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CHAPTER 10
The whole town is going nuts a few days after my date with Gil. An actual FBI-team got here late last night, they apparently checked into the bed and breakfast Misses Kimya runs. They came in while it was dark, probably hoping to go unnoticed, but if there’s one thing you can rely on in a small town, it’s that nothing ever will be kept secret.
So of course everyone knows.
The local gossip elite, led by Miss Frieda and Miss Patterson, have had a very busy morning, trying to figure out what the feds are doing here. I’ve got my suspicions, because I know what’s going on, but I can’t tell anyone.
So I went about my usual day, took my laptop to Roots, sat down at my usual spot at the breakfast bar, right next to the electrical socket. My editor sent me back revisions on the last few chapters, and now it’s up to me to change everything or make a statement by not listening to their expert advice.
While I’ve been very passionate about my previous manuscripts and have defended every single word tooth and nail, I just can’t be bothered with this book.
It’s like it’s lacking in every department. I don’t feel the characters, I don’t grasp the storyline. Everything feels like it’s being stringed together just to make it fit. But nothing seems right.
Sure, it’s a whole long slur of pretty words, and it’s still a round story. It still misses something. It misses my belief in the things I’ve written. I just don’t believe in true love anymore, not in the generic sense of the word anyway.
What do you do with a book about something you don’t believe in anymore? Beats me. I figure I just finish it and then put on my big girl pants and talk to my publisher. Maybe. Some day.
A plate with a beetroot salad and what I presume is goat cheese gets put in front of me, and I scrunch my nose. Dean looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to react.
“I didn’t order this,” I say, trying to buy myself some time.
“No, I made it for you.”
Crap. If he’s made it especially for me this is going to be a toughy. “Well, thanks?” I finally answer, grabbing the fork that came with the plate as I push one of the beets around.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Beets taste like dirt.”
“How do you know what dirt tastes like?” he asks as his face sours.
“Ask Jonah and O, they loved feeding me mudcakes.” I think back at the times I forced them to play tea party with me, making mud cakes, which they then proceeded to force feed me, because that was the only part they liked about playing tea party.
But they always did play with me, even if I wanted to play pretend unicorns. They made me play war right after, so it all worked out in the end. A hint of a smile covers my face when I think about it.
“So you don’t want it?” Dean concludes.
“Not really,” I admit, looking at the plate as if it’s about as appetizing as a raw kidney.
“Fucking Shelby,” he grunts.
“What did Shelby do?” I’m failing to see the connection I guess.
“She made me buy goat cheese and beets because she was craving it, and then when I wanted to make it for her, she said that was the worst idea she ever had. So now I have beets and goat cheese, but nobody is eating it.” His face looks sour.
“So you didn’t actually make this for me?” I give him my best stern look, telling him exactly how I feel about that. “Why don’t you eat it yourself?”
“Because beets taste like dirt.”
I punch him in the arm as I start laughing. “Asshole.”
When the door opens up, I look up and see two people walking in that I don’t know.
A tall man with dark hair and really vibrant green eyes holds open the door for a native American woman with black hair that hangs in a braid over her shoulder. Both are dressed in office clothes, which is weird, because we don’t have that many offices in Charlington. You’d have to go to Kinseltown if that’s what you’re looking for.
Shelby pops her head in from the storage room, welcoming them, as the pair sits down at one of the tables right behind me. Knowing that the FBI came in yesterday, and there’s suddenly two strangers here, I have an inkling I know who these people are. Good thing I took Math in high school, so I can add these things up.
“Hey there,” Shelby says as she walks over from the storage area with her notepad. “How can I help you?”
