The Writer's Romance

by Elsa Kurt

  The buzz from his phone halted his ruminations. He didn’t recognize the number on the caller ID but answered it anyway. “Hello?”

  “Is this, uh, Mr. Ford?”

  “That depends, pal. Who’s this?”

  “Uh, yes sir, this is Vinny Genoma? You’re doing the rebuild on my grandpa’s house? In Connecticut, sir?”

  Mitch chuckled to himself. “In that case, yes. This is Mitch. Good to hear from you, son. How’re things?”

  “Very well, sir. Thank you for asking. I, uh, got your number from Sam? He said it was okay to call you? I called to say thank you again, Mr. Ford. Me and Emily—that’s my wife, you remember—we saw the pictures of all the demo work you and your crew have been doing, and it’s incredible already. I can already imagine little Vin and our baby girl—we named her Kayleigh Ford Genoma, in honor of you, Mr. Ford—I can already picture ’em running around the yard and swimming in the lake. I can’t believe we’re gonna get to call my grandpa’s house home.”

  The young man’s voice quavered and broke on the last sentence, and Mitch was humbled. He knew full well Sam was behind this call, and he was grateful. Hearing from the earnest man bolstered him and reminded Mitch of exactly why he did the show.

  “Well, that is quite an honor, son. I appreciate that. Don’t know if your little girl will when she gets older, but it means a lot to me. No thanks are necessary, either. We’re all glad to do this for you. I’ll let you get back to your family now, but we’ll see you in a few weeks for the show. Take care, son.”

  “Thank you, sir. You too.”

  The call ended as the limousine arrived at the hotel. Mitch thanked the driver and climbed out. He was about to pass through the doors when the man behind the wheel called out through his open window.

  “Hey, Mr. Ford?”

  Mitch turned back, “Yes?”

  “I’d like to add my thanks, Mr. Ford. My sister is in the Air Force—stationed in Germany right now—and she says they all love your show. You’re doing great things for them, you know.”

  Mitch bowed his head a moment, smiling. “What’s your sister’s name?”

  “It’s Tracy. Why?”

  “Are you my driver tomorrow?”

  “The whole week.”

  “Alright then. You get me Tracy’s address tomorrow, and we’ll get something out to her. See you in the morning.”

  Mitch went up to his room feeling considerably lighter than he had been all afternoon. He made a vow to himself to not let the madness—meaning the tabloids and media— get to him. Not for the first time, he wondered how Katharine was faring. Had she seen the picture yet? Did she even care? He was tempted to send her a message. But what would he say? ‘Hey, Katharine. I know you rejected me and we’re not even vaguely a couple—other than in the media—but hey, nothing is going on with Leanne and me.’ He was too old for romance dramas—real or imagined. Katharine had his number. She could call and ask him herself.

  Mitch planned to spend the remainder of his night reading outlines and show proposals…and checking his phone for texts every ten minutes like a jilted teenage girl. There were none from Katharine, but plenty from Justin and Sam. He gave them both perfunctory responses and tried to stay focused on his work. In the back of his mind, a mantra: Katharine. Katharine. Katharine.

  He quickly realized the meager distractions in his hotel suite weren’t going to be enough. How could he divert himself? The hotel had a pool, a fitness room. And a bar, of course. No, old man. Go for a swim. It’s a much better choice. Mitch heaved himself off the bed, changed into shorts and grabbed a towel. Healthy choice it is…

  TWENTY

  TWO TO TANGO

  “Katharine? Hi, I’m Ryan. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Katharine looked up from her phone into a pair of warm brown eyes. “Hi, Ryan.” She stood and reached her hand out. He came in for a polite hug. It was awkward, but they both laughed. “I already ordered a glass of wine. Hope you don’t mind.”

  They were on the outdoor patio of Angelico’s Lake House, a neutral and casual location that seemed ideal for a first date.

  “Not at all…as long as you don’t mind if I order something stronger. As you can probably see, I’m kinda nervous.”

