“I dabble, here and there. And yeah, I’ve heard of it. Grossly under-recognized, if you ask me. What about you?”
With another sip of her coffee, Henley swallowed, taking the time to formulate her reply. “I used to think I was.”
His eyebrows pinched together. “That’s an odd thing to say. You either are or you’re not. I dabble. So yeah, I’m a writer. Because I write things down. Well, things other than grocery lists.”
“I’ve sort of lost the ability to write things down, other than grocery lists. I used to think I’d never have enough time to work through all the ideas that came to me, and now I can’t hear them.”
“And you think ‘The Write Way’ will help you get it back?” At Henley’s nod, he added, “Excuse me for saying this, but, that’s probably the silliest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Henley frowned.
“No. I don’t mean... Well, I kind of do, but hear me out. I think either you’re a writer or you’re not. And I don’t believe it’s humanly possible to just wake up one day and not know how to do that. How to push your passion on to the page. I think you can write without the voices. Or rather, you just have to figure out how to get them back.”
“Maybe that’s true,” Henley said solemnly. “Then I just don’t know how to get it back.” Only to add quickly, “Can we talk about something else?”
She watched Garret take a gulp of his coffee. “Sure.”
They fell into conversation about books and Garret. How the bookstore had been his father’s and he’d taken it over when he passed away. Henley’s heart tugged at the wound still fresh within Garret. That must have been the sadness that she could see in his soft, blue eyes.
He offered her a refill on her coffee, and Henley eagerly accepted. She was enjoying the company of Garret, not wanting the moment to end. From within the pocket of her shorts, though, came a reminder of how she’d ended up at Garret’s in the first place. She pulled her ringing phone free and silenced the call from her mother.
“Someone missing you? A boyfriend perhaps?”
It was hard to ignore the suggestive tone in Garret’s voice, or the look he gave her as he waited for a response.
“No. No boyfriend.” She drained the last of her coffee, only to yawn in the next second. “But I should probably get going. I don’t want to overstay.”
“I’m not sure I can let you leave, Henley. I may have filled you full of caffeine, but that’s not going to be enough of a jolt to get you back to Castlegar. I’d be worried you’d fall asleep at the wheel or something. I can’t—I can’t have that on my conscience. I can take you to a hotel if you want, or-or you could just stay. Here. With me.”
He was probably right. Henley knew that. But she looked at the small double bed, and back towards Garret. She knew she could use one of the credit cards in her purse to pay for a night in a hotel. That wasn’t the problem. The issue, the internal struggle Henley was having, was that she wanted to stay with him. She couldn’t describe the feeling completely, or why she was so sure that’s what she wanted, but she still wasn’t ready to let him go.
“I can stay on the floor. If that’s what you’re wondering about. Seriously. My intentions are nothing but honest.”
Henley yawned again but tried to cover it up with a cough as she stretched out her arms. “Okay. Sure. That’s probably a better idea, anyway. I can’t really afford a night in a hotel.”
“So it’s settled.” Garret got up, taking the empty coffee cups back into the kitchen, depositing them in the sink. Next he walked to a closed door Henley hadn’t noticed before. A linen closet. He pulled out a few very fluffy and soft-looking blankets and a spare pillow. With a silly grin, he said, “It’s been awhile since I had a sleepover. I’m kind of excited. I might even be game for a pillow fight or something. If you want.”
Laughing, Henley got up. Her muscles were stiff, and she ambled towards where he’d begun to set up his makeshift bed, just to the left of the real one. He gave her a look, a question playing on his lips, but thankfully, he didn’t ask what was wrong with her leg. And he didn’t seem to care much about it once she reached for the pillow, taking it from his hands. She hit him lightly with it. “I’m not sure I know you well enough for a pillow fight.”
“That’s probably true.”
She helped Garret get set up. And then stood awkwardly at the foot of the bed, not sure what to do next. He went to a small dresser under one of the windows of the apartment and began pulling a few things free.
“The bathroom is just through there.” He lifted his arms up, filled with clothes, in the direction of a door, just off from the kitchen. “I don’t know... well... If you want to change into something more comfortable.” He held out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.
“I’d like that. Thank you.” She took the clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. It was small; a sink, and shower, toilet, and very few personal touches. There was a razor on the ledge, a toothbrush in a small cup. When Henley opened the medicine cabinet, relief washed over her. Nothing out of the ordinary, really. A box of bandages. Some Tylenol. But then, there, suddenly glaring back at her was an unopened box of condoms. It took her a minute to ignore them and tell herself that it wasn’t a big deal. It was better to be prepared... Than not. And she’d often kept a few handy, just in case. Though more often than not, they weren’t used. She kept to herself mostly, concentrating on school work, knowing there was plenty of time for guys when she’d achieved some of her goals.
Quickly she changed and opened the door. She let out a sharp gasp. Garret was standing by the bed, wearing only a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, which he’d been lifting over his head when he abruptly stopped, his eyes widening at the sight of Henley. “I can... leave this on, if you want.” But something told her that wasn’t what he’d been thinking. At all. There was definitely an expression that gave her more butterflies.
“It’s fine. However you’re comfortable.”
