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Oh, there’s an ending, alright. Just not one that I wrote.
I rack my brain, trying to come up with a plausible explanation for what the fuck is happening.Was I hacked? Did I write this in my sleep? Is sleep-writing even a thing?I’m being ridiculous.But I don’t understand how someone accessed my file. The only people in proximity to this laptop for the past six months have been me, Peter, and Ted—
Oh… Oh!
Emily prattles on while I skim the last three chapters and it all falls into place. Of course, Teddie wrote this. The ending has several of the elements we discussed as possible options to wrap up this series. And the writing is actually damn good. I have to stop myself from smiling with pride. Not only is she gorgeous, she can cook and bake, and sing, and apparently write books. Is there anything that womancan’tdo?
“—and they want the proposal by next week.”
“Huh?” I lack eloquence as I tune back in to what Emily is saying.
“Getting the proposal completed by next week shouldn’t be a problem, right?” My voice catches in my throat as I choke on an answer. But I’m saved by the bell when Emily spits out a goodbye and hangs up to answer another call.
One week.
Closing my eyes, I inhale a slow, controlled breath. I can do this. I know I can. It’ll be just like the dozens of other times. Plan a five-book series and develop a pitch for my publisher. And I know exactly where I need to start.
Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I select the number I need, then wait for the call to connect. For once, I’m relieved to hear Peter’s voice on the other end.
“Did Dragon Lady Emily eat you alive? Are you homeless now? Am I about to find out I’m the sole heir to nothing?”
Ignoring his snark, I get straight to the point. “Where did you find Teddie’s rental? No, wait. Better yet, if you already have a VBRO account, book me for another week. And a flight too. Whatever is the next available. I don’t care how much it costs.”
“Do I look like your fucking assistant?” He sounds perturbed but I couldn’t care less right now.
“Yes. And you brought this on yourself when you chose to meddle in my life.” Before he offers a snide reply, I hang up the phone and rise from my chair.
It’s a damn good thing I haven’t unpacked yet, because I’m headed back to Candy Cane Key. And I’ll do whatever kind of groveling Teddie wants, if she’ll just forgive me.
Only a dumbass would walk away from a girl like her. And, apparently, I’m the biggest dumbass there is.
12
Teddie
Nate didn’t call.
Not that I expected it, but I secretly hoped he would. Maybe from the airport, or when he finally got home and noticed that I finished his manuscript. I imagine he’d be surprised, or even a little impressed. Though, at this point, I’d take him calling just to yell at me for touching his precious book-baby.
Silence is far worse than any yelling would be.
For the first time in a long time, I feel defeated. My spark has dimmed and my body feels heavy. There’s an ache in my heart that twists in my chest, and the one thing I need to make it better I can’t have. I try to ease my distress by focusing on the warmth of the coffee mug cradled in my hands as I sit with Rose. But none of my grounding techniques seem to be working today.
“I shouldn’t have gone to sleep.” My voice cracks, but Rose doesn’t flinch as she tops off my drink. “Why didn’t I stay up to see him off? It was only a few more hours. Maybe then… maybe he would’ve called by now.”
She rubs soothing circles on my upper back. “You don’t know that, Teddie. There’s no sense in torturing yourself over what might have been. He’s not worth your tears, honey.”
“I’m not crying,” I insist, pinching my lips together to hold back my emotions.
She’s quiet for a few moments before perking up in the seat next to me. “I know what can cheer you up! Let’s decorate the tree. It’s time for the Christmas decorations anyway.”
“We skipped Thanksgiving,” I remind her.
She huffs. “No, we didn’t. We ate it. Don’t you remember?” She’s referring to our mini-Friendsgiving we had to celebrate the holiday. Nate had been deep in his writing cave all week, and we’d barely left the house. We didn’t realize it was Thanksgiving until the day of. So, after a quick trip to the grocery store, I whipped together a roasted turkey breast and some side dishes for us to enjoy while watching movies in the living room. It was wonderful, and I’m happy we spent the day together.
But today, I’m not in the mood to decorate or be cheerful. “I think I’ll pass, if you don’t mind.”
“What about some baking? I haven’t seen you in the kitchen all day. I can pull out the ingredients for you.” Her gaze is filled with encouragement, but I can’t seem to find the energy.
