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Her eyes widen. Maybe she realizes I mean something deeper than I’m actually saying. I don’t know what it is between us, but it runs deeper than fucking.
Ollie and Artie come out of the kitchen, bickering about something and breaking the moment between us.
I clear my throat and take a step back.
“So, how was your writing session yesterday?” Artie asks with a suggestive smile on his face.
“Well, Artie,” Susan replies, a hint of cheekiness in her tone, “these troublemakers”—she gestures toward Artie, Ollie, and me—“aren’t exactly giving me the chance to get any work done.”
A chuckle escapes me as I catch her playful gaze.
“Hey, don’t blame us entirely,” I tease, a grin on my face. “You’ve been quite the distraction yourself, Susan. How can we focus on anything else when you’re around?”
“Well, since you ask, I’m having trouble with the last act of the book.”
“I imagine plotting is a real puzzle, isn’t it? I don’t even know what I plan to do tomorrow, and you have to plan right to the end of the book,” I comment, my voice filled with genuine curiosity. “What’s been giving you the most trouble in finding the right path for your story’s conclusion?”
“Well, Ed,” Susan replies with a thoughtful expression, “it’s finding that perfect balance between satisfying resolutions for the characters’ arcs and leaving room for a touch of mystery and surprise. I want to give my readers a sense of closure but also keep them guessing until the very end. It’s especially difficult in a genre like romance where the reader pretty much knows how the story ends.”
“I can see how that would be challenging,” I reply, my voice filled with genuine admiration. “But I have no doubt you’ll find the perfect pieces to fit into your puzzle.”
“Yeah, exactly,” Ollie says. “She read me some of her stuff, and she’s really good.”
“Guys,” Susan says, ducking her head. “I’m not that good.”
“I disagree. I think you’re pretty fucking awesome,” Artie chimes in. “And even though I haven’t read any of your stuff—girl, if you’re that good in bed, I can’t wait to find out how you write about it.”
Susan chuckles. “Well, that’s one way to put it.”
“You know, Susan,” I suggest, “have you ever tried visualization techniques to delve deeper into your story?”
Susan looks around as if to make a point. “I think we’ve done a lot of that together, and it does help.”
I shake my head. “I’m not talking about that,” I say. “It’s more about the book than what happens between us. I’m not just talking about inspiration. More like a deep dive into the psyche of your characters.”
“Tell me more, Ed,” she responds, leaning in slightly. “How do you suggest I approach it?”
“What’s your book about?” I ask.
She hesitates. “It’s about a lumberjack who has an accident in the forest and has to seek refuge with three men.”
I exchange a look with my brothers. Susan looks apologetic. “I know what it sounds like, but trust me, the story has nothing to do with you. I’ve kept my promise.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” I say. Artie and Ollie raise identical brows.
I clear my throat. “I know what I said earlier, but fiction requires inspiration, and I’m okay if you take that from us, from what happens between us.”
“Really?” Susan says, her face wide with surprise. “You mean it?”
I nod. “Of course I do.”
“Wow, thank you so much. I was so scared about what you might think of the story,” Susan says.
I walk up to her. “I think I’ll be flattered if I get to be a part of it.”
I trust Susan. She looks up at me, her gaze staying there for a couple seconds before she nods.
“So what’s the most visual part of your story?” I ask.
