Page 6 of Bear’s True Mate

All I needed was to focus.

My fingers hovered over the keys. I set the scene in my head first, then started typing. One sentence, then another. My heroine was at a farmer’s market. The hero was supposed to bump into her there—literally. The kind of clumsy collision that sends her bags scattering and him scrambling to help pick everything up. Their hands brush when they both reach for the same thing. It was supposed to be a small moment, but it was the one that plants the seed. The first hint that this man might be different from the ones who came before him.

I got three more sentences in before a lawn mower roared to life outside.

My hands froze on the keys.

No.

I shifted to look out the window into the yard. Sure enough, there he was—my new neighbor, the one who apparently had zero concept of shared living space—pushing a mower across the narrow strip of yard between the duplex and the beach. He had headphones on. Of course he did. Headphones for himself while he subjected everyone else to the noise he created.

The mower growled and sputtered as he made a pass along the edge of the property. I turned my volume up, hoping to drown it out. It didn’t help. The low, grinding drone of the engine while it chomped through grass still found its way through.

I closed my eyes and squeezed the bridge of my nose while taking in a breath. Then, I reached for my tea and took a sip before shifting my focus back to my story. I tried to write. I really did. My fingers tapped out words that didn’t connect and sentences that went nowhere.

He handed her the sourdough loaf and she⁠—

The mower hit something and made a horrible scraping sound.

—she took it from him and smiled, though she wasn’t sure⁠—

The mower engine revved louder as he turned a corner.

—why her chest fluttered the way it did⁠—

I deleted the line. Then the one before it. Then the whole freaking paragraph and sat back in my chair. I plucked my earbuds out and set them on the desk, then snapped my laptop shut.

There was no point in even trying to write right now. Not with all that noise. It felt like I was forcing words onto the page while my brain was being jackhammered. I wasn’t going to produce anything worth keeping in this environment.

What should I do now?

Explore the town?

The listing had called Driftwood Cove charming, and from what I’d seen driving in yesterday, that wasn’t a lie. Maybe walking through a cute coastal town would shake my brain loose and get my muse so primed my neighbor could set off dynamite next door and I’d still be so into the story I wouldn’t even hear.

When was the last time I’d been that into a story I was writing?

It had been so long I couldn’t even remember.

I grabbed my purse and headed out. The walk into town was just what the listing had promised—short, flat, and easy. Main Street was only a few blocks from the duplex, and the morning air was warm with a breeze coming off the water that smelled salty. I passed the little shop with the sea glass wind chimes I’d seen yesterday, and a few storefronts that looked like they’d been here longer than most of the people in town.

Then I spotted the café.

Delilah’s Café was on Main Street with a chalkboard sign out front advertising the day’s pie—blueberry—and the best clam chowder on the coast. The door was propped open, and the smell of fresh coffee and something savory drifted out onto the sidewalk, luring me in.

I stepped inside.

The café was cozy. A counter ran along one side with stools, and a few tables and a booth or two lined the other wall. It wasn’t busy either. There were a couple of older men at the counter nursing their morning coffee, a woman reading a paperback in the corner booth with a muffin, and a couple sitting at a center table with breakfast platters.

A woman behind the counter looked up the moment I walked in. She was short and curvy, probably in her mid-forties, with red hair streaked with silver and chunky bracelets that clinked together when she moved. She flashed me a warm, friendly smile.

“Well, good morning,” she said. “Have a seat wherever you like, honey. I’ll be right with you.”

“Thank you.” I slid onto a stool at the counter. Sitting at a table alone seemed embarrassing.

The woman made her way to me from the other side of the counter. “What can I get you, honey? Coffee?”

“Actually, do you have hot tea?”