He pulled the shirt the rest of the way off and tossed it to the floor. He stood for a second, and Henley cursed herself for checking out his toned torso and the dozens of tattoos that covered almost every inch of his skin. She’d noticed the flying books on his arm, but that didn’t even cover it. There were what looked like quotes in all different scripts, insignia like Sherlock’s trademark pipe and hat. A pair of circular, dark-rimmed spectacles. She wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch the permanently etched love of literature that encased his body. Finally, it was his grin that pulled her eyes back up to his lips. He’d done it on purpose; she was sure of it. Standing there, in a slight pose, allowing her the opportunity.
“No one’s ever told me I snore. But if I do, just throw a pillow at me, and I’m sure I’ll stop,” he said.
Henley crawled into the bed. She melted a little as she took in the scent of books and the masculine smell of Garret, a mix of salty and sweet that tickled her nose. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he said and got to the floor, covering himself with the blankets, punching the pillow and settling.
From where she was lying, she had the perfect view of him. She peered over the mattress and looked down at Garret, his eyes already closed, breathing steadily. He had the most kissable-looking lips...
That was the last thing Henley thought about before letting the exhaustion and frustration of the day consume her.
* * *
When Henley woke, she had an uncomfortable second of unfamiliar surroundings. It took her a moment to adjust, but she was pleasantly surprised by how well she’d slept, and smiled at Garret’s thoughtfulness from the instant he’d met her. But when she looked at the floor, the makeshift bed was rumpled and empty. It was then she saw a pad of paper and pen laying on top of his pillow. Henley looked around; the bathroom door hung open and unoccupied. He’d gotten up and left her alone. Curious, though, she slid from the bed and picked up the notepad.
You sleep like the dead. AND snore. Don’t worry. It’s cute. Fresh coffee and muffins
downstairs when you’re ready. But first... I want 150 creative words about coffee. GO!
Henley laughed and hugged the pad to her chest as she walked back to the bed and got under the covers. She lay still for a few minutes, but then she took the pen and started writing. It wasn’t much. One hundred and fifty words was about a page. Less even. And coffee was an easy subject to write about. She’d worked in a café, after all. She felt the familiar tingling as an idea began to form and take hold. She wrote the words from the coffee’s point of view, how it must feel starting out as a bean, being taken away from his family only to be tortured and ground up. Then forced to mix with water—its enemy—infected by the liquid and turned into coffee. Before Henley knew it, she’d written far more than the demanded one hundred and fifty words, and she hadn’t felt so good about something in a long while. She knew, had her father been there to read it, he’d have loved the short tale and tragic life of coffee.
After changing back into the shorts and t-shirt she’d worn before, she ran her hands through her tangled blonde hair. Next, she bounded down the stairs—well, tried to gracefully bound, letting the thrill of writing carry her to the bookstore.
Henley found Garret behind the counter; he’d been mid-swallow, pulling a paper coffee cup from his lips. She couldn’t contain her excited smile.
“Where’s the coffee?” she said.
He held up a cup, but then wiggled the fingers of his other hand. “Let me see,” he said in reference to the pad she still had in hand.
“What? No.”
“Sorry, Henley, I can’t give you the coffee until I know you’ve done your homework.” Reluctantly she held out the pad of paper and took the coffee from Garret, taking an immediate sip, letting the warmth rush down her throat. When she came to his side, she saw four paper coffee cups lined up under the ledge of counter.
“Addicted much?”
Garret glanced down and had she not been looking right at him; she might have missed the slight rosiness that crept over his cheeks. “I promised fresh coffee. Then I didn’t know when you’d wake up. So... I... just kept going next store and getting a new one.”
Touched. The insane gesture completely and utterly moved Henley. The butterflies in her stomach reacted forcefully, and her heart skittered in her chest. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.” Then he looked down at the paper and began to read. He was silent for a second. Then he laughed and smiled. When he finished, he looked at Henley with an adoring gaze. “Brilliant. See, you are a writer. No mistaking it.”
Henley waved him off. “One silly story about coffee does not a writer make.”
“Maybe not. But it’s a start.” He reached into a bag and pulled out a muffin. “It’s chocolate chip. I figured that was the safe choice.”
“It was the perfect choice.” Henley held the muffin as a bit of sadness took over the moment. She should be heading back home now. She’d probably overstayed her welcome, and yet, as Garret messed with a few of the books on the counter, she wondered, again, what it would be like to feel his lips against hers. To have his strong arms wrapped around her waist in a comforting embrace. And she wondered, did he smell as good as the sheets she’d cozied up in? “Can I stay?” She blurted out before her brain had a chance to censor her thoughts.
Garret looked up at her and without hesitation replied, a little hoarse in tone, “As long as you want.”
They shared an instant connection that crackled between them. Sparks igniting the blood in Henley’s veins and warmth spreading through her. Even if she didn’t get the chance to experience his kisses or his tender touch, it wouldn’t matter. Right then, Henley was sure that where she needed to be was with him. He could give her something far better than the hopes of getting her book back. She’d felt the inkling of a whispering muse as she wrote and was eager to see if she could coax the voice to come out even more. Henley owed it to herself to at least try, and because she was less than eager about making the journey home, and had nothing to go back to yet, it was the best option. The only one that made sense to her.
