by Ali Parker
I gripped the edge of the table. “And then what?”
“And then nothing.”
I frowned. “What do you mean, nothing?”
“I haven’t written anything else.”
My mouth fell open. “You asshole.”
Aaron burst out laughing and clutched his ribs as he rocked back in his chair. “I’m sorry. That’s how it goes in my line of work. If you want the inside scoop this early on in the process, that’s all I have for you.”
“Fair enough,” I grumbled. “But as soon as you know what happens next, I want to know too.”
“Deal.” He grinned, reaching for his cider and polishing off the contents. “Now finish that drinks of yours. Let’s go spend money on some glorified arts and crafts.”
Chapter 6
Aaron
The cursor blinked as if in slow motion as I stared at the blank white page. My tired eyes struggled to focus, and the screen itself seemed to waver and dance.
With a tired sigh, I slumped back in my chair and rubbed my face with my hands. The whiskers of my beard whispered against my palms.
I’d been at it all night long.
After my day with Piper at the market and in the Historic District of Kingston, I found my inspiration flowing wildly, and I had to sit down to write. And as I wrote, my main character started to look and walk and talk more and more like Piper James.
And I wasn’t even doing it on purpose. She’d become the muse I didn’t know I needed.
It was just after seven in the morning when Piper’s bedroom door opened with a soft click. I glanced over toward the kitchen, where she emerged with a wild mane of bedhead and sleepy eyes.
She gave me a tired smile. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” I said, noting how cute she looked in her loose T-shirt and black shorts. I watched as she padded into the corner of the kitchen and started filling up the coffee pot with water.
She held it up and waggled it at me. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
I leaned forward and clattered away on my keyboard while Piper brewed the coffee in the kitchen and indulged in a couple of cute yawns she probably thought I couldn’t hear. She was the best possible distraction I could have. After writing a paragraph or two, I’d steal a glance her way and catch her gazing out the window at the sunny Kingston morning.
When the coffee finished, she fixed me a cup and brought it over, carrying hers with her so she could stand behind my left shoulder and sip it. “Are you working on your new book?”
“Yes,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee. My stomach growled obnoxiously as soon as I swallowed, and I realized I hadn’t eaten since yesterday evening at the market with Piper.
Oops.
My writer's brain had been running the show since she’d gone to bed last night, and I sat down at my desk. These long-winded, “can’t stop for anything” writing sprints were pretty normal for me. When the inspiration hit, there was no way I could get up and walk away from the computer. I had to let it run its course.
“How’s it going?” Piper asked.
“So far so good. I made a lot of progress.”
“What time did you get up?”
I tilted my head back to look up at her and grinned.
She shook her head at me but chuckled softly. “You’ve been writing all night?”
I nodded.
Piper put her hand on my shoulder. The touch was gentle, kind, and a little affectionate. “Can I read some of it?”
I looked from her to my laptop. “Uh. Sure. If you’d like to.”
“I would.”
I scrolled to the top of the page, to chapter one, and got out of my chair, pulling it out for her to sit down. Then I tucked her into the desk and stood behind her, sipping my coffee while she started reading.
To say it was nerve-wracking was a serious understatement.
Despite having been doing the whole professional author gig for quite some time now, I was still paralyzed by crippling anxiety anytime someone read my unfinished work. My nerves went into overdrive as I hovered over her. My palms started to sweat, my skin prickled, and my mouth went dry.
The coffee wasn’t helping.
I went to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. Piper remained at my desk, silently reading. Her eyes flicked back and forth across the page, and her index finger hovered over the mouse, poised to scroll when she hit the bottom of the page.
I swallowed and tried to ignore her while she read. It was damn near impossible. Desperate for a distraction, I slipped out onto the balcony and half closed the door behind me so I could float away and up into the air with the morning traffic and the rich aromas of the bakery down below.
I didn’t know how long I stood out there for. Fifteen minutes. Maybe more.
But when Piper joined me, my stomach leapt into my throat.
She grinned. “Aaron, that is seriously really good. Like, mind-bogglingly, ‘why the fuck isn’t it finished so I can read the whole thing’ good.”
And just like that, the nerves slipped away, retreating back to their dark corners to spring out again at the right time.
“You’re not just saying that?” I asked, hating how weak and timid I sounded.
She shook her head vigorously. “No, I promise. It’s enthralling. I want to know what happens. No. I need to know what happens. I see now why you can’t pull yourself away from the computer.”
I grinned and rubbed the back of my neck. “I’m glad you like it. I sent it off to my agent the other day and haven’t heard a peep from her. Which is out of the norm. So I’ve gotten a bit in my head about it and started thinking it might be garbage.”
Her eyes widened with surprise. “Garbage? God no. It’s brilliant. I mean, I’m not an editor or publisher or agent or writer or whatever, but from the standpoint of the reader, I enjoyed it a lot. Everything starts happening so quickly, and I have so many questions.”
