The loud buzz of my phone’s vibration causes me to sit up in a state of frantic alarm, confused by the darkness around me. It takes a moment for me to get my bearings, struggling to remember where I am and how I got here. Back in New York, I rarely found myself in complete darkness, a bright neon sign or distant glowing skyline always creeping its way through my window, regardless of how thick my curtains were.

Fortunately, after a few frantic seconds, I remember the trials and tribulations of yesterday. I’ve travel to a land that is far removed from the horns and sirens that would normally greet my ears in the morning, a place where there is absolutely no manmade glow to be found.

Still, that doesn’t explain why it’s so damn dark out.

“Hello?” I groan, putting the phone to my ear.

“Riley?” a familiar voice comes singing out from the other end of the line.

“Taylor?” I reply, still confused. “What time is it?”
“It’s nine thirty, are you sleeping in?” my friend asks me. “I’m sorry, I should’ve waited. I know you had a long travel day and you’re probably exhausted.”

I let out a long sigh. “Well, yeah, I’m exhausted, but it’s also three hours earlier here. The sun hasn’t even come up yet.”

“I’m so sorry,” Taylor stammers. “I can call you back.”
I sit up and rub my eyes, letting a long, satisfying stretch curl it’s way out across my body. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m still on New York time anyway.”

“Are you sure?” my agent questions.

“I’m fine,” I assure her. “What’s up?”

Taylor hesitates for a moment. “Well, I’m just calling to see how my favorite author’s new novel is coming along. You have any moments of inspiration?”

I groan loudly, falling back into the thick ocean of blankets around me with a soft thud. “Taylor, it’s only been a day. I need some time.”

“I know, I know,” my agent assures me. “It’s just, they’re already breathing down my neck. They want to know what kind of direction you’re headed in.”

“Direction takes time,” I remind her. “You can’t just force inspiration, that’s why I’m here.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Taylor sighs, then trails off a bit before changing the subject. “How’s the cabin? I miss that place.”

“It’s beautiful, thank you so much for letting me stay here,” I tell her. “I think this island is gonna bring something really incredible out of me.”

“That’s a good word to use!” Taylor blurts, excitedly. “Incredible novels are just what we’re looking for.”

I laugh. “I would imagine so. Now if the neighbors would just shut the hell up I could actually start writing it down.”

“Neighbors?” Riley questions. “That’s a surprise. There’s rarely anybody out there this time of year.”

“There’s a few assholes next door,” I tell her. “Well, one asshole and his two fuck buddies.”

“Oh no,” Taylor moans in recognition. “Grant’s there, isn’t he?”

“You know him?” I blurt, sitting up again.

“Probably better than he knows himself,” Taylor informs me, her voice sounding strangely defeated. “We grew up spending our summers on the island. Obviously, his family was much wealthier than mine, making the trip from London and all, but they’d be out there for months at a time to make sure all that travel was worth it.”
“Wow,” I reply, trying to picture this arrogant prick as a humble little boy, innocent and sweet. “Was he always this way?”

Taylor laughs. “Not at all. He was the most caring kid on the island. When the other boys would pick on me, he’d always have my back. We were best friends back then.”

“What happened?” I question.

“His parents died,” Taylor explains, then catches herself, realizing that she’s struck a nerve we rarely discuss. My biological father died when I was young, and although I love my stepfather like he’s been with me the whole time, I can’t help sometimes thinking about the life that could’ve been. “I mean, not that everyone who’s had a parent die turns out like Grant.”

“It’s okay,” I assure her. “I know what you mean.”

Taylor considers her words carefully, then pushes onward. “You know, the two of you actually have a lot in common.”

“Oh yeah?” I question, hoping that Taylor can pick up on the casual nature of my tone. “Besides growing up without a dad?”

“I mean, that’s a big part of it, but there’s something else. I don’t know,” Taylor stammers, her thoughts trailing off. “Anyway, after his parents died in that crash he stopped coming to the island. In fact, I’m fairly certain the cabin was sold off to someone else. After Grant hit it big with the band, he bought the place right back. By then, his whole personality had changed. It’s like he was constantly trying to prove something to the rest of the world.”

“He just went out and bought the same place back? That’s… oddly sentimental,” I reply.

“Well, it’s Grant in a nutshell,” Taylor continues. “Sure he’s a little rough around the edges, but there’s a kind heart buried deep down in there somewhere.”

“A little rough?” I scoff.

“Okay, very rough,” Taylor replies. “Disastrous, even, but my point remains the same.”

“He asked me on a date,” I inform my friend.

My agent laughs. “Are you gonna go?”

I’m utterly shocked to hear this question coming from my otherwise straight-laced friend. Taylor is not much of a risk taker, so that fact that she would even consider this says a lot about her true feelings regarding Grant. She obviously still see’s him as that innocent kid who would go far out of his way to protect her.

A chill of creeping arousal immediately runs down the length of my spine.

What if he’s still in there? I think to myself. Under all of this alpha aggression, under the thick slabs of muscle and the buckets of tattoo ink; what if Grant can still become the man he was always supposed to be?

“I don’t know,” I finally admit. “I wasn’t gonna go, but now for some reason I’m not so sure.”

“Normally, I wouldn’t say this, but desperate times call for desperate measures,” Taylor states bluntly. “If you’re looking for inspiration, I don’t see how a date with that maniac could hurt. Honestly, you’re the only woman I’d trust to handle him, and like I said, you’ve probably got more in common than you’d think.”
“I’ll consider it,” I tell my agent, then take a deep breath, stretching out across the bed and yawning loudly. “I’ve gotta go,” I inform her. “Feeling inspired.”

“Thank God,” Taylor replies. “Call when you’ve got something.”
I hang up and climb to my feet, scratching the wild mess of hair atop my head as I stumble out into the living room. The sun has just barely started to rise, casting the picturesque scene before me with long, orange shadows.

Today is the first day of the rest of my life, I remind myself. I feel confident that I’ll be able to get a few words down this afternoon, even if it’s just some rough outlines of the ideas that have been floating through my head. Honestly, anything would be fantastic. All I need is the slightest hint of forward progress, a tiny little nod from the universe that this trip has been for a reason.

I quickly get to work brewing up my tea and fixing myself a bowl of cereal, then bring them both over to the couch where my laptop is waiting.

This is it.

Suddenly, there’s a series of three loud knocks against the back door. I sit up straight, incredibly curious about who could be calling at such an early hour, especially out here in a place like this.

“Hello?”  I yell out.

Three more knocks rattle out across my ears, continuing to shatter the silence of the morning.

I stand up and walk over to the door, peeking out through the eyehole to see Jessica standing there awkwardly, shifting her weight from side to side. She looks disheveled and messy, her dark makeup slightly runny beneath her eyes.

“What do you want?” I call through the door, not trusting this woman for a second.

“To talk,” Jessica retorts bluntly.

“This early in the morning?” I reply.

“Don’t you mean this late at night?” Jessica counter, then laughs loudly to herself.

I now notice that the woman is swaying from side to side, utterly drunk off of her ass. I have no doubt that she’s telling the truth, and that Jessica has been up all night, tossing back beers from dusk until dawn.

“Just open the fucking door!” the blonde woman suddenly yells, slamming the nearby frame with her fist so hard that it causes me to jump in surprise.

“You should go home,” I tell her sternly.

“I should go home?” the woman laughs, clearly offended by this suggestion. “I was here way before you showed up, sweetie. I’ve been with Grant for two years, and it was going just fine until you came by with your shitty shoes and your bad hair.”

I furrow my brow.

“Okay, well… I don’t know what to tell you,” I call back through the door.

“Tell me you’ll stop talking to Grant,” Jessica groans.

I hesitate. This would’ve been much easier to do if she’d come by just hours earlier, but after my conversation with Taylor, I’m beginning to realize that there might actually be something worth saving behind the man’s obnoxious, bad boy façade. Still, at this point I’ll do anything to get her off of my porch.

Finally, I throw open the door in frustration, staring down Jessica face to face.

“You look like shit,” she tells me, but I ignore her.

“Why would I want to talk to that asshole?” I question. “Grant is one of the rudest men I’ve ever met in my life, and I’m from New York.”

Jessica smirks, struggling to hide her expression but unable to keep it from creeping its way out across her face. “I know that he asked you on a date,” Jessica finally informs me.

I say nothing in return, remaining tight lipped before this wild woman who stares daggers into me. She’s been quite belligerent this whole time, but now her demeanor shifts into a focused intensity. There’s something dangerous behind her eyes, something I’d be remiss to ignore.

“Are you gonna go out with him?” Jessica continues.

“I don’t know,” I finally admit, not wanting to start a fight, but loving the fact that I have something to hold over this awful bitch’s head.

Jessica can barely hold herself together as the intensity within continues to boil, refusing to let loose as it pushes even harder against the edge of her civility.

At this point, however, my writer’s curiosity takes hold. I’ve always had a passion for interesting characters, and when I see someone as fanatical as Jessica, it’s impossible for me to ignore. I want to know what brought her to this place of desperation, for better or worse.

“I’m confused,” I finally admit. “Isn’t Amber dating Grant, too.”
Jessica scoffs. “They’re not dating.”

“Then what are they doing?” I continue.

“That’s a situation for me to take care of,” Jessica informs me sternly. “I’m calling the shots. Nobody else.”

“What about Grant?” I push.

“I call the shots,” Jessica repeats.

I consider her words for a moment. “I think I’m gonna take him up on that date,” I finally say, then close the door in her face.

I stare back out through the peephole for a moment, watching as Jessica stands before my door in complete shock. She’s frozen in place, her mind racing but her body still. That rage behind her eyes continues to lurk, flickering even more brilliant than ever, but even now it refuses to overflow completely.

Eventually, Jessica turns around and begins to walk away, stopping suddenly when she sees a large rock on the ground. I watch as the woman leans down to pick it up, turning over the hard surface in her hand as she inspects every imperfection. Jessica begins to glance back and forth between the rock and my bedroom window, clearly considering a number of options.

I’m just about to throw open to door once more and give her a piece of my mind, but seconds later the stone falls from Jessica’s hand, thumping softly onto the dewy morning grass.

Jessica staggers away, back down towards her cabin.

Feeling strangely renewed by this moment of emotional intensity, I stroll over to the kitchen table and sit down, opening up my laptop. So far, the couch hasn’t been going too well, so now I’m trying out a place that’s slightly less comfortable, hoping the workflow will kick into gear.

Jessica’s a terrible person, that’s for sure, but there’s something about her that fascinates me. Her dedication to Grant goes way beyond any healthy relationship, and it makes me wonder how far she would actually take things.

Suddenly, my fingers begin to fly across the keyboard below, rows and rows of frantic text slowly filling the screen. It’s as though the floodgates of inspiration have been busted open, the character of a frustrated female stalker providing me with all the direction I need. While I consider myself relatively stable by comparison, I have plenty of experience to draw from thanks to my interactions with Jessica and Amber over the last two days.

I spend the next few hours here at my laptop, typing away as the shadows outside begin to shrink, the orange morning sky transforming into a gorgeous, brilliant blue. The weather today is much nicer than it was, and although the Washington air is still excruciatingly cold, the sun is shining bright and causing the once dull grey colors to pop with fresh vibrancy.

Before I know it, my words have turned into sentences, then paragraphs, and then pages. When I finally take a break, there are at least ten pages of text before me, most of which I’ll need to reread in order to fully comprehend what’s happening.

I begin laughing to myself, thankful and satisfied. It’s been so long since I’ve felt that kind of creativity; I’d almost forgotten what it was like.

After taking a moment to catch my breath, I dive back in, reading from the top and I reacquaint myself with this character study that I’ve spun.

The longer I read, however, the more a strange realization comes over me. While the text begins with a detailed description of a furious, female stalker, it quickly shifts to her male target.

This man in the stalker’s crosshairs is gorgeous and masculine, but completely misunderstood. He seems like an absolute jerk at first, but there’s something sweet just below the surface that begs to be set free. His tragic nature is almost intoxicating, covered in tattoos as a way to cover up his own deep insecurities that may never see the light of day.