  Ryan flashed a boyish grin. No dimples. Good. This had been her stipulation—that he bore no resemblance or reminder of Mitch Ford. After seeing yesterday’s media storm surrounding him and his heiress girlfriend, she wanted nothing whatsoever to do with him. Ex-girlfriend, Tori had said. They looked awfully cozy for exes, Katharine had retorted. She willed her attention back to the handsome, no resemblance to you-know-who man seated across from her.

  “I—wait, you’re nervous? A man who arrests bad people for a living is nervous to go out on a blind date? Interesting.”

  Katharine was feeling both the effects of her wine and an insatiable need for revenge. If Mitch was going to be out with other women, then she would go out with other men. And if anyone happened to catch it on their cell phones and take pictures to post to social media, so be it. You’re doing it again. Pay attention to the cute trooper, he’s talking. And remember, it’s a practice date.

  “Ah, don’t be fooled by the hype. It’s mostly traffic stops and construction details.”

  Modest. Cute. Non-Mitch.

  “Oh, I’m sure it’s much more than that. How long have you been a state trooper?”

  “About seven years now. My wife—sorry, ex-wife, couldn’t stand the job. The hours, the overtime. Not to mention the—sorry. I think I broke a major first date rule.”

  “Oh? What’s that?” Katharine asked. Does he not know this is merely for practice?

  “I mentioned my ex. Not cool, right?”

  Katharine shrugged. She really didn’t mind. They were making conversation, something she’d been afraid there’d be a lack of. The more he talked, the less she had to. “Don’t be silly. Janie kind of filled me in, so I had the heads up.”

  Ryan visibly relaxed. They ordered dinner and conversation flowed more easily than she’d expected. He did talk quite a lot about his divorce, but Katharine was sympathetic. It was a relief he truly was nowhere near being over his wife. It suited her perfectly because she, of course, was nowhere near being over Mitch Ford.

  “…Mitch Ford?”

  “What? I’m sorry, did you—”

  “I know your story, too, Katharine,” Ryan smiled kindly. “I’ve known Jim and Janie for eight years, we went to high school together, and Jim and I went to the academy together. Plus, I have internet access, so…”

  “So, you got all the intel, hmm?”

  Ryan laughed, “What kind of trooper would I be if I didn’t?”

  Katharine shook her head, laughing too. “Well, cheers to us and our complicated lives!” They raised their glasses and clinked them together. When they did, a bright burst of light suddenly illuminated them. It was a camera flash. Its owner—a stout woman with frizzy blonde hair held back by over-sized black sunglasses— leaned her ample torso over her table to get the picture. Realizing her subjects were looking at her, she hurried back into her chair, knocking her water glass over in the process. Her dinner companion—likely her husband, based on their matching orange t-shirts and round bodies—hissed something at her and waved his hands around. She hissed something back at him, and they both cut their eyes to Katharine and Ryan several times.

  Bemused, Ryan asked, “Does…that happen a lot?”

  “It didn’t before Mitch Ford. It’s fairly regular now, but not too bad. They must be out of towners. The locals were over it after the first week. Funny what you get used to, isn’t it?”

  Ryan agreed, adding that his job made him virtually impossible to surprise. He’d seen enough head shaking, mind-numbing events for a lifetime. They exchanged stories and laughed comfortably with one another. Knowing it wasn’t going to be a love connection for them made it easier to have a fun, pressure-free night. The camera happy woman had left, but not before ‘sneaking’ a f
ew more photographs. Katharine encouraged Ryan to ignore her when he chivalrously offered to reprimand her.

  “It’ll make her vindictive if you do. This way, she’ll hopefully either keep the pictures to herself, or—if she does share them on social media— she’ll say something nice.”

  “Well, you sure know how to handle it all with class.”

  Katharine laughed hard enough to snort. “Oh, you may be just about the only person to think that!” She went on to tell him about the past incidents with Mitch and photographers and video cameras. If he’d seen them—which he probably had—he was gentlemanly enough not to say so.

  After a pause, Ryan said, “Katharine, do you realize your face lights up when you talk about Mitch Ford? I know you said nothing is going on between you two, and I also know it’s peculiar to be saying this on a date, but—I think you should tell him how you feel.”