I couldn’t stop smiling. My cheeks were starting to hurt.
“Can we spend some time together tonight?” I asked. The words sort of tumbled out of me before I thought them through.
“Like a date?” Piper asked, cocking her head to the side and batting her lashes at me. I couldn’t tell if she was flirting with me or screwing with me. Either way, I liked it.
“Yeah, like a date. A casual date.”
She licked her full, pink lips. “I’d love that.”
“Wonderful. I just have to finish these next couple chapters, and then I’ll have more time on my hands.”
More time to devote to you.
She lifted her chin. “I understand. How about I clear out of here for the day and give you some quiet time to write? I’d like to head down to that bakery and check it out. Maybe I’ll sit with your book and order an iced coffee or something.”
“You don’t have to leave.”
“It’s all right, Aaron. Really. I don’t mind. You focus on your work. I have no problem spending time with myself until you’re finished.”
I was struck with the impulse to reach out and stroke her cheek. To show her some sort of intimate affection that I suspected neither of us was really ready for. My hand twitched at my side, and I forced myself not to reach for her.
“Thank you, Piper.”
She was the one who reached out. She put a hand lightly on my forearm. “No problem. I’m going to have a shower, and then I’ll head out. You’d better get your ass back in that chair. Because I want to know how this story unfolds.”
I watched her slip back inside and disappear into her room. Then, like the obedient writer I was, I hurried to my desk, sat my ass down, and started typing.
She never said a word when she slipped out. She left so silently that I was oblivious to the passing of time, and I wrote furiously. The words poured out, and the word count grew, and before I knew it, the sun was glaring down on me in the middle of the afternoon.
Then my phone rang.
Annoyed that I was bein
g interrupted, I let out a sigh and reached for my cell. Marcy’s name flashed across the screen.
There was that anxiety again. It came roaring out of the crevices and caves in which it hid and screamed bloody murder in the back of my head.
“Marcy,” I said, trying to sound as normal as possible as I lifted my phone to my ear. “How are you?”
“Aaron, my favorite writer.” Marcy’s Brooklyn accent had never completely gone away. It still punctuated her words every now and again. She sounded very far away, and I suspected she had me on speakerphone. Marcy was a multi-tasker through and through, so there was a good chance she was doing something else while she called me, like going for a walk or a run, grocery shopping, or driving her kid to choir practice.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to get back to you, Aaron. My life has been hell on wheels these last few days. Michael got signed to a new agency. Peter was kicked out of choir for showboating and then attacking another kid.” She let out a frustrated sigh. “It’s just been a bit of a fucking mess, you know?”
“I’m sorry, Marcy. That sounds rough. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No, but thank you. You’re always such a doll. I was just calling to talk to you about this manuscript you sent me the other day. What the hell is it?”
“A new project.”
“Yeah. Clearly.”
“Something I’ve wanted to write for a long time.”
“It’s not your usual type of work, Aaron. It’s very… grim. And where is the love interest? I’m eight thousand words in, and I still have no idea who she’s going to fall for and—”
“There is no love interest,” I said flatly.
Marcy was quiet for a minute. “Oh?”
“It’s not a romance book, Marcy.”
“Then what is it?”
“I don’t know yet. Action. Adventure. A bit of fantasy perhaps?”
“Fantasy?” she asked, her tone riddled with skepticism. “Don’t tell me you’ve let yourself get sucked into the high-fantasy craze. Game of Thrones is ruining—”
“There won’t be any dragons,” I said hurriedly. “It’s not that kind of fantasy.”
She let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “Aaron, look. You’re very talented. And you and I both know you can write any book you set your heart on and write it well. But your reader base has come to expect love stories from you. It’s what we’ve built your brand around. You can’t just go throwing something like this at them and not expect a backlash. This isn’t good for business.”
“I’m not writing it with the hopes that it’s good for business. I’m writing it because I know it’s a story that needs to be told.”
“Aaron.” She said my name like she was as disappointed in me as she was in her son who’d been kicked out of choir for being a little asshole. “I can’t represent this.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and rubbed the sore spots where the pads of my glasses sat. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“I’m not going to hoodwink your readers like that. We’ve worked too hard to throw it all away on a whim you suddenly have. Since when did you want to write fantasy?”
“It’s not just fantasy, Marcy. It’s—”
“Not marketable. Not for you, Aaron.”
“You won’t even consider reading the finished product?”
Marcy was quiet for a minute. “No, Aaron. I’m sorry. We’re not going to run this one for you. We’re going to stick with your romance line, where we know the money is and the expectations are. We’ll keep your readers happy. Maybe you can entertain the idea of creating a pen name and publishing your little fantasy stories there?”
My little fantasy stories?
“Yeah, maybe,” I grunted.
“That’s the spirit. I have to let you go now, doll. Things to do. We’ll talk soon. And hey, before I forget, you have a deadline coming up for your next book. Don’t wait until the last minute like last time, all right? I can’t handle that kind of stress again.”
