.
I gulp. “What’s that?”
“Oh this? Sappy poetry, probably. ButI’mhoping it’s a threat.”
Shifting the bouquet, I retrieve the card and fumble through getting it open amid all the blossoms pouring out of myarms. Meanwhile, December heads into my kitchen and begins searching for, I suspect, a vase. Discovering I do not own one, she settles on filling a pot with water while I read:
