By the time Mason had shoveled snow from the cabin’s driveway, he’d had enough of a workout to skip going to the gym in town. He’d only been there once, and he already missed his usual running route in mild San Diego.
The skies were clear and ice blue this morning, and Mason had no excuse not to get to the library. Yesterday had been another dud. No writing. Well, he’d written a paragraph, then deleted it. He’d shut his laptop before he could start revising the twelve pages his agent was so proud of, which he’d typed up from his handwritten pages.
As Mason put away the snow shovel, then went into the cabin to grab his keys and notepad, he thought of his main character, an unassuming and newly injured football player who would soon become caught up in an illegal prescription cartel. Mason had written enough in the genre that he didn’t need to do much research. But he was always thorough, so it would be nice to ask a doctor a few questions.
He hadn’t forged any personal relationships outside San Diego, and now he was regretting his curt words about Dr. Slade McKinney. Mason had taken a few minutes to look up the Pine Valley Hospital and found that Dr. McKinney was a primary physician both at the hospital and with his own private practice.
Mason supposed he could google some information on how patients were able to duplicate prescriptions and forge insurance cards, but he always prided himself on getting things accurate. He didn’t relish speaking with a pharmacist because they tended to be very close-minded and suspicious. Doctors were more objective.
Well, Dr. McKinney certainly wasn’t the only doctor in this small town.
Mason fired up his Jeep and headed into town. After grabbing a bagel and coffee at the Main Street Café, he headed to the library. He hadn’t realized how keyed up he was to see Olivia Harmon—Livvy—until he saw that the librarian on duty was another woman. The strawberry-blonde lady greeted him with a friendly welcome, and when he said he didn’t need help finding anything, she turned back to the computer she’d been browsing on.
Okay then.
Maybe Livvy would come in later. It wasn’t like he was in a big hurry to get his coat and rice bag back. In fact, she could keep the bag. He didn’t have any real outdoor plans save for future shoveling—and he quickly became too hot to wear a coat anyway.
Mason found the same table he’d worked at before and took a seat. It was next to the floor-to-ceiling windows and afforded him a majestic view of the ski resort. The library architecture was impressive, a work of art in and of itself.
Mason hadn’t ripped off the previous pages from the notepad, so he skimmed through them, catching himself up on the plot and beginnings of characterization. The football player’s name was Pilot, a nickname, but for a good reason. Not only was he a star quarterback, but he was a natural leader, which would be important to his character arc later in the story.
Now to think of the name of the doctor who’d first prescribe a large quantity of opioids to Pilot. Dr. Slade McKinney? No. Depending on how long Mason stayed in Pine Valley to write, he might get to know a few people, and those people would likely read this book. Dr. Sloane Mackinley. Close, yet different. And it would be fun to make the doctor character the first level of corruption that Pilot would encounter.
Mason began to write, setting the scene of the doctor’s office and getting inside Pilot’s point of view. Describing his pain, noticing what he noticed, his first impressions of the doctor, and the moment when Pilot questioned the prescription.
Before Mason knew it, an hour had passed, and he’d written four pages.
What if he set the injury event right before the football team’s bowl game so that it was the last game of the year... Pilot would sit on the sidelines, watching as the second-string quarterback got all the minutes.
Fourth quarter, two and a half minutes left, first down, and the second string throws a wild pass. Pilot downs two of the pills he brought with him, then he tells the coach to put him in. At first the coach refuses, then finally agrees to one play.
Pilot jogs onto the field to the cheers of the fans, and he can feel the drugs doing their work. He’s invincible. He throws a touchdown to tie the game, then throws a two-point conversion. He runs down the rest of the minutes on the clock, and his team wins. Pilot knows that whatever the doctor gave him, there was no doubt that it had been the difference between winning and losing.
Mason’s hand started to ache, but the words kept coming. He hardly noticed if someone came and sat in the library or if someone left. A young mom brought in her two little kids, but their noise didn’t even bother Mason.
Finally he had to take a bathroom break, and he set down his pen. The ornate clock above the bookcase across from him read 1:00 p.m. Mason had been writing for four straight hours. He stood and picked up the notebook to find he’d written fifteen pages. Two complete scenes and more ideas were tumbling through his mind.
Jolene was going to throw a party.
Mason found the bathroom, then drank from the drinking fountain. His stomach wasn’t satisfied with just water, but he didn’t want to break up his momentum. On his way back to his table by the windows, he slowed his step. The strawberry-blonde librarian was gone, and the woman who was now behind the reference desk was undoubtedly the dark-haired Livvy Harmon.
She wore a pale-green scarf in her hair, sort of like a headband, so that her dark curls were smoothed from her forehead.
Livvy looked up just then, and their gazes connected. He smiled, but instead of an answering smile in return, she frowned.
