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“You owe Grandma a new pool noodle.”
“Oh, no, I got that bit. It’s just not a sentence one expects to hear mid-afternoon,” I replied. “Why on Earth do I owe her a pool noodle of all things? And why did you just walk in here?”
“I knocked. You didn’t hear. I figured you were out here. As for the pool noodle, that’ll be his fault,” Max replied, holding Winston out.
“Merow,” my cat whined.
“Oh, no,” I groaned, hitting the save command before glaring at him. “Did you use the goats as a scratch post again?”
He blinked at me. “Meeer.”
“We spoke about that, Winston. You can’t just use their horns to sharpen your claws, pool noodles or no pool noodles.”
He wriggled in Max’s arms and jumped down, bounding up the steps into the house behind me. I watched him go with a slow slide of my gaze before I dragged my attention back to where Max was watching him with unabashed amusement.
“That cat is such a dick,” I muttered, looking back at my laptop.
“He’s a pretty wild character,” Max agreed. “How’s the writing going?”
“Do I really have to go and buy your grandmother a pool noodle?”
“No. She has forty of them.”
I glanced up at him. “I’m not even going to ask.”
“Best you don’t.” He chuckled. “So? The writing?”
“Took a detour,” I admitted looking at the screen. “These people in my head don’t conform to my wishes, so here I am. Writing fifteen thousand extra words and reworking the entire ending.”
Max raised his eyebrows. “Sounds stressful.”
“Mm. I was hoping to be done in about two days, but it’s going to be more like five now. It really cuts into my rest time, especially since my brother just reminded me that our parents are coming home. If I’m not there, my mother will kill me.”
He slowly nodded. “So when are you leaving?”
“It depends how quickly I can get this finished. I was kind of hoping to have a week to relax when I was done, but I don’t think that’s possible now.” I glanced up at him. “It’s probably just a week until I leave now.”
Another gentle nod. “I’ll leave you to finish writing. Just wanted to return the great explorer to you.”
“Actually, if you have a second… Could I pick your brain?”
He paused midway through turning around and raised his eyebrows. “Pick my brain?”
I pointed at the screen. “For my book. I… kind of broke them up.”
“Kind of broke them up?”
“With the intention of them living happily ever after, of course.”
“Of course. What other intention would you have?” His lips tugged to one side. “What can I help with?”
“I used the situation with the Glenrochs that you explained, and I had the classist prejudice lead to their breakup because the heroine couldn’t cope with being made to feel less than anymore, so she broke it off and won’t speak to the hero anymore.”
“That’s pretty valid.”
“But I need to get them back together.”
He put his hands in his pockets and bobbed his head, pressing his tongue against his top lip thoughtfully.
