The Writer's Romance

by Elsa Kurt

  The moment the news and tabloid’s cameras were out of earshot, Mitch’s genial smile dropped. He handed the bullhorn to Sam, who was walking beside him back to the backyard. Sam eyed him with curiosity. He’d never seen his boss slash best friend so wound up. Usually, Mitch really was as affable as his public persona conveyed, which Sam supposed made it less a persona and more his personality. Before he could say a word, Mitch launched into what could only be described as a tirade.

  “I mean, really! Did you see her? Rude, right? Help a girl out, and she doesn’t even give a wave. That’s three times now, by the way. Three times, I’ve gone out of my way to help that woman. Well, no more Mr. Nice Guy. Tomorrow, I want all hands-on deck. Every chainsaw, every hammer, every—”

  “Uh, I get it, Mitch. Sure, we can do that. But—”

  “Good. That’ll show her. Tell me I can’t make noise. Who does she even think she is? Writer. I mean, it’s children’s books, not War and Peace. Am I right?”

  “Sorry, are you looking for a response, or letting off steam? They’re young adult books, by the way. Just saying.”

  “Young ad—and yes, I want a response. Never mind, I don’t.”

  Sam shrugged and let Mitch ramble and mutter for the rest of their walk. By the time they’d reached the backyard and the rest of the crew, he’d exhausted himself. Or purged, was more like it. Enough so that he could address the rest of the team. He thanked them all for their hard work, outlined the plan for the next day, and dismissed everyone for the afternoon. Sam decided the boss-man could use a friendly ear and a cold beer.

  “Alright, buddy, what do you say we check out that Thai place we saw on the way back here this morning?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not the best company right now, am I? That woman has—” Mitch paused and rubbed his face briskly, then said, “You know what? Let’s go grab a bite. Po’s something or other, wasn’t it?”

  They hopped in Sam’s rental Jeep and took the short ride into town.

  “Cute town, isn’t it?”

  Sam agreed. He’d known Mitch long enough to know when an idea was brewing in that head of his, so he waited quietly.

  “You know,” he began a little too casually, “this is just the kind of little town I could see myself settling down in. A home base, of sorts.”

  “Settle down? You? Here?”

  Sam was more than mildly surprised. Mitch Ford had never, ever talked about setting roots down in any of the locations they’d worked. And they’d been to some incredible places. Of course, he had a suspicion as to what—or rather who—was piquing his interest. He also knew not to voice his suspicion.

  “Well, yeah, you know. A man needs a place to lay his hat, call home. I’m forty-two, Sam. Been on the road a long time now.”

  “You’re preachin’ to the choir, buddy. I’ve been telling you this for the past couple years now if you’ve forgotten. Funny how all the sudden, you’re ready to ‘settle down.’ Any particular reason for that? Here, that is. Settling down in this place?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? No, I merely like…the town. The lake is appealing. The people are lovely. Well, most of the people, that is.”

  Sam didn’t need to ask who he was referring to. It was as plain as the once broken nose on his face. He could see it was going to be a long night. They found Po’s Rice and Spice easily and parked, unknowingly of course, in the same spot Katharine had parked that afternoon. Inside, they were greeted like old friends and given a corner table. The young waitress blushed and giggled, and the other diners slid surreptitious glances in Mitch’s direction. He smiled and nodded at them all, taking it in stride as if it was completely normal to be gawked at and whispered about. Sam admired this about Mitch.

  Sam also appreciated his friend’s lack of ego. Over their eight years together—first as a regular construction company, then on to a public access show, and now a syndicated program that actually makes a difference in people’s lives—he’d witnessed firsthand Mitch’s genuine compassion and generosity. He loved connecting with people as much as he loved building. In short, Mitch was as good as a guy anyone could ever meet. Which made it so hard to figure out why Katharine Evans had such an adverse reaction to him. Something Mitch Ford was obviously struggling to understand as well.

  “I just want to know, Sam. Am I crazy, or is that woman confounding?”

  “Well, I think she—”

  “Confounding! One minute she’s throwing a soccer ball at me, then next, she almost kissed me. You didn’t know that, did you? It’s true, though. She did. I mean, she nearly did.”