Talk about a punch to the gut. Okay then. He walked toward his table, not looking back, and by the time he sat down, he wondered why he even cared. If she had his coat, she knew he was there and could bring it over. Maybe she’d been mad about what he’d said about her boyfriend, but it was true. Slade McKinney was an idiot.
Mason picked up his notebook and pen, then reread the last few paragraphs. Pilot was celebrating with his teammates, accepting credit for something he knew was artificial. But that was okay, Pilot reasoned. He was a great player; he had just needed a little help. Plus, if the second-string quarterback had stayed in, their team would have lost. A couple of extra pills was a very small price to pay.
Mason thought about where the turning point would be for Pilot—that time when he realized he was addicted and couldn’t go even a few hours without his pills.
And then Mason thought about Livvy and why she’d frowned at him. What was her problem? He thought small towns were all about hospitality—but it seemed he’d been dead wrong—
Back to the story, he commanded himself. If the season was over, then Pilot would likely take some sort of holiday before winter training started up again. Maybe he goes on a ski trip and wants to impress a few ladies at the resort. So Pilot overdoes it, ends up going through the rest of his prescription lightning fast—
Livvy Harmon might be a pretty woman, but personality went a long way in Mason’s opinion. Besides, the woman had a boyfriend—a doctor, no less—lame as he was. Jolene had been right. No distractions—
“Mr. Rowe?” someone said behind him.
It was Livvy’s voice. Strange that Mason already recognized it. He turned his head, not bothering to shift his chair or anything. She could come around the table if she wanted more of his attention.
“Do you have a minute?” she asked. “Or am I interrupting?”
“I’m just writing,” Mason said, setting his pen down.
“Oh.” Livvy’s eyes rounded, and she didn’t move.
Mason sighed. Why did he have to do all the work here? “I have a minute.”
“Okay, great.” Her voice was a notch higher now. She pulled out the chair right next to him and sat in it.
Well, there was nowhere to look but at her. She smelled of cinnamon, and she looked decidedly warmer. Not the half-frozen woman he’d encountered yesterday morning. “How’s your leg?” he asked, not intending to be the one to carry the conversation—but it was too late to take his question back.
She didn’t frown, so he supposed that was a good sign.
“Completely better, thanks to you,” she said, her expression still quite somber.
He tried not to gaze at the freckle above her mouth or notice how her sweater was the same color as the scarf. Or think of how her nose wasn’t pink from the cold and how she was no longer shivering.
She clasped her hands atop the table. “I owe you an apology.”
This was not what he had expected her to say. Maybe something more along the lines of Get lost and don’t ever insult my boyfriend, aka the doctor, again. “For what?”
“For accusing you of being homeless and then not properly thanking you for your help on Sunday, and of course, for not welcoming you to Pine Valley. And for not realizing that you’re a famous author.” She took a breath. “We’re usually more hospitable to new residents, or visitors, or whatever it is you are.”
He felt like laughing, although she wasn’t trying to be funny. And he wouldn’t consider himself “famous.” He didn’t have a movie or Netflix series based on any of his books, which was the pinnacle for every author. “I’m a visitor.”
“Visitor,” she repeated.
Her eyelashes were long, and this close up, he noticed that her eyes weren’t simply brown. There was some evidence of gold, making them tawny brown. That was a pretty good detail to notice. Tawny brown. He should use that in his manuscript. Not for Pilot, of course. Maybe for the nurse that Pilot would meet when he went back for a follow-up appointment to get another refillable prescription.
Wow. Mason mentally shook his head. This manuscript was really digging its claws into him, taking hold of his psyche. That was a very good sign. Although he’d written fifteen pages today, he could write at least that much more. But right now, librarian Livvy Harmon was watching him with a confused expression. He wondered if she knew she had tiny lines between her eyebrows when she did that.
“Where did you go?” she asked.
“What?” He had no idea what she was talking about.
“You . . .” She waved a hand, as if to include the whole of him in her explanation. “You looked like you were having an entire conversation in your head.”
He thought about this. “You’re probably right. The color of your eyes made me think of something I should put in my book.”
Her gaze cut to the notepad on the table. “Is that what you’re doing in the library? Writing a book?”
“Uh, yes?” Was it so strange to write in a library? Reading and writing sounded like very common activities in a place like this.
Livvy pressed a hand to her heart. “Is it the sequel to Cut, or another standalone?”
All right, this was unexpected. “You’ve read my books?”
When her gaze returned to his, he saw the glimmer in her eyes. Oh no. He didn’t want this from her—the admiration that a fan might have—which he’d encountered plenty of times. He’d enjoyed Livvy the woman, not Livvy the fan.
“I’ve read all of your books,” she gushed.