“All right.”
Marcy hung up the phone, and as soon as the call ended, I hurled my cell into the sofa, where it struck the back cushion with a very satisfying thud.
Then I stared at the blinking cursor on my laptop screen and stewed in frustration as the inspiration that had been running through my veins fizzled and died inside me.
Chapter 7
Piper
The bakery on the ground floor of Aaron’s apartment building was going to be solely responsible for any weight I might potentially gain over the course of this month.
Their baked goods were made fresh every morning, and I stood in front of the display case with my face pressed to the glass like a nine-year-old, falling in love with the idea of stuffing my gullet with every sweet and savory treat the place had to offer.
Fluffy, chocolate-filled croissants. Fruit-stuffed Danishes baked with powdered sugar across the top. Macaroons. Cakes and pies and cheesecakes of every flavor: chocolate, strawberry, pineapple, coconut, raspberry, peanut butter, Oreo, vanilla, lemon. There were cannolis and coffee cakes and cupcakes and fruit flans.
Whatever your poison, they had it.
I ended up settling on what the barista recommended, which was a cherry and Greek yogurt Danish paired with a cup of in-house black coffee. I sat and enjoyed it outside on the patio, roped off from the pedestrian sidewalk and shaded by a pastel-yellow awning overhead. Little lights were strewn up above, and I imagined this was a very pleasant place to sit in the evenings.
As I sat and enjoyed my treat, I couldn’t help but think this was what Piper’s Paradise was missing. It had looked the same since my parents opened it decades ago, and the only facelifts they’d bestowed upon it were fresh coats of paint and some new flower boxes outside. It needed more. If they really wanted the business to survive, it needed a patio. And what was more, it needed a massive rebranding overhaul.
But Mom and Dad would never go for it. Not in a million years.
I sighed and fished Aaron’s book out of my purse to flip it open in front of me on the white wrought-iron table. Birds sang sweet melodies that made it easy to ignore the constant flow of traffic a mere thirty feet from where I sat. Bees buzzed around the colorful flowers set on each table, and the odd plain white butterfly fluttered about to land haphazardly on leaves that were too small to support them.
It was a more than pleasant way to spend my day. Between chapters, I would people watch, and as I did, I found myself wishing Janie was there with me. She and I had the best time watching strangers and making up lives for them as they went innocently about their business.
By the time the late afternoon arrived, I’d ordered two more snacks and drinks and decided I had to get the hell away from this place before I bought out their entire display case.
I went back upstairs and found Aaron slumped back on the sofa, glasses askew, eyes closed, with loose pages covered with red ink scattered all around him.
Funnily enough, this was exactly how I pictured a successful author to be.
I gently set my purse down and moved forward to wake him. Then I stopped. He hadn’t slept at all last night. He was probably exhausted and for good reason. He deserved the rest at the very least, and I could do my part to make the evening special for him when he woke up. I had the sense he hadn’t had a woman in his life in a very, very long time. The state of his apartment when I first arrived suggested that much, and so did some of his nervous habits.
Maybe these were some of the reasons why his mother was so intent on him ending up with a woman who could take care of him.
Maybe I could use this month to help him in my own way. I could show him a way to be less introverted so he could enjoy the real world rather than disappear into his fictional ones, where he probably felt safer.
Yes, that felt like a good place to start.
I spent the next hour tidying his place and wiping down surfaces. I opened windows and blinds and found candles in the backs of cupboards that I p
ut out and lit, creating a refreshing fragrance of cucumbers and lemon. Then as the sun set and my stomach started to growl, I cheated and ordered a pizza. He didn’t have anything in his fridge I could prepare, and everyone liked pizza, so it seemed like a safe choice.
Aaron woke when the buzzer rang for the pizza delivery guy.
“Sorry,” I muttered as I hurried past him to buzz the delivery guy up. “I didn’t want to wake you. But good news. I ordered pizza.”
Aaron propped himself up and adjusted his glasses to peer at me from behind his lenses. He looked more than a little disheveled, but I found him rather endearing as he blinked his tiredness away. “Pizza, you say?”
I nodded as I went to the door. “Yep. I’m starving. And I thought you probably would be too.”
“That was nice of you,” he said as he extracted himself from the depths of his brown leather couch. As he rose to his feet, he swept his fingers through his hair and arched his back, cracking his spine.
I opened his front door and waited for the pizza to arrive. I didn’t have to wait long. After paying and tipping the kid who dropped off the pizza, I brought the box into the kitchen. “I went with barbeque chicken. I hope that’s okay?”
Aaron patted his flat stomach. “No complaints here.” He joined me at the island as I went about grabbing plates, and then he looked around like he didn’t recognize his own apartment. “Did you clean?”
“No,” I said hurriedly.
He narrowed his eyes at me. “It looks and smells like you cleaned.”
“Well, I… erm… lit a few candles?”
“I had candles?”