Still, he’s consistently in command of any situation, adapting to life on the edge. His flaws have caused him to grow in other ways, developing an almost superhuman charisma and charm.

I stop reading and let out a long sigh, finally realizing just how completely Grant as consumed my thoughts. This isn’t the story that I planned on writing, but it’s also not a bad one. While the initial character seemed fascinating to me, this new one is just as exciting in his own way.

Of course, this also reminds me that I need to have a word with Grant.

I stand up from the table and grab my coat, heading out the door and making my way down to the rock and roller’s cabin. If Jessica was up all night, I can only assume that Grant was, too, but it’s late enough in the afternoon to give it a shot.

I’m halfway between our cabins when I hear a loud, hollow crack ring out from somewhere within the nearby forest. It’s a strange sound, and I can’t quite put my finger on it until it comes echoing towards me for a second time. Someone is chopping wood.

I change course and head for the trees, only traveling a short distance before I find Grant standing over a large stump, an axe resting by his side while his shirtless body glistens in the afternoon light.

“Do you ever wear a shirt?” I call out.

The muscular man smiles when he sees me, then shrugs.

“Aren’t you cold?” I question.

“I’m from London, darling,” Grant reminds me. “You haven’t see cold yet.”

The musician reaches down with his bulging tattooed arm and grabs ahold of a large, fresh chunk of wood, setting it upright on the stump. He lines up his ax and then, moments later, takes a powerful swing. It’s a direct hit, slicing right down though the middle and sending a chuck of wood flying out on either side in two distinct pieces.

“We ran out of wood last night,” Grant explains.

“Yeah,” I reply with a laugh. “Sounds like you were up late.”

Grant shakes his head. “The girls were. I went to bed early.”

“Well, you’re a real gentleman for getting up to chop them more wood then,” I offer.

Grant laughs. “I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but gentleman isn’t one of them.”

“That’s not what Taylor said,” I reply.

Grant stops immediately, completely taken off guard as he rests the ax at his side. A smile creeps its way across his face. “You know Taylor?”

“She’s my agent,” I explain.

Grant seems slightly concerned by this. “Oh no. You’re not a musician, too. Are you?”

“Writer,” I clarify.

Grant nods. “A writer, huh? You ever get writer’s block?”

“Actually, that’s why I’m here,” I admit. “Taylor said the island might be inspiring.”

“And?” Grant asks, genuinely curious.

I nod. “Made some progress this morning, actually. I’m not out of the woods yet, but I’m getting there.”

“Maybe you could give me some pointers then,” the musician continues. “I’ve been stuck for years now.”

“Well… it sounded like you were making some progress on drums yesterday,” I remind him.

Grant takes a deep breath, seemingly embarrassed by his behavior in retrospect. “Yeah, that never really went anywhere.”

“What about your the song by the water?” I question.

My words make Grant’s eyes light up suddenly, as if reminded of something very important from long ago, an idea that had been on the tip of his tongue for years and just now finally decided to pop. “That’s a good one,” Grant admits.

We stand in awkward silence for a moment, but Grant declines to keep chopping. Instead, the man continues to take me in with his big beautiful eyes. While yesterday his leering had been nothing but off putting, his gaze now fills me with a deep warmth and attraction. I feel like he’s truly seeing me now, not just passing me off as a potential new target for his rockstar harem.

“How about I give you those writer’s block pointers over dinner tonight?” I offer.

Grant smiles. “I thought you didn’t want me to take you out.”
“I changed my mind,” I tell him. “At least, for now.”

“Fair enough, pick you up at seven?” I Grant suggests.

“Well, we live next door to each other, so calling it a pick up is a bit of a stretch,” I inform the smoldering musician. “Do you even have a car of your own on the island?”

“The yellow one,” Grant reminds me.

“That’s Jessica’s,” I counter, “and I’m not stepping foot in that thing.”
Grant accepts this. “I’ll buy us a new one. They’ll deliver it before tonight.”

“A new car?” I question. “You’re just going to buy a new car?”

Grant seems confused. “Yeah. Why not?”

I roll my eyes and turn, heading back towards my cabin. “See you at seven,” I call out over my shoulder.