  “Was that before or after she poured a drink over your head?” Sam’s tone was wry, but he was surprised about the near kiss. That was the first he’d heard of it. Now that would’ve been camera gold. Too bad.

  “Hilarious, Samuel. Alright, enough about her. Let’s talk shop. How’s the editing coming along?”

  “Well, about that, Mitch. Bill is pushing for some good, candid stuff.” This was what Sam had really been wanting—and dreading—talking to Mitch about. “See, the footage of you and Katharine is the best thing we have, and I think we need to use it. I know you said you don’t want me to, but—”

  “No, you know what? Use it. Go ahead. I’m not going to protect Katharine Evans anymore. She is not my problem.”

  Sam raised his eyebrows.

  “I mean it. Do it.”

  Sam knew that expression on Mitch’s face. It was the one that spoke of finality, authority, and no room for questions. So, it was settled. There was just one last thing he needed to bring to Mitch’s attention, and he dreaded it.

  “So, uh, Mitch. There’s just one more thing. I’m guessing you haven’t looked at your social media yet?”

  Mitch eyed Sam warily while he pulled his phone from his pocket. He looked down at the screen, tapped an icon, and began scrolling. Sam watched as a vein in his temple became more prominent and his jaw clenched and unclenched rhythmically. At one point, he muttered, “KatMitch? Ridiculous,” and shook his head. At last, he powered off the phone and replaced it in his pocket. “This needs to be nipped, Samuel.”

  Sam nodded in agreement, although he hadn’t the slightest idea how to make that happen. Fortunately, it seemed to satisfy him well enough and they finished their meal without another word on the topic. Mitch moved on to work related topics as if he’d never even seen the media frenzy over him and Katharine. Sam knew him well enough to understand that he was seething inside but wanted to keep up appearances. So, he played along until it was time to call it a night.

  Once he’d dropped Mitch back at the bed and breakfast they were staying at, Sam met with his production team to finish the final edits, create the teaser, and send it to the studio for release. What would once take days could now be done in hours, thanks to the great digital age. He sure hoped Mitch knew what he was doing. Once it was sent out, it was a done deal, no take backs.

  Sam sent the guys off to catch some sleep before they started all over again in the morning. He stayed on a bit longer. He had some last-second edits he needed to do, and Sam needed to be alone to do them. That way, he’d be the only one to blame for the inevitable fallout. After an hour or so, the last edit done, he stared at the screen with his hand over his mouth, fingertips drumming his beard-stubbled cheek. His other hand hovered over the laptop’s mousepad, the white arrow poised on the ‘send’ tab. If he sent the full file, it would likely seal the coffin on his friend’s chances with the writer. If he didn’t send it, he was risking the show and his job. His palms began to sweat as he debated.

  From beside the computer, his phone rang loudly, causing him to startle. His finger hit the tab, and the file sent. Well, that’s that. Now we wait. He answered the call distractedly. “Yes, Bill. I just sent it to you. Yes, good stuff, sir. Thank you. Bye, sir.”

  TWELVE

  IT’S NOT ME, IT’S YOU

  After Sam’s Jeep had pulled away from the bed and breakfast, and Mitch had navigated throu
gh the handful of curious guests, he shut his suite door with a heavy thud. For a moment, he closed his eyes and leaned against it. Then he yanked his hat off and threw it across the room like it was a frisbee.

  What is wrong with me? No, what’s wrong with her, that crazy woman? Mitch’s eyes fell on the laptop on the small desk in the corner of the room. He usually reviewed Sam’s files before they were sent out for production, but it was way too soon to expect them. What harm could it do to look at what this Katharine Evans was about? After all, they were now the ‘trending couple to watch’ according to social media. Even as he told himself not to do it, he lifted the cover and typed her name into the search browser. Within seconds, Katharine’s entire public information was his for the perusing. Had she done the same, he wondered?

  Immediately after her Wikipedia page, were several tabloid headlines linking the two of them. He rolled his eyes and ignored those for the moment, at least. He had to see what her books were about.

  ‘Chelsea Marin Chronicles,’ huh?

