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She interlaced her fingers and stretched her arms above her head. She paced the room, sipped water, and stepped onto the patio. The city hummed fourteen stories below, and the night sky covered the view of mountains. After bringing in a deep breath, she exhaled and pictured Charlie snuggled in her bed. Did she fall asleep? Was she worried about the storm starting again?
How horrible would it have been to be a child, waiting at the window for a dad who may not get home. Did the windows fog? Did she draw pictures on the pane to pass time?
Wait a second…windows fogging.She flew back into the room and flipped open her outline. She’d written a scene where Shelby had to leave her daughter to go on a drug run, and struggled with the guilt of leaving her with the adrenaline of a potentially large score. What if it were raining? What if the babysitter left early? Mack returned to document.
She blows onto the window, the palette she needs to draw. Her tiny fingers swipe against the moistened pane. Stick figures take shape. “One for Mommy, one for me.” Why wasn’t she home yet? The thunder slams into the house, the stick figure shakes. She grips her frayed teddy bear, the one with the missing eye and purple marker drawing on the arm, the one that her mommy tried to replace so many times with newer ones, but she doesn’t like the newer ones. She likes this one.
Another hour flew by before she rested her laptop to the side and picked up her phone.Crap.The flame icon flashed on the screen.
??: Hey you! Been trying to reach you. I’m going to be in NYC next week for business. Checking to see if you’re up for a visitor ;-)
Mack: Hey, I know it’s not cool to do this via text, but I don’t think we should contact each other anymore. I’m seeing someone and want to be respectful.
Mack: Wishing you the best.
A crappy greeting card send-off, for sure. But they’d only hooked up once, a month or two before the great escape to Seattle, and exchanged a couple of half-assed, obligatory messages since then. Flame icon would be fine.
A slow grin crept while readingI’m seeing someone. Didn’t matter that the statement wasn’t true. Just because she and Charlie shared a kiss—a hell of a kiss—didn’t mean they were seeing each other. But her insides still danced at the words.
The dating world was a foreign concept. She wasn’t an idiot. She had a general idea of what it entailed. But wanting sex, snuggles, dessert,andtoplay a wicked game of Battleshipwith the same person was incomprehensible. Until Charlie.
She sprang off the bed with a squeak and reached for the iron. The fabric of her shirt stretched across the board, and the methodical swipes of the hot tool allowed her brain to slow.
Maybe Charlie wouldn’t mind that she’d inspired parts of the book. She’d whispered in Mack’s ear, “Please don’t ever tell anyone I told you this…” But that was different from being a muse, right? Most people would be flattered to be considered an inspiration. And even though Shelby dealt drugs and had a violent streak, she had a lot of good, too. Mack would simply explain the concept of morally gray protagonists and zero in on the character’s integrity.
Okay, settled. She’d tell Charlie.
Probably.
But what if Charlie said no? Clammed up and wouldn’t let her back into the coffee shop? Not spending time with Charlie would be equally as bad for her as for her manuscript. She liked Charlie. A lot. More than what seemed normal or fathomable at this stage. Genuinely more than anyone she’d ever met besides her family and Viviane.
Without Charlie, her two-week winning word count streak would dry up, and her career would shrivel up and die. Who knows what would happen with the advance that Mack already spent? What she used it for couldn’t be returned.
Her phone rang, and her heart sprang.Charlie?She snatched it off the desk and her chest dropped.
“Viv.”
“Hello to you, too, princess.”
Mack looked at her watch. “It’s like one thirty in the morning for you.”
“I know, but Caleb had an ear infection, and urgent care was backed up, and Anthony didn’t get home until late, and well, now’s the first chance I’ve had. And I know you keep vampire hours.” The sound of zippers and rummaging in the background funneled through the phone. “Status check. How’s things?”
“Like chipping at an iceberg with a baby spoon.”
The rustling stopped. “You serious? I thought it was getting better.”
“I’m kidding. The manuscript’s coming along. Up to fifty-five thousand.”
“Good. Keep me posted,” Viviane said. “All right, I’m flying in tomorrow, late. Too long of a story to tell this late at night, but I had daycare issues.”
“Damn kids ruin everything, huh?”
“Ha. True. Anyway, I had to change the flight, so I won’t land until close to midnight. On Friday, you’ll meet me at eight a.m. sharp at the hotel lobby, we’ll walk to the conference area together, then head downtown for the book signing.”
Mack eased into the corner chair and put her socked feet against the wall. “I thought we were meeting at nine?”
“You’d know it moved up an hour if you answered your damn phone or emails.” Viviane released a deep breath. “Confirming you haven’t developed an escape plan or decided to fake a cracked collarbone to get out of your obligations?”