  “You’re right…that was really weird, Ryan.” Katharine’s expression was serious, then she grinned and gently tossed a small piece of bread at his face. “I’m teasing. I know, and you’re right. I think it might be too late. Anyhow, are we getting dessert, or has this night strayed too far into Bizzaro-Land?”

  “Please, I’m sitting across from a beautiful, famous writer, who snorts when she laughs and only has eyes for another man. How could I turn down dessert with you?”

  “Ah, says the man still in love with his ex-wife.”

  “Touché, madam writer, touché.”

  Later that night, not long after she’d said goodbye to Ryan in the parking lot of Angelico’s, she texted Tori and Janie—they were now in a group chat—and told them about the date. Tori sent several emojis, which seemed to mean she was laughing and crying in equal measures. Janie texted a happy face, then called her.

  “So, perfect practice date then, huh?”

  “Yep, thank you Janie. By the way, he really was as cute as you said. Hang on, unlocking my door.” Katharine wedged the phone between her ear and shoulder, unlocked the door and threw her keys and purse on the ledge. “Okay, so anyhow—Operation Practice Date, success. Good looking guy, bonus.”

  “I know, right? That black shirt made him look super-hot. Don’t tell Jim I said that, though.”

  “Wait, how did you know he was wearing a black shirt?”

  “Social media, duh. Someone named CATLADYFOREVA posted it, and it was shared, like, I don’t know, seven thousand times or something. That was over an hour ago, so it’s probably more by now. Hang on—” There was rustling, then a muffled, “Jeremy Michael McNamara, if I tell you one more time, I swear to God. We do not wear underwear on our heads. Joseph James, stop burping the alphabet. Get to bed. Now!” The rustling stopped, and with an exasperated tone, she was back to Katharine. “Anyhow. What were we saying? I remember, Ryan’s super hotness not being enough to distract you from—”

  “Do you think Mitch has seen it?” Katharine’s stomach clenched, then she reminded herself of his most recent picture on social media. “Not that I care, or anything.”

  “Oh, no. Of course. I’d say—since you are following each other on all the sites—yes, he’s seen it. So, why don’t you—I don’t know—call him, and tell him… How. You. Feel?”

  “Following each other? But I never—oh, Tori and Justin.” Katharine plopped down on her sofa. “I can’t tell him how I feel, Janie. Not now. It’s too late. He’s with the tall, blonde goddess. Did you know they were a thing? They met at some fancy lodge in Aspen.”

  “You don’t follow the tabloids, though, right?” There was a definite sound of amusement in Janie’s voice.

  “I don’t. I mean, not like, on a regular basis. It so happens I was researching some location stuff for the book, and I kind of—I don’t know—stumbled on it.” Even to her own ears, Katharine sounded petulant and full of it.

  “Mhmm. Okay. So, how is the book coming along, anyway? I know things have been hectic with all the whole, you know—”

  “KatMitch nonsense. You can say it, it’s true. I haven’t been as focused as I’d like to be. The publisher gave me an extension when the appearances and interviews started, but honestly? I’m so ready to get back to work. In fact, now that there’s a little break in the… activity next door, I think I’m going to take advantage of it and power through until the book is finished.”

  “Wow, no kidding, huh? Well, good for you. Does that mean no wine and gossip hour tomorrow?”

  “I’m afraid so. I’m going old-school—complete electronics shutdown, self-imposed isolation, the works. You know, when I bought this house, that was the exact vision I had. I totally went for the cliché ‘writer’s cabin on the lake’ thing. Like, I was excited about being so secluded from everyone and everything. It’s funny that now, it’s almost like a punishment. I think I kind of like being a part of things.”

  “Aww, well, I think I’ll go ahead and take credit for that, then.” Janie laughed into the receiver.

  “Rightfully so. I’m glad you’re my friend, Janie. Thanks for putting up with me.”

  “Aww, look at you—talking about feelings and stuff. See, you didn’t spontaneously combust or anything!” Janie laughed, then added in a softer tone, “And hey, you’re not so bad. I’m glad we’re friends, too. Hurry up and write your book so we can drink and be merry.”

  “I will work tirelessly. Right after I call Nate, text Tori, and get a good night’s sleep. See ya on the other side!”

  “Alright, lady. Talk soon. I’ll keep the locals updated and at bay.”

  Katharine stuck to her word, calling Nate for one of their marathon chats. Nate told her that the foundation had received an anonymous donation for ten-thousand dollars and that they were creating a video to promote Nate’s Great Cause. “You have to be in it, too, Katharine. Now that you’re famous. And you can ask Mitch to be in it, right?”

  Katharine didn’t have the heart to tell him what was really going on, so she said, “Sure, buddy. I’m sure we can arrange that.”

  He saved his most exciting news for last—not only was he still seeing Alyssa, she had told him she loved him, and he’d said it back. Katharine was overjoyed for Nate. At least one of them had a love life. As they were about to say their goodbyes, Nate surprised her.

  “Katharine, don’t worry about the blonde lady. He doesn’t like her.”

  “Oh? How do you know that, Nate the Great?”

  “I can tell. Trust me, Kit-Kat.”

  Katharine smiled against the receiver. “Okay, Nate. Goodnight and I love you.”

  After they’d said their goodbyes, Katharine closed up the downstairs, shutting off lights and locking doors, then went upstairs and started a bath. As the tub filled, she sat on the edge and texted Tori:

  Hey, stranger. Hope your

  Weekend getaway went well.

  As of eight a.m. tomorrow,

  I’m off the grid. Power

  Push writing marathon till

  The book is done! Emergencies

  Only, plz!!

  A few minutes later, she responded:

  Getaway was GREAT, thx!

  Good for you, girl. Get her done!

  You OK?

  Katharine started to respond, but another text from Tori came through:

  Wait! Off the grid? You can’t go off the grid!! You-

  She winced and considered how to respond. She answered the part about being okay and ignored the ‘can’t go off the grid’ part. She was—basically—okay. Sad, more hurt than she dared to admit, and disappointed… but okay. She’d had long internal conversations in which she volleyed feelings versus facts like a tennis match. She’d rationalized and then justified, gotten mad… the whole gamut. In the end, it came down to reality. Mitch had moved on. He’d left without a word to her—not that he had any reason to do otherwise, thanks to her behavior—and they were never actually a thing. It was time for Katharine to stop languishing like a jilted school girl and get on with life. She tapped the phone’s virtual keyboard.

  All good.


  No worries, thx.

  Just ready to get back

  To work. Talk in a week.

  Sooner if I really kick into

  High gear!

  Katharine hit send and set the phone on the sink counter. She turned off the tub faucet, then glanced once more at it before undressing. When her eyes slid back to the phone yet again, she snatched it from the counter and marched it into the bedroom. Katharine powered it off and set it face down on the nightstand as if it were in time out. Then she threw a tank top over it. Out of sight, out of mind. With a satisfied nod and a hmpf sound, she turned on her heel and went back to her bath. Forget eight a.m. I am off the grid starting now.

  TWENTY-ONE

  REGRETS, I’VE GOT A FEW

  Mitch squinted at the sharp sliver of harsh light stabbing through the vertical blinds. His head—still on his pillow—was thick and fuzzy, like it was stuffed with cotton. Until he lifted it, that is. Then it was like a herd of tiny elephants stampeding against his skull. He dropped it back onto the soft pillow and slowly turned it away from the bright light. His bloodshot eyes landed on the near-empty bottle of bourbon and the glass tipped over beside it. A low groan eked from Mitch’s dry mouth as the night before came back to him.

  He’d said goodnight to the limousine driver, entered the plush hotel lobby and went straight up to his room with every intention of calling it an early night. He promptly became bored, changed for a swim, went to the pool area to find it under maintenance. He stopped at the Concierge to ask when the pool would reopen, then bee-lined for the elevators. As he pressed the round, UP arrow button, a hearty bellow from the doorway of the hotel bar halted him.