A few quiet days went by, in a bit of a blur. My agent said the editor should be done with first round edits in a few days. Most of my time was filled with seemingly mundane activities and bits of genuine happiness sprinkled in, most of which occurred when Emma was around.

I did stop by the gym the night we went shopping and have gone three days in a row now. It felt good to pop headphones in, get on the treadmill, and run. I ran until exhaustion. I ran until my legs started to ache, and my breaths became short, and then I kept running. It was easier to sleep if I wore myself out first.

Today wasn’t any different. I was stepping onto the treadmill and scrolling through music while putting my earbuds in. I settled on some Fall Out Boy. Sure, it was sort of random, and no one would ever guess that’s what I would choose to listen to, but their music was upbeat and sort of angry and that was the best kind of music to run to.

I noticed out of the corner of my eye that someone took the machine to my right. I kept my eyes forward and focused on the song beating in my ears. I picked up pace. I had half a mind to close my eyes and pretend it was just me in the gym, pretend I was off somewhere running in the dark. That’s when I felt a hand tap me on the shoulder and zap me back to reality.

I jumped sideways and whipped my headphones off. I whirled my head around to see a man smiling at me.

“Oh, hey,” he said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

It was….fuck, what was his name? Steve? No. Sean? Fuck.

“Samuel Young,” he said, putting his hand to his chest, as if he were reading my thoughts.

Great. It wouldn’t be as easy to avoid conversation this time. We were right next to each other and it wasn’t like I could exactly go pick a different machine now without looking like a total bitch.

“Oh, hi.” My voice was flat. He probably thinks you’re so weird.

“So how’s it going? All settled into your new place?” he asked.

God, I hated small talk. Especially with strangers. Especially with strange men.

“Yes, thank you,” I said.

“So what brings you here? New job maybe?” he asked.

This is excruciating. On the plus side, running on a moving machine did give me an excuse to avoid eye contact. I kept my focus forward. “No, actually I just needed a change of scenery and my best friend lives here.”

“Oh, that’s cool. I’m a professor at the University of Louisville.”

“What do you profess?” I asked.

He chuckled. “Well, I don’t suppose I profess anything. I teach history.”

Even though I wasn’t looking at him, I could hear the smile in his voice. “Why?” I asked.

“Why do I teach history? Well, my father was a professor, too, and I liked his stories from his teaching days.”

“No, I mean, why history?” I asked.

“Oh! Well, truth be told, I’m terrible at math and I’m not nearly creative enough to teach writing. But I fell in love with history late in school. I enjoyed those stories, too. I liked the idea of getting lost in the past,” he said.

Who the hell wanted to revisit the past? I nodded my head and a few minutes went by without words. Maybe the torture was over.

“So what do you do?” he asked.

“I write.”

“Oh, wow, awesome. Anything I would have read?” he asked.

“I doubt it, but your wife may have heard of me,” I said. My male readership was low. I knew my female audience was ninety percent of my fan base as a whole.

“I don’t have a wife,” he said sort of quietly.

“Oh.” The awkward silence crept in and I finished my run. I started slowing my machine down until it was finally off.

“Hey, listen, if you need someone to show you around, I’d be happy to. This place has some pretty neat places if you know where to look,” he offered.

I turned and looked him in the eyes for the first time. Whoa. I found myself staring into deep brown eyes, the kind that were nearly black. They accented his dark brown, wavy hair perfectly. His mouth fit his voice well. His lips curled up slightly to form a crooked little smile but his teeth were straight and white. His voice was deep and raspy but calming, like someone had put honey in warm black tea. He was smiling at me while I took note that he only had one dimple in his right cheek. He was attractive and he probably knew it.

“Oh, thank you, but my friend has insisted on showing me around every day. There probably won’t be anything left to show me by the time she’s finished.” I forced a laugh to go with my excuse.

“Oh, I think you’d be surprised.” He smiled. He stopped his machine and hopped off pretty quickly.

He stood in front of me. He was at least 6’3” which was at least ten inches taller than me.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I’ll see you around, Delilah.” He turned and walked away.

“Bye,” I managed. I was slightly intimidated by his confidence. I didn’t like that at all. Here I stood, slightly confused, and definitely glad he’d walked away. Go home, Delilah. Go home and write something.

* * *

I must’ve written for at least five hours before I realized it. I sat down at my desk and my fingers moved over the keys faster than they had in a very long time. I didn’t have a specific goal, but I liked the raw material flowing and knew I needed to get it down before it got away from me. Come to think of it, the last time I’d written this furiously was when I put down the foundation for my very first novel.

Thinking back it made sense. I didn’t really have much else to do with my time. I started writing as a hobby to pass the time and to express what I was feeling in a healthy way. I didn’t really imagine it would turn out the way it did. I let three people read that first novel and they insisted I try to get it published. I looked into a few publishers but they wanted to change too much. So I self-published. The book took off in a way I never imagined it would. Soon I was swamped in request after request for interviews, offers from publishers, and all sorts of things way beyond my knowledge base. That’s when I hired Vera. She was an independent agent, with no ties to any publisher, and she respected my wanting to remain an Indie writer. She handled PR for me, interviews for magazines and shows, and was the bridge most days between me and my freelance editor. I was fortunate enough to find an editor I really liked and used her for each one of my books.

I got up to stretch my legs and walked around my sunroom office. The sun was starting to sink toward the horizon but it was still pretty light out. I walked to the living room to peek out the front window. I glanced to my left, and there he was. Samuel Young. I flicked the blinds back to place and stood back a little so he couldn’t see me. He was walking with a young boy. If I had to guess, he was maybe seven. His son? He said he didn’t have a wife but I suppose that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a child. Or maybe it was a nephew. Only one way to find out, Delilah.

Before I could stop myself, I was walking out onto my front porch as they approached the front of my house. Samuel glanced over at the movement and instantly smiled. Shit, what have I done?

“Well, hey there, almost-neighbor,” he said as he guided the boy in the direction of my front lawn.

“Hi,” I said. I tried to make it a little cheery but not too cheery. If that makes any sense.

“Dad, who is that?” asked the boy.

Well, that solves one mystery. Now where was Mom?

“Mason, this is Delilah. She just moved in. Delilah, this is my son, Mason.” Samuel took turns answering us and gesturing toward one another.

If ever a kid looked exactly like his dad, it was Mason. Dark brown wavy hair and the same skin tone. Their eyes were shaped the same, only Mason had bright blue eyes.

“Hello, Mason.” I crouched down to his level and gave him a warm smile. Samuel seemed surprised by this, and given my slightly cool demeanor toward him, I didn’t blame him. But children melted me. Children, with their innocence, made me remember what it was to be soft.

“Hi.” Mason smiled back, and I caught myself once again covering my abdomen.

“So this is where you live?” Samuel asked.

“Oh, yes.” I turned my face back up toward Samuel.

“It looks like a nice little place. Are you guys settling in well?” he asked.

“It’s just me. No one else. I like it. Especially the sunroom off the back,” I said.

“Oh, that sounds nice,” he said.

There was a brief pause and I didn’t really know what should happen next.

“Would you like to see it?” I blurted out. What the fuck, Delilah?

Samuel hesitated for a moment, looked down at Mason, and then agreed.

I led them to my front door. “You know, Mason, I have a ton of squirrels you can see out the back window. Do you want to see them?” I asked, looking down at him. He seemed pretty excited after that. Samuel shot me a kind smile.

We stood in my sunroom, and as Mason watched for squirrels out the window, I noticed Samuel surveying my desk.

“I turned this room into my office and writing space.” I seemed to answer his silent question and he started to nod. “I really liked all the natural lighting and scenery.” Beyond the edge of my backyard was a wooded area. The trees were dense enough that you couldn’t see what was beyond them, and I liked that.

“Are you working on something new?” Samuel asked.

“Well, sort of. It’s really raw at this point. I’ll have to go back and refine it,” I said.

“What sort of stuff do you write?”

“Thrillers mostly. There’s always some scandal, mystery, and sometimes romance.”

“Sounds intriguing,” he said, smiling.

“Well, I don’t know about that, but people seem to like it.” I shrugged and smiled back.

Mason interrupted us to let us know the squirrels had gone and he was hungry. He grabbed his dad’s hand and leaned into his side in a way that made me smile.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” I asked. Ugh, I am so out of my mind right now.

“Oh, no, that’s okay; we couldn’t possibly intrude like that,” Samuel said.

“Oh, I don’t mind. It’s difficult to cook for just one person anyway. And I stocked enough food for way more than just one person.”

Samuel got a silent approval from Mason, and they made their way to the kitchen table to talk to me while I cooked. I settled on something easy. Spaghetti. Everyone likes spaghetti, right? Before I started, I confirmed with Samuel that Mason liked spaghetti and he gave a nod of approval. Okay, now where the hell is my colander?

* * *

Cooking came back to me pretty quickly. I hadn’t made a meal that large in over a year, so I was a bit nervous, but they both seemed to enjoy it. Mason ate and Samuel and I made small talk about basic things, school, hobbies, and movies. I was still getting a feel for what kind of person he was.

“Thank you so much for dinner,” he said.

“Oh, it’s no problem. Happy to have the company,” I said.

“Maybe we can do it again sometime?” he asked.

Oh, man. “Oh, um, yeah. I’m going to be busy for a while, but maybe sometime later. I mean, like when we’re both not busy, and like I said I’ll be busy for a while so I don’t know.” I said that so quickly I’m not sure I even understood myself, let alone if he understood me. God, I was just rambling.

He chuckled a bit. “Well, all right,” he said. “Thank you again.” And he and Mason walked out the door toward the road.

I shut the door behind them and walked back to the kitchen to clean up. Why on earth had I invited them in for dinner? What is wrong with me? Who even does that? With my head reeling, I stepped back from the counter satisfied with my progress and decided the rest could wait until morning. I thought about going to sleep, but I couldn’t. Not with everything in my head. I needed to get it out. I needed to write. You seem to do a lot of that after you see him, Delilah. Shut up. Just shut up.