“But I might suggest a trip to the store. I can come with you if you want. I just don’t have any of those girly things you might need. And you looked good in my sweats, but I doubt you want to walk around in those. And I don’t have food. Like, at all,” he rambled, looking nervous.
“I think you’re right. That sounds like a good idea.”
Henley headed towards the door and pushed it open. Garret came to her side, and once they were on the concrete walk, without warning, he scooped her hand into his. He looked over at her, smiled and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Just the slightest touch from him and the gaze of his eyes on her had Henley beginning to unravel with desire.
* * *
When they got back to the bookstore, Henley unloaded the few things she bought in the apartment while Garret went back to work. She took the time to shower, shave her legs, brush her teeth and change into a clean dress she’d bought at one of the shops in town. She thought back to Garret waiting outside the change room while she quickly tossed on the dresses she’d brought in. Henley had told Garret he could wait outside, or head back to the bookstore—she could find her way back, but he insisted on staying by her side the whole time. She was quick, made a few purchases, helped him buy a few groceries and headed back. The whole time he grasped her hand tightly, and she loved how it had made her feel. He was attentive, and she had begun to realize quickly that it was going to be hard for her to leave when the time came.
“I’ve got to unload these boxes that just came in. You can hang out here, or upstairs. Whatever you’d like,” Garret said.
“I can hang out here.” She tilted her chin towards the chair she’d sat in yesterday. “But I wonder... could you give me something to write about?”
He smiled. “I thought you’d never ask. Okay, let me think—” He rubbed his hand over his chin. “How about five hundred words about this place. The bookstore.”
“Okay. I can do that. I think.”
“Of course you can. Just don’t give up.”
Henley felt a pang in her heart at his words. They stung her eyes, and she was propelled back to a memory with her father. He’d done the same thing. Giving her little ideas about what to write about, urging her just to let the words come without thinking too hard about it. It didn’t matter if what you wrote wasn’t good, it just mattered that you had the courage to write in the first place.
“Did I say something wrong?” Concerned filled his tone, and his lips dipped in a frown.
“No. Not at all. It’s just... never mind.” She couldn’t tell him about her father. She wasn’t ready. “You’re right. I can do it.”
“Good. Now get to it, young lady.” He tried to sound stern, keep a straight face, but he broke out in a broad grin.
Henley curled up in the chair, paper and pen in hand. She closed her eyes and waited, hoped the whisper of her muse would come to her, tickling her insides with an idea. She counted silently to ten, inhaling deep calming breaths, and then she heard something, but it wasn’t the voice she’d expected. It sounded an awful lot like Garret’s. She smirked as she looked over the pages, leaning a little to the left in the chair, just to get a better view of him. He lugged a few boxes out from the backroom. Henley wondered where he’d possibly find the space for them.
She began to write a few minutes later. About a worm. It was silly, but he’d felt lost, different, and the other worms made fun of him because he needed glasses to see, and loved to read. But then, when he was out trying to find something from the street to read, it began to rain and he got lost. He saw the glow of the store, Re: Read Books, and snuck inside. He was enamored by the amount of reading there for him to absorb himself in. He no longer felt lost, instead, feeling right at home. He stayed there forever.
It was a silly story, but Henley had a gleam in her eye when she finished. She yawned and stretched.
“Do I get to read it?”
“No
. I don’t think so,” she teased, clutching the pad tightly in her hands.
Garret frowned and took a few calculated steps towards Henley. “But you looked like you had written something fantastic. I could almost feel the inspiration emanating from you.”
“Maybe if you give me another prompt, you can.”
“Or...” Garret pounced on her and started tickling Henley, his fingers dancing over her hips. She cried with laughter, trying to push him away while not giving up the paper. But she lost the battle. He ended up with the story when he’d stopped, their faces inches away from each other. She could see hunger in his eyes as he looked at her lips. Henley swallowed thickly. She’d been right. He smelled just as delicious as his bed, and it wrapped around her, tingling in places she would never have expected. Between the look, the smell, and how one of his hands still rested on her bare knee, Henley was charmed by his presence.
“I might kiss you,” he said.
“I might want you to.”
Slowly, Garret inched towards her. He slid his hand from her knee, up her side, over her arm, and settled it on her neck, his thumb brushing across her lips. Naturally, she licked them with her tongue in anticipation. Time slowed down for Henley when he closed the distance and placed his lips against hers. At first, it was just a tender touch. A delicate movement of their lips against each other’s, but then he tilted her head up, deepening the motion, taking her bottom lip into his mouth, teasing it with his teeth.
The world slipped away as they kissed. Melting into each other. Desperate to release a passion that awakened Henley in a glorious way. Her thoughts began to shift from not knowing what it was like to have his lips upon her and his hands against her skin, to wanting more. She barely knew him, but he didn’t feel like a stranger, at all. It was as though her lips knew his. That his hands were reconnecting with a body they recognized. The ease of the lust that consumed them made it seem like they were just finding their way home.
Capturing the Muse Page 11
