CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I SHOT UP IN bed as the door to my apartment burst open, heavy footsteps stomping down the hallway. My ferocious dog lay snoring beside me, obviously ready to attack my intruders at a moment’s notice. But I knew there weren’t any intruders, at least not in the criminal sense. Just by the sound of their footsteps alone, I could always tell when Drew and Brooklyn let themselves into my apartment.
They appeared in the doorway, their eyes raking over the mess that had become my bedroom during the past two weeks. My garbage bin overflowed with takeout containers, candy wrappers, and empty water bottles. I promised to buy a few carbon offsets to make up for the amount of plastic I would be tossing into a landfill.
“What’s going on with you?” Brooklyn asked, her tone harsh.
“Nothing,” I replied, as if it were completely normal for me to be lounging in bed at five on a Friday evening.
“No. There’s something going on,” she pushed, storming into my room and plopping down on my bed. “Since you were facing a deadline, I’ve let it slide the past few weeks, but that deadline has come and gone.”
“And it played such a beautiful melody as it floated right by me,” I retorted with a dreamy look on my face.
Brooklyn scrunched her brows. “What do you mean?”
Drew sighed, stepping toward the bed and lowering himself on the other side of me. “You missed your deadline, didn’t you?”
I pinched my lips together, nodding slightly.
“How?” Brooklyn asked. “I thought the book was going great.”
“It was.” I shrugged. “But it wasn’t the story my publisher wanted. I tossed the whole thing.”
“You what?” She shot off the bed, her eyes on fire. “Are you crazy? That story was phenomenal. I’ve been dying to know what happens between Avery and Jackson. I need to know if they get their happily ever after!”
I grabbed my remote, turning up the volume on my television. I’d hoped something would inspire me to write again, keeping my television tuned to the classic movie channel nearly around the clock the past few weeks. Now, as luck — or maybe fate — would have it, I was staring at Deborah Kerr and Cary Grant as they said their final farewells before disembarking from the ship, promising to meet each other on the top of the Empire State Building. An Affair to Remember used to be one of my favorite movies. Now it only reminded me of stupid Noah. And stupid cemeteries. And stupid dancing. And stupid kissing. I didn’t care if I sounded like a petulant child.
“They don’t get their happily ever after,” I replied, my voice monotone. “There’s no such thing, not with the direction their story was heading. My publisher needs happily ever after, so I’m starting from scratch.”
She eyed me guardedly, lowering herself back to the bed. “Can I read what you have so far?”
A hopeful smile crossed my face. “Of course. I’d love to know what you think. I could use some feedback.” I grabbed my laptop and opened it. “Let me just find it… Here it is.” I handed Brooklyn my computