When Henley finally stilled, she was met with the most alluring gaze coming from Garret, and it sent one last tremor to take control of her body, one more lingering sensation that she delighted in.
She climbed off and lay down beside him, resting her head on Garret’s chest. His heart ran rapid, and his breathing had only now begun to ease. Henley, herself, was out of breath, still tingling with sensations that ignited her body with a glorious flash of heat and coolness.
“I just need a minute, okay?” Garret’s voice cut through the silence. And when she nodded against his chest, he got up from the bed.
Henley had never felt more satisfied in her life, yet was utterly exhausted. When Garret came back, she let him wrap around her, holding her close. He kissed her lips, her temple and then whispered, “I wish I could keep you, forever.”
Her heart broke a little, knowing she couldn’t stay. That she had to go back and at the very least, deal with the shitstorm that was waiting for her.
A few minutes later, Garret had drifted into a deep slumber, his own exhaustion taking over. But Henley couldn’t still her mind. She knew she should be tired. That what they had just done should have worn her out. At first, she simply mapped out his tattoos, fingers dancing along the curve of his torso. She read the famous quotes, the lines of literature, was mesmerized by the dedication he had and his proud display of his love of books. Eventually, though, Henley found herself slipping from the bed, only to gather up the pad of paper that was discarded earlier. The voice within was persistent, loud, and she wanted to finish the story she’d begun earlier. It was an odd feeling, having her muse come out, willing to thrust ideas upon her. She accepted it, not knowing if it would truly last.
* * *
The morning came too quickly for Henley. When her eyes opened, Garret was already awake, his fingers skimming across the skin of her back.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he said, leaning in for a kiss. “What should we do today? The store’s closed on Sundays, so you have me all to yourself if you want.”
Henley wanted nothing more than to spend the day with him. She did, but she knew she couldn’t. “I have to go back.”
Rolling over, Garret let out a huff. “When?”
The burn of salty tears was quick to fill Henley’s eyes. “Now. I just think—I have so much to deal with. I can’t stay here, even though I want to.”
Solemnly, he said, “I know. But does it have to be now?”
“I think it would make it easier, so yeah, it has to be now.” She tore herself away from him, even though it hurt her heart. “There’s just so much going on right now. I need time to sort it out.” She got up from the bed and gathered up her clothes. Henley couldn’t look at Garret; tried to look anywhere else. She knew, if she did, she’d want to climb right back into his arms and hide forever.
“Okay, well just give me a minute and I’ll go next door and grab us a coffee. Stay for breakfast, at least.”
It was only delaying the inevitable, but she couldn’t say no. “Alright. I can do that.”
He was quick to get up and yank on his clothes. “Chocolate chip muffin?”
“Yes, please. And a big, tall cup of black coffee.”
“Of course, it’s the only way to drink it.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. They were missing the twinkle she’d seen in them last night.
When Garret left the apartment, Henley gathered up the rest of her stuff. She tore out the countless pages of the story she’d spent the remainder of the night writing. Henley had planned to take it with her, but then thought he might like to read it. It was, after all, written for him. She was quick to look through the drawers in the kitchen and found a box of envelopes wedged between rolls of duct tape and various tools. She pulled one from the box and shoved the papers inside, sealing it. She half expected the voice to be trapped inside the envelope but when she closed her eyes and listened, it was still there. Henley had managed to find the voice inside her, brought it out, and she didn’t need the book or the memory of her father to do it. What she needed was a chance just to get away and be herself, be happy. She wasn’t filled with the overload of ideas like before, but she knew all she needed was one. To find one thing to write about and go from there.
Henley was standing in the middle of the apartment when Garret came back, juggling two cups of coffee and paper bag filled with muffins. “Are you all packed up?” He saw her stuff covering the table. “Oh, here, let me get you a bag for that.” Garret passed her a cup of coffee and dropped the rest on the counter. He headed over to the linen closet and pulled out a well-used backpack and brought it back to her.
Once she was done shoving it full with her few belongings, Garret said, “Did you get everything out of the bathroom? You should probably double check.” The sadness in his tone was evident as he put on a fake smile, adding, “I don’t have much use for girly shampoo.” He rubbed his hands over his head and forced a smile.
Though she was sure she’d gotten everything, Henley went to look, just in case. It didn’t matter much, but realized that maybe it would be painful for him if she’d left any trace of herself behind. She thought about the envelope she’d shoved between the pages of the book he’d been reading. He’d have to deal with that.
“Yeah, I got everything.” She added, “I should really hit the road,” when she was standing in front of Garret.
“I put an extra muffin in the bag.” Then he said, looking down at the floor, “This is hard. I didn’t think it would be this hard.” He reached for her, pulling Henley into a hug. “I don’t want to be just a one-night stand that you forget about. I want more if you’ll give it to me. I’ll wait. I’ll be here.”
Henley brushed at the tears that threatened to fall. “I want more too. I’m just not ready.”
“I know. It’s okay. Really. I’m just glad that you came here and managed to put some of the pieces of your life back together. And that I helped you, a little, with reconnecting with your muse. You’re a great writer. You’ll make a brilliant author, I know it.”
He was talking like he’d never see her again, and Henley knew, maybe that was for the better. Her life had suddenly laid out two very different paths for her, having brought Garret to her. She had to figure out if she could cross them and make them work together. She wanted to finish college. Henley wanted to be an author. And she wanted, more than anything in the world to be with Garret.
“Thank you. For everything.” She pulled back and placed her hands on his cheeks, and leaned in for one last tender kiss. It didn’t feel like enough. But all Henley could give Garret was one last fleeting moment, and when she pulled away, she scooped up the backpack from the table, and headed for the door.
“Just remember, don’t give up.”
She didn’t look back. Couldn’t. It hurt too much. Henley hated how she’d fallen for someone who had been a stranger not more than two days before. Typically, she kept her heart guarded, but Garret could have had all of her if she’d been weaker.
The ride home was excruciating. Henley took it slow, stretching it out as long as she could. She made a few stops, stretched her legs, and enjoyed the scenery she missed on the way down. Somewhere in the middle, Henley’s stomach growled, and she’d remembered what Garret had said about the extra muffin he’d stashed in her bag. When she pulled the zipper, she was surprised to find something in there she didn’t recognize. Her hand grabbed the foreign object and yanked it out. Henley turned the wrapped rectangle in her fingers. It couldn’t be...
She ripped off the paper to reveal a worn copy of The Write Way. She clutched it to her chest as emotions overwhelmed her. Henley then flipped it open the cover, to the first page. A square piece of paper fluttered to the ground, but she was more interested in the messy blue scrawl. Her thumb ran over the indentations of the words her father had written so long ago. She began to cry, blinking her eyes over and over at the impossibility of the book she now held in her hands. She worried that it wasn’t
real.
I wouldn’t have ever believed in fate, if not for this book. I’m sorry I didn’t have the courage to give it to you right away. But it seems you were meant to find it. And I hope that means you were meant to find me, too. That together, we brought the muse back into your life.
It took every inch of Henley’s will not to pull her car around and speed back to Garret. She wanted to. Badly. But if the book was proof, and it found its way back to her, that meant she’d find her way back to him, when she was ready. One perfect weekend wouldn’t make up for all the wrong in her life. She needed to have the strength to follow her dreams, on her terms. And she needed to put the pieces of her heart back together before she would ever be able to give it to someone completely. She’d been in search of her muse. Running away when life got hard. But what Henley discovered was the voice had never truly left, she’d just lost sight of what she wanted.
She wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Beneath the Inhibitions
THE FORT made of partially soiled black table linens, dusty-rose colored high back chairs, and tables, smelled of sweet hazelnuts. The distinct aroma came from an open bottle of Frangelico, mixing with the warmth and sweat of several authors hidden beneath the canopy. A tune from an iPod swirled around the conversation, going mostly unnoticed.
Piper’s eyes adjusted to the dim light that glowed from the screen. Having just been on the outside, she timidly reclaimed her spot. It was a small patch of carpet, dampened with the remnants of spilled beer. She looked around at the shadowed faces before her. Some she knew, but most she didn't. Unexpectedly, Piper wondered how she'd found herself with a warming can of beer in her hands and a name on the tip of her tongue.
Right, she reminded herself. She'd been asked to send someone named Gavin a message. That had probably been the only reason she'd re-entered the makeshift fort, at the epicenter of another raging night at Northern Write Con. Piper wasn’t one to disappoint. Besides, interest intrigued her. Who was this Gavin, and how was it that she'd spent the better part of the night without knowing who she was rubbing elbows with?
Apparently, he gave good hugs, too, which only heightened her desire to meet him.
Draining the last of her beer, she swiped an arm across her dry lips, swallowing down, for a second, her shyness.
In a tone that came out more question than confident, she asked, "Is there a Gavin in here?"
The titter of several conversations muted, dark eyes suddenly shifted to Piper. Moisture began to form on her brow. Jitters in her hands caused her to clench them tight in her lap, as her heart jerked and picked up pace.
Never more than in that moment had she felt so out of place. An unknown and inexperienced author sticking out in the crowd like a bad cliché nestled in between profound prose.
She was still relatively new; barely what you'd considered up and coming, like some of the other names that jumped off the pages of the weekend program. The green around her edges showed as someone across the fort giggled, just as a voice, laced with laughter, spoke out from beside her.
"That's me. I'm Gavin."
Piper’s body became rigid as she tilted her head to the right. She could have sworn the spot beside her was unoccupied. Her composure was slow to return, as she formed a string of words together that wouldn't make her stand even more apart from everyone else.
"Ah. Gavin," she started. "I come bearing news from the outside."
She held still, the words rolling over him, as the outline of a grin stretched across his face.
Something about that barely visible smile allowed her to relax a little.
"And what news do you bring, milady?" he asked in character, coming from a man of authority and wealth. A silly plot they'd begun to work out earlier, of a fort, kings and queens, and the outsiders, lowly commoners.
"I've been told to tell you, you owe someone a hug." Piper silently cursed, having forgotten the author’s name that had asked her to pass along the message. She'd met dozens of people over the course of the last two days. Too many names to remember.
Gavin seemed to sense this. He made a gesture as he asked, “Was she short?"
Piper nodded, biting her lower lip.
He chuckled, which sent a shiver up Piper’s spine and down to her toes that were tucked into a clean pair of sneakers. The sensation tickled her stomach in a way that caused more nervous sweat to seep from her pores.
"I mentioned in one of my workshops that I was a hugger," he said as if answer enough for the odd messaged she'd just relayed.
At his remark, Piper’s eyes drifted closed as she recalled the names of the honored guests of the weekend. One, in particular, came crashing forward.
"You're Gavin from..." her voice lowered to a whisper, but apparently loud enough for him to hear.
"I am," he replied with confidence.
If it had been socially acceptable and wouldn't have raised eyebrows, Piper would have smacked herself. Here, for the better part of the night, she'd been sitting, legs and arms touching, next to one of the most influential people at the conference. A bookseller by trade, from one of the few well-known companies in America. Seemed he moonlighted as an author, too, having published several works of both fiction and non, from what she'd read of his bio tucked right at the front of the program.
Shifting her body, she held out a shaky hand toward him. It hung in the air for second, untouched, as Piper swallowed, saying, "I'm Piper," introducing herself to the publishing magnate.
Then, smoothly, he glided his fingers over her skin and shook her hand firmly. Warmth crept over her cheeks as Piper debated what to say next. "We should be friends," came out before she could censor herself.
“You do, do you?” He chuckled.
She nodded. It was then, with his hand still held with hers, the glow from the iPod managed to expose him a little more to her. He wore a tailored black jacket, over top of a black button-up shirt. At first, what caught her attention was the stark contrast of the pop of white from the tie slung around his neck.
Boldly, Piper released his hand, instantly feeling the loss of contact, only to reach toward him. The silky tie, adorned with skulls, glided through her fingertips. Her eyebrows raised in question. It was a slightly odd sight since it wasn't Halloween. He was dressed in clothes for an entirely different occasion than everyone else. Most wore jeans and T-shirts, summer dresses, and sandals. Piper self-consciously looked down at her simple Capri length jeans, yellow and black blouse, and her sneakers, as the last of the tie slipped over her skin.
Gavin plucked the fabric up and said, "I like to dress up for these things,” inspecting the tie with a scrutinizing expression.
"Apparently, I don't." She motioned to the tie, now resting against his chest. "I actually have one just like it," Piper replied quickly. She thought back to her closet, a hanger filled with ties of all colors and patterns, tucked away with an array of clothes for all occasions. For the conference, she had only brought the bare minimum. Had she known people would dress up, she might have packed differently.
"You have a men's tie?"
"It was a phase." Piper shrugged. "I wore them before Avril Lavigne made it cool."
He nodded in answer. Piper cast her gaze downward, wondering if that was a silly thing to say to a guy like Gavin.
Silence settle between them as Piper struggled for something to say to uncover the uncomfortable cloak that had drawn around them. "Do you have a card?"
“I do,” he replied, coolly. Gavin pulled open his jacket, plunging his hand into the breast pocket. He pulled out a crisp business card and passed it over.
Their fingers brushed as Piper took the stiff cardstock from his hand, a zip of electricity coming with the brief exchange. She clutched it, as yet again, she struggled to find her voice. He had an odd effect on her tongue, tying it in knots.
"Are you a writer?" he asked, pulling Piper’s gaze back to his obscured features.
She cleared her throat as she shoved the card int
o her back pocket. "Author. I have two books published," she replied, but a sinking feeling settled into the pit of her stomach, twisting it with unease.
Piper may have two published books to her name, but that was as far as her bibliography went. Her agent was trying to sell a third, but if she was honest with herself that might have been all the creative prose she had in her.
Somewhere, somehow, over the last while, she'd lost her nerve. Lost the ability to put pen to paper. Her muse, the creative being that lived in her soul and fuelled her with the ability to write, had disappeared. It was as though Piper had woken up one day, and everything thing was different.
The millions of ideas, the plots of stories yet to be written; the characters that usually formed in her mind and talked incessantly, were gone. Her mind was utterly silent, and the creativity well had dried up.
At first, Piper thought her muse had simply gone on vacation. It happened. She'd read about writers who had experienced something similar. But they always came back, the muse always found its way home. A good night's rest, a change of scenery, a different set of pace, Piper had tried it all, to no avail. It seemed, after almost a year, it was never going to burrow its way back into her soul.
"Well, you should email me, tell me about your books and maybe I can help get you some exposure."
Piper laughed to herself, on the inside, at the absurdity of the statement. She was a no-body, and he was a some-body. He was probably just saying it to be polite. Handing out the matte blue business card to everyone he met or asked for it. Maybe it made him feel better. Grabbing the hopes of struggling authors, raising them slightly, knowing that in some way, he held the power. He did. With a flick of his tie, in the right direction, he could probably do so much for an author. But Piper doubted that sort of attention came for free. Besides, she didn't need help with publicity, she needed her muse back to help her pen a bestseller.
Capturing the Muse Page 13
