AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Of course.” My stomach grumbles in response and I’m incredibly grateful Cynthia had the foresight to feed us.
“Let’s eat in the living room so we can watch the storm.”
Noah and I each grab a plate and the glass of ice water next to it and follow Cynthia into the living room and to a small table with three chairs right next to the windows.
“This looks delicious,” Noah says as he sits in the chair across from the one Cynthia’s taken.
I sit between them while Cynthia smiles sweetly at Noah. “You’re even more handsome than the rumors. I’m glad to get to meet you in person.”
“He’s my boyfriend.” I’m shocked by the words flying out of my mouth and by my soul deep need to claim Noah as mine. He is mine in every way that really matters. He’s my best friend. And I don’t need him muddying the waters by starting a romantic relationship with my client.
Cynthia smiles, clearly unbothered by this information. “So I’ve heard.”
I stuff the sandwich in my mouth to keep from saying something else idiotic and nearly moan aloud at the flavors hitting my tongue. “This is so good,” I say once I’ve swallowed.
Cynthia smiles and we all eat in silence for a few moments, watching the fast-moving dark clouds outside the window.
“The view here is amazing,” Noah says, reverence in his voice.
“It really is.” Cynthia’s smile is warm. “Some days, I hate being stuck way out here and other days I wish I could stay forever.”
“Why can’t you?” I ask.
“That’s not the way it works.” Cynthia sighs. “The real Cynthia Bennett, the first one, was eighty-two when shepublished her first romance. She’d been a wife and a mother, then a grandmother and a socialite. She’d worked in the family business for most of her life and at eighty-two she could finally settle down and write all the books she’d had in her head for decades.”
Cynthia, or whoever she is, chews thoughtfully. “It’s really a sad story if I think too much about it. Anyway, Cynthia knew she wouldn’t live long enough to write all the books she’d dreamed up, so she made her agent and publisher promise never to reveal her age, her photo, or anything else that could identify her.”
“Cynthia Bennett is a pen name.” It wasn’t unusual for an author to write under a pen name, but they usually kept the same one their whole life and it was never used again after they died.
Cynthia pointed at me. “Ding, ding, ding. Get this lady some cheesecake.”
I stare at her blankly.
“Seriously.” She grins, amusement dancing in her eyes. “There’s cheesecake in the fridge. If you wouldn’t mind bringing it out, Noah?”
Noah has long since finished his chips and sandwich. Clearly, he was also starving.
He pushes to his feet. “I don’t mind at all. I love cheesecake.”
“Anyway,” Cynthia goes on. “No one was to know anything about the original Cynthia Bennett. Between writing the five books she published before she died at ninety, she wrote out detailed outlines of all the other stories in her head and made her agent and publisher swear to find someone to write those books after she died.”
“That must have been thirty-five years ago,” I say. “You can’t be more than —”
“Twenty-five,” Cynthia says as Noah sets the cheesecake, a knife, three plates, and three forks on the table. “Thank you, Dr. Brooks.”
Noah cuts us each a slice and sets it in front of us as Cynthia continues her story.
“Mrs. Bennett left instructions for this house to be renovated and for the author of her books to use this place as a sort of writing retreat. She wanted the author to be chosen however the agent and publisher saw fit, from a slush pile or a writing class or a ghostwriter, but she insisted the next Cynthia Bennett be someone under thirty who had years of life to write all of her books.”
“I imagine it’d be hard to find someone that young who has her talent.”
Cynthia nods. “Cynthia’s agent hires someone to work only on finding the next Cynthia, when it’s necessary.” Cynthia shrugs. “Cynthia was like a billionaire herself and left all of her money to the book business instead of her kids.”
“That can’t have gone over well.”
Cynthia twists a few strands of her long hair between her fingers. “The kids get royalties from her first five books, which still sell pretty well, a percentage of royalties from all books published under her name, and they all have money in their own right. From what I’ve heard, they’re decent people who loved their mother and support her legacy being carried out. One of her granddaughters is actually my agent now.”
“But you said they chose an author thirty-five years ago, and the plan was for that author to write all her books going forward.”