  Despite his sneer, he read on. Mitch’s sardonic smile slipped as his eyes scanned the text on the screen. A new appreciation for Katharine replaced the scorn. Her books had an actual message, and a great one at that. He recalled bits of what Katharine had said in her interview on Connecticut Today. Hadn’t she mentioned a non-profit foundation? On impulse, he downloaded her first book. In minutes, he was quickly reading Katharine’s story. She’d titled it, The Power Within. In it, her young heroine discovers her inner strength. The crux of the story is when she’s given a choice to punish the bullies who had tormented her younger sister—who not-so-coincidentally had Down’s Syndrome—or to use them to guide them toward making better decisions.

  Mitch was impressed. Sure, it was written in a youthful vernacular, but it only showed she really took the time to understand her audience. He set the laptop aside. The first twinges of regret niggled at his brain. I shouldn’t have given Sam the green light to submit the tapes. He checked the time, then his email icon. Sam still hadn’t sent him a copy of the recordings. Maybe he’d called it a night, too. Mitch would give it a bit longer, take a shower, then call Sam to tell him he’d changed his mind after all. Once in the bathroom, he looked at the jets in the tub and decided a good soak would do his aching back wonders. Two hours later, he awoke in the tepid bubbling water. Whoops. Guess I was more tired than I thought.

  With a towel wrapped around his waist, he walk-ran, dripping on the hardwood floor, to his phone. Still no message from Sam. Mitch frowned, then shrugged. They’d been going full steam since they’d arrived in town so he wouldn’t have been surprised if Sam decided to leave it for the morning. He plugged the phone into the charger, set it on the desk, and threw on a pair of sweatpants. Then he climbed back into the four-poster bed to see what else he could learn about Katharine Evans.

  This time, he found her social media page. “Oh, Miss Evans. There is no way you’re doing the posting and commenting on here. Way too nice for the dragon lady.”

  He shook his finger at Katharine’s profile picture. It was a professionally posed ‘candid’ shot with a backdrop of the lake. The edge of a dock and part of a huge hydrangea bush framed the photo. She was smiling, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes, and her arms were crossed in front of her chest. Mitch supposed it was the publicist, Toni, who set up not only the photo shoot but also her social media accounts. Grudgingly, he admitted to himself he could understand Katharine’s disinterest in the medium. It was time-consuming, intrusive, and yet so disconnected. People became brave behind the anonymity of a keyboard and said whatever they wanted. He’d seen some of the boldest propositions, and some of the harshest criticisms hurled his way by people he’d never met. Yet somehow, they all deemed it acceptable to be inappropriate or cruel. So, yes, while it could be tiresome, it was also a necessary evil.

  The fans of The Rebuilder Show were what kept it growing, so it was his duty to respond and engage with them whenever possible and let Justin take over only when he was too busy. One look at Katharine’s awkward stance and barely smiling face were enough to cause Mitch to doubt that Katharine had the social skills to finesse such interactions. He frowned at his uncharitable and smug thoughts. Why am I letting her get to me like this? He’d told Sam to nip the whole nonsense in the bud, but even he realized it was next to impossible to stop a freight train in its tracks. They would just have to wait it out.

  Mitch looked over at his phone and considered calling Justin. The clock on the nightstand read eleven-twenty. A lousy time to call for something non-urgent. Not that it stopped anyone from calling him at all hours. His phone rang. Mitch heaved a sigh and set the laptop on the bed. He crossed the room, unplugged the phone from the charger, and read the caller ID. He threw his hand in the air. Of course, it’s Justin. Why am I surprised?

  “Hey, kid. I was just thinking of calling you.”

  “Mitch, my man. That so? Everything alright, I hope?”

  “Yes, fine, fine. It’s about this… KatMitch madness. I—”

  “We are on the same wavelength, dude! It is utter madness, bro! We have got to get ahead of it, dominate it and move it along.”

  “Right, exactly. Wait—move it along? You mean end it, right?”

  “End it? Bro, are you crazy? That video was clutch, buddy. We need to amp it up, man. Listen, listen. So, right now, we’ve got classic romantic tension. Like, I’m talking Moonlighting chemistry. So, we run with it. Full steam, like a—”

  “Moonlighting?”

  “Dude. Come on, man. Moonlighting. Classic comedy from the eighties? Bruce Willis? Nothin’? Okay, never mind. Trust me on this. Tori agrees.”

  Ah, yes. He’d forgotten Justin’s strange obsession with vintage television shows. He once sat through a thirty-minute dissertation as to why The Golden Girls was in Justin’s ‘Top Ten All-Time Greatest Shows’ list. Mitch’s head was spinning. This was not what he’d intended, but all he could do in between Justin’s SoCal speak was stammer one-word questions.

  “Tori?”

  “Yeah, you know, Katharine’s publicist. She’ll handle the bombie, I got you, bro. It’ll be all good. Just, uh, let me deal with the soc stuff.”

  Mitch dropped his chin against his chest in defeat and confusion. “I’m sorry, but what in God’s name are you saying?”

  Justin huffed into the phone. Then he slowed his speech as if talking to a child. “Right. Okay, bro. Tori is going to do Katharine’s social media. I will do yours. All you two need to do is keep the chemistry hot. We need to get you two together again, in front of the cameras. The Up All-Night show is one thing, but we need something more…intimate, too.”

  “Yeah, well, good luck with that, kid. I have no interest in poking that bear again, and I’m sure she feels the same way.” Mitch paced the floor, went over to the French door that opened onto a small balcony and stepped out into the warm night. The moment he did camera flashes blinded him, and he raised his hand to shield his eyes. Calls from the yard one floor down disturbed the quiet. His regret was instant. He back stepped into the room and shut the door. Then he yanked the blinds closed. All while Justin yapped on. Suddenly, his words seeped in.

  “Hold it! What did you just say?”

  “I said, we’ll have your guy, Sam, at Katharine’s party with you, but like, stealth, you know.”

  “Who said I’m going to a party at Katharine Evans? I am not going to a party over there. That woman will probably set me on fire.”

  “Well, it would make great ratings—”

  “Justin!”

  “Kidding, I’m joshin’ you, bro. All I know is she’s supposed to invite you. Don’t worry, I’ll be there, too. My girl Tori is bringing me as her plus one, bro. Alright, I gotta cruise. You have any questions, you hit me up.”

  “Wait, I have several—”

  Justin had already hung up. Mitch stared at his phone, then slammed it down on the desk. He had a sneaking suspicion this build was going to be a big train wreck for hi
s personal life. One he was powerless to stop unless he was willing to disappoint an innocent family, which he wasn’t. No, Mitch Ford was about to sink deeper into the catastrophe called Katharine Evans whether he liked it or not. Resigned, he climbed back into bed. When he grabbed the laptop to close it, the screen lit up. It was Katharine’s round, sea-green eyes staring back at him, her lips with a faint smile and her hair cascading over her shoulder. He recognized it to be her back-cover photo for her books. He must have clicked on the picture when he set the computer down on the bed. Despite himself, Mitch grinned at the surprisingly innocent face on the screen. Well, at least she’s a beautiful catastrophe.

  THIRTEEN

  SOCIAL MEDIA SKILLS

  “Hello? Anybody home?”

  Katharine’s eyes popped open at the sound of the chipper, melodic voice coming from her front porch. She was on her back deck, soaking in the sun and drinking her coffee… and pretending not to hear the noises coming from Genoma’s backyard. It took her a moment, but she recognized the voice to be Janie’s. To her utter surprise, she realized she was pleased to hear it.

  “I’m in back!”

  When Janie came around the corner, bearing a tray of muffins in her hands, Katharine raised her coffee mug and pointed to it.

  “I’d love some, thanks. Brought you some muffins. Oh, my, it is noisy over there, isn’t it?”

  “Yep, welcome to my misery. Have a seat, I’ll grab you a cup.”

  When Katharine returned, two steaming mugs of coffee in hand, Janie gave her a big smile. Too big. It was a smile Katharine would learn early in their friendship to mean ‘I have something to tell you, but I’m afraid to.’ She handed her new friend her cup and sat across from her.

  “So,” Katharine said, “what brings you over?”

  “Oh, you know,” she shrugged, “checking to see how you’re doing with… everything.”