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“Exactly,” I tell her. “To be honest, I’m having trouble getting the whole story going.”
“Start with the bad guy.”
“What?”
“Figure out who the bad guy is, what he’s going to do that’s bad. At least that’s what Uncle Dan told Dad when he was visiting us in the Hamptons.”
The Uncle Dan in question isthatDan—author ofThe Da Vinci Code. “That’s actually some pretty solid advice.”
“He knows what he’s talking about,” she says, patting my knee.
* * *
After taking Lily back to the lodge and having supper with Harper’s family, I zip back to my cabin. My mind is swirling with ideas. I hurry inside, just as a crack of thunder rips through the air causing the small hairs on the back up my neck to stand at attention. “The mood is set,” I mumble ominously.
Grabbing my notebook, I jot down everything I can think of about my villain—Stacey Simpson, a small-town woman whose husband is a chronic cheater. She decides to go all Snow White’s stepmom on every young, good-looking woman in a hundred-mile radius. But she doesn’t expect the feisty bakery owner to put up such a struggle …
It’s well after midnight when I stop, and the rain is still coming down. I not only have my villain sorted out, but I’ve also got my heroine, too. Single mom Melinda Brown, whose husband died in a tragic logging accident. Melinda makes the best muffins in town, and when the incompetent sheriff, who’s addicted to her baking, keeps coming in and spilling the beans about the investigation, Melinda learns more about the murders than anyone else in town. As all the victims are single women under forty, she starts to worry her safety might be in jeopardy. She decides that if she’s going to survive, she’s going to have to solve the case herself.
After what feels like hours, I stand up to stretch out the stiffness in my back. Charged by the progress I’m making, I walk over to the window and watch as the lightning shifts across the surface of the water. Maybe I’ll have Stacey confront Melinda in a lake setting on a night just like this.
I finally pull myself away from the window and head into the bedroom. Closing the blackout blinds, I say a silent plea that my dreams will be filled with plot twists for my book. My subconscious has other ideas.
Instead of drama and intrigue, my night’s full of thoughts of Moira. I dream about taking a boat ride together before hiking up to a romantic mountain retreat. We laugh and hold hands while talking about everything under the sun. It’s by far the best dream I’ve ever had. When I wake up, I’m overcome with longing to see her again.
After throwing on a hoodie to soak up the rain—it’s still going strong—I quickly tie my sneakers and run out the door to the diner. Moira smiles at me when I walk in. She arrives at my booth with a mug and the coffee pot just as I sit down.
“How was the pedicure?”
“Pretty good,” I tell her. “Although, I was expecting a massage chair.”
She looks at me with a blank expression. So, I explain, “Big cushy chair that massages your head, neck, back and butt while you get your feet done.”
She raises an eyebrow. “I had no idea you were kinky.” She pours my coffee. “Did Lily manage to talk you into getting polish?”
“Thankfully, no.”
“Lily is lucky to have you.”
Shrugging, I tell her, “Actually, it’s a good thing I took her. She single-handedly cured my writer’s block. I’m considering making her my co-author.”
“Seriously?” Moira asks with a grin.
“Turns out she knows a lot more than the average five-year-old about thrillers. I was up half the night getting my ideas down.”
Moira chuckles. “Good for you. Now, what can I get you for breakfast so you can be all fueled to keep going?”
“Oatmeal, please, with a side of whatever fruit you’ve got.” I explain, “If my stomach is too full, I’m going to get drowsy, and I need to make some major progress before my parents get here.” I immediately feel silly for admitting that, so I add, “Because I’ll be busy showing them around. Not because I need their approval or anything.”
“You’re your own man and all.” Moira tries and fails to suppress a giggle.
“I’m a successful lawyer, for God’s sake. I don’t have to justify my time to my mother.” We both laugh this time.
“Still, it’s probably a huge relief to have a breakthrough before they get here, right?”
“Yes,” I murmur, feeling completely sheepish.
The moment we just shared makes me almost forget that I’ve been friend-zoned. I sternly remind myself that friends don’t kiss the way I want to kiss Moira.
