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Sitting up, Blake rubbed his eyes. “What happened?”
Everly pointed to a note on the couch between them.
Blake picked it up and rubbed his eyes again before reading.
3-4 Kings. Get to work.
Blake crumpled the note and tossed it into the fireplace. “What time is it?”
“Just past midnight. Ridge went to bed about half an hour ago.”
Blinking hard, Blake took a moment to study Everly. Her hair was pulled up into a messy bun, she was wearing her usual baggy shirt, and a blanket covered her legs.
“Why aren’t you in bed?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I came downstairs just as Ridge was leaving. You looked so peaceful that I decided to sit here for a while.”
He sat up straighter and stretched his arms. “I’m glad you did. You’re a much prettier sight to wake up to than your brother.”
She chuckled. “Thanks.”
He pointed to her laptop. “You working?”
She turned back to the screen and hesitated. “No. I finished up a project earlier. I was actually writing.”
Blake put the footrest of the recliner down and scooted closer to her. “Writing? You write?”
Everly tucked her shoulders in and wrung her hands. Should he move back to the other side of the couch? Was he too close?
“Um, I write a little. When I have extra time.”
“What do you write? Is anything published?” Blake had all the questions. Everly loved reading, and she seemed happy with her editing job, but she’d never mentioned writing.
Everly looked around the room, carefully avoiding Blake’s assessing stare. “I write a few different things. Mostly it’s sweet love stories, but I’ve written some poetry and one women’s fiction type story.”
Blake’s eyes widened. He was fully awake now, energized by Everly’s revelation. “How much writing do you do? Are they short stories? Novels? I need to know more.”
Everly laughed and covered her face with one hand. “Stop it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“You most certainly should have. Now I need to know the details.” He was sitting on pins and needles, and anything Everly might write was something he wanted to read. He needed more of her, and as long as it wasn’t private, he had to see it.
She huffed, resigned to appease his curiosity. “They’re full novels, except the poetry. I put those in one long document.”
“Full novels? As in plural novels?”
Everly tapped a fingernail on the side of her laptop. “Eleven books.”
“What?” Blake shouted.
Everly shushed him with a finger sticking up in front of her lips. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”
“It is a big deal. Everly, you wrote eleven books. How did I not know this?”
“Because I’ve never told anyone.”
That confession stopped Blake in his tracks. “No one?”
Everly shook her head slowly. “No one.”
