Written on Her Heart

by Paige Rion

She couldn’t imagine what he thought about when he grew silent—the horrors he had experienced in his childhood, no doubt. The urge to reach out and smooth the lines around his eyes plagued Andi until her fingers twitched, and she forced her hands into clenched fists.

  When he shifted his gaze to her, the lines smoothed. “Why do you want to write?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid my reasons aren’t so inspiring.”

  “No reason is a bad one.”

  Andi shook her head, wondering how she could explain it to him so he’d understand. She had no past she was running from, no pain to heal.

  She shrugged. “It’s who I am. I don’t know how else to explain it, except that when I write something good and my words come to life, it’s like flying. There’s nothing in the world that compares to having your story and the people you create come to life.” Smiling, she added, “When I was a kid, I used to sit in front of my bedroom mirror. I’d imagine myself as someone else, and I’d have conversations with fictional characters. Making up people and stories felt natural. I’ve wanted to be a writer from the moment I read my first book. I don’t know any way to explain it other than to say I just know this is what I’m meant to do, and I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

  “There’s nothing uninspiring in that.”

  “I know I’ll be successful. I have to be. There is no other option.”

  “The way you are right now, it’s so different from how I was when I started out. I was angry, broken. Wanting to be a writer was driven more by need than actual desire. I was filled with demons that needed a way out. And then I sort of fell into a publishing deal. I feel like the biggest jackass when I say that but it’s true. I happened to be in a city at the right time. They were having a writer’s convention. Since I had been writing so much, I went, curious what it would be all about. I met an agent and the rest is history. But your ambition, your determination … I have those things now because I became that way after time, but it’s something I lacked in those early years. Maybe that’s why I feel drawn to it now. To you. You’re everything I wasn’t back then but wanted to be.”

  His eyes met hers. She caught her breath but couldn’t glance away, so she held his gaze and watched him as he spoke. “My writing healed me. Then, when all the stories about me broke and people started coming forward, I felt exposed. After that passed, all I felt was loss. Which brought me here. Well, that and hiding from the press. But I think you working for me would help me.”

  He leaned closer to her, his voice softening. “I want to hear all the stories. Little towns like this are full of them. History, lure, legends, love, loss. Do you think you can do that?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, breathless. Was he saying she had the job? Her pulse leapt, and she swallowed, pushing down the bubble of nervous laughter that threatened to escape.

  He reached out and grabbed a lock of her hair, twirling it between his fingers and examining it before his gaze rested on hers once more. The gesture unbalanced her. Clenching the side of the pellet mill beside her, Andi tried to silence the buzzing in her head.

  “Can I trust you?” he asked.

  “Of course.” She reached a hand out, placing it on his arm, despite the voice in her head screaming at her to stay put. Her skin burned where it touched his and she sensed something dangerous between them. Kinetic. Electric. Like the first rumble of thunder before a storm.

  “My situation—the way I feel—it’s ironic. Don’t you think?” he said. “The one thing that always centered me, the one thing that helped me to find myself, to cope—my writing—has somehow made me come undone again. I need to remember why I write. I need to remember why I love it so much. That’s part of the reason I came here. Yes, to hide out and let the press calm down, but I also came here to find a way to write again. To find the joy. You—your enthusiasm, your determination—helps to remind me.”

  Her? Andi’s heart thudded in her chest.

  He reached out, placing his hand on the side of her face, and before she could stop herself, she leaned into him, covering his hand with her own. She met his eyes and her breathing hitched. Pins pricked her spine and her pulse pounded in her ears. He leaned in and ducked his head, his mouth only inches from hers. The warmth of his sweet breath moved over her lips, and for a moment, she closed her eyes, not thinking, only feeling. But in the second before their lips met, she blinked, the fog in her head clearing, and she pressed a palm to his chest.

  “I’m sorry. I have a boyfriend.” She breathed.

  Ford pulled away, his eyes beacons of light in the darkness. “Of course you do.” He straightened and took a step back, as if Andi was something dangerous, something he had to get away from. Running a hand through his hair, he muttered something she couldn’t decipher under his breath.

  He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, then said, “Be at my place Monday, nine a.m., ready to work. I’ll find a way home.” Then, he turned on his heel and left her sitting alone in the darkness.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Andi paced outside the last room at Lakeside Bed and Breakfast. Her phone buzzed for the millionth time, but she didn’t bother to check it. She knew it would be Rachel. She had been calling her all morning to see how her audition with Ford went. But her audition was the last thing she wanted to think about at the moment. Especially after the late-night Fordathon she’d had last night. Everything from their conversation to the sound of Ford’s voice to the electric jolt she got when they touched had been seared in her memory, further amplified, thanks to her all-night play-by-play. Especially the part where they almost kissed.

  Andi had no idea what to make of it, but she knew now was not the time for pondering it further. She would eventually call Rachel back and tell her she got the job, but first, she had to tell Peter.

  She stilled, took a deep breath and knocked on the door to Peter’s room. Footfalls from within grew closer until the lock clicked and he swung the door open. He stood in front of her, his blond hair damp, dressed casually in a t-shirt and jeans, a towel hanging from his hands. The moment she saw him, he smiled and every worry she had slipped away.

  “Hey,” he said, reaching out for her hands. He drew her into his arms and buried his face in her hair and inhaled. “You smell good.”

  Andi glanced up at him. “So do you. Just showered?”

  “Mm-hmm.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as he stared down at her.

  An image of Ford looking at her in much the same way popped into her head. She bit her lip and shook off the thought. Maybe telling Peter could wait. Just a while.

  Andi leaned up on her toes and kissed him. His lips moved with hers. She knew his mouth as well as her own. The curve of his lips, the way his head would angle slightly to the left and she would feel a quick brush of his tongue before he sighed and pulled her closer. These things, the familiarity of them, soothed her raw nerves like salve on an open wound.

  She pushed back on his chest until he stumbled backward, taking her with him. They made their way to the giant bed at the center of the room, kissing, pushing, pulling, and tugging on clothing until they were breathless.

  When she felt the edge of the bed press into the back of her legs, Peter paused. “Miss me?” he whispered.

  Andi nodded, saying nothing, moving her hands to the bottom of his shirt. He lifted his arms, knowing what she wanted, and she pulled it off him with ease. She needed this, needed him to know that not everything would change. That some things would always remain the same.

  She moved her mouth to his chest, kissing, touching, tasting. “Talk later,” she murmured. "I need you now.”

  An hour later, Andi lay naked, curled up in Peter’s arms. She beamed up at him as he told her about the huge research grant he was up for, and a slow grin spread over her face as she listened.

  Glancing down at her, he stopped mid-sentence. “What? You’re looking at me with this weird smile on your face. Am I boring you?”

  “No. You know I have no ide
a what you’re talking about but I love it anyway—your passion.”

  He laughed. “Well, this could win me the president’s seat in the department. Finally. Not to mention, the experiment itself could be huge—groundbreaking. But speaking of passion, how are you doing? Did you finish the Great American Bodice Ripper yet?”

  Andi groaned and shifted out of his arms. She sat up, letting the sheet fall to her waist. His comment gave her an instant headache. Andi hated when he teased her. She knew he meant well, but he was always hinting she should write something “bigger”—his words, not hers—than genre fiction.

  “It’s called romance, Peter.”

  “Yeah. I just think you could write something so much better than that. Something with significance.” He shrugged.

  Andi bit the inside of her cheek. She felt the anger rise in her chest like a smoldering ember. “Oh, yes, I forgot. Jane Austen was complete rubbish, a total waste of time. Too much fluff. She should have just stuck to her needlepoint and not bothered at all.”

  “Austen’s work was actual literature.”

  “Well, who’s to say mine won’t be as well?”

  Peter smirked. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to say. That I think you could write something fantastic, something bigger and better than romance.” He shifted and took her hand. “You’re just starting out. You can be any kind of writer you want, but whatever you start out with will label you. I just think you should choose your path and the type of work you want your name on wisely.”

  Why was it that people the least qualified to be giving advice on a particular topic always gave it?

  Andi wanted to shut him up, to tell him he had no idea what he was talking about, to defend the type of books she wanted to write. But she had been there before, and she knew well that no speeches on wanting to write novels for people’s pleasure would change his mind. He didn’t understand she simply wanted to write good books that took people from their real lives and let them live in another world, another life, for even a moment.

  Regardless, she kept her mouth shut. The last thing she wanted to do was make more waves. Peter simply didn’t understand her viewpoint. Period. Nothing would change that, so why bother?

  She pressed her fingers to her temples and began to apply slight pressure.

  “Headache?” he asked.

  “Mm.”

  “Here.” He moved behind her and began to rub the nape of her neck. She moaned and took a deep breath, letting his fingers work magic and allowing the tension to melt away.

  “In the two days you’ve been back home, I haven’t gotten the chance to talk to you. I take it things are going well? Your family and friends are all good?”

  This was her opportunity. She had to tell him about the job and not returning to school in the fall. If she didn’t take it, she never would.

  “Actually, I’m glad you asked. Things have gone better than planned. I got a job.”

  His hands stilled and he turned to face her. “So soon? That was fast. I thought you wanted to finish the novel you were working on and look into getting an agent?”

  Andi ignored the part of her that resented his asking that when just seconds ago, he had basically said writing romance was a waste of time. Instead, she forced a smile. “Well, that’s all true, but I’m only a couple of scenes from finishing my book, anyway, and this was kind of a surprise opportunity. I didn’t find out about it until I got here, and I got really lucky. It’s an amazing chance and will benefit me far more than looking into agents and querying on my own. In fact, it could very well launch my career someday.” She played with the edge of the sheet as she spoke. “You know what they say—it’s who you know, not what you do.”

  Peter held a hand up. “You’re rambling. That can only mean one thing. What is it you’re not telling me? What are you afraid to say?”

  Andi bit her lip. Getting the job with Ford changed everything. Instead of returning to school in the fall, if things went well, she’d be working for him in New York and hopefully publishing her first book. Although it was a great opportunity, telling Peter wouldn’t be so easy. As a psychology professor at Ohio State University, he valued education above anything, and she had a feeling he would be less than pleased with any decision that led her to drop out of school.

  “You know me too well,” she said.

  He smiled and inclined his head. “Out with it.”

  “I’m going to be working as an assistant.” Andi paused when Peter raised his brows, then blurted the rest. “To Ford Delaney.”

  She waited for his reaction, but when his expression remained blank, she waved her hands, unable to contain her excitement. “The Ford Delaney.”

  Okay, any time now, you can get excited.

  “What are you going to be doing for him?” he asked finally, his voice hesitant.

  “He wants me to show him around town, teach him about the area, do research for his next novel, run errands and other stuff.”

  Peter nodded. “So this is a summer job?”

  A part of her wished he’d just be happy and excited for her. But that wasn’t realistic. That wasn’t Peter. And his realism was one of the things she’d first found endearing about him. He didn’t look at the world through rose-colored glasses, nor did he look at it through dark shades. Instead, he looked at the world through a clear lens.

  Andi toyed with her hands in her lap, then brought the sheet up over her chest to cover herself. She said nothing, trying to find a way to get him onboard with what she was about to tell him.

  “Andi?” He curled a finger under her chin and tilted her head up so their eyes met.

  “If everything works out and I can prove myself, the position is permanent. Or long-term, at the least.”

  “Permanent?”

  She nodded.

  “What about school? Your education? Your writing?”

  “First of all, half the classes I have next year are electives. They’re useless. What I need is experience, practice. Those are the things that will make my writing stronger now. Not school. Besides, don’t you see? This will be the biggest chance I have to make a name for myself. I’ll learn a ton from him about the craft of writing but there are so many other benefits. He could introduce me to publishers, agents, or at the very least, get a recommendation to one. Having a foot in the door of this industry is huge and having Ford Delaney endorse my books, even bigger. This could be it. I know I can write. I know I have it in me, and this will help me get there.”

  She fell silent, waiting for him to say something—anything—but he just stared at her. After a moment, he rubbed his face, scrubbing his fingers over the golden stubble lining his jaw. “Wow.”

  Andi flinched at the disappointment he managed to reveal with that one word statement.

  “So you’re just going to quit school? Just like that?” He snapped his fingers. “To be an assistant?”

  “It’s more than—”

  “It’s a desk job.”

  “You served as a teacher’s aide for two years before you got a position at the university.” Andi pointed out.

  “That’s completely different. I had my degree.” He stabbed a finger at her, his eyes flashing. “You can do so much better than this. I could see you leaving school if you had actually gotten a publishing deal already. That would at least make some semblance of sense. But you’re one of the smartest women I know. You were going to be the first in your family to get a four-year degree. And now you’re giving that up?”

  The reminder stung. She swallowed the ache in her throat. Whatever reaction she had expected out of Peter, this was worse. How could she make him understand? And why did she even have to? Why couldn’t he just accept whatever path she chose?

  “I went to school with every intention of being a published author one day.” She took her time, choosing her words carefully and trying to keep her voice even. “I didn’t go, like most students, with no idea of what I wanted. I’ve always known. There has never been any other pat
h for me.”

  “And it’s one of the things I’ve always loved about you, that you know what you want. I love that you’re driven. I could never care anything about someone who wasn’t but—”

  “No buts,” she pleaded. Reaching forward, she took his hands, letting the sheet fall, her dark eyes softening. “If what you say is true, if my ambition is what you love about me, then can’t you see how this is better than any intro to Astronomy or History of Modern Art class? This is it. This is my chance. My shot. Publishers don’t care if I have a degree. They don’t care how many writing classes I took. All they care about is if you have what it takes, if you can write. And having one of the biggest endorsements in the industry is like having a golden ticket. If I pass this up, I’m a fool. A diploma will not get my book published. If he likes my work, Ford Delaney will.”

  “And what if it doesn’t work out? What if he has you doing coffee runs and nothing more? What if he doesn’t like your books? Then what?”

  “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.” But I have a feeling about him, she wanted to say.

  The thought nearly sidetracked her into thinking about Ford and the night at the mill, but she had to focus now, so she pushed the image from her mind. She needed Peter’s support, and whatever awkward moment had occurred between her and Ford yesterday didn’t matter. What mattered was Peter. This job.

  “I just…” Peter trailed off, staring down at the bed they’d just made love in. “Most people don’t make it in the writing industry. It’s as fickle as show business, and I just don’t want to see you regret the choices you make.”

  And that was why, as frustrated as Andi got with him, she tried not to let his resistance get to her and interfere with their relationship. Because at the heart of it all, he wanted what was best for her.

  “The only regrets I would have is not taking this job.”

  Peter stood and pulled on his boxers, then his pants. Fumbling with the belt, he said, “Well, I’m sorry. I think this job should wait a year. I think you need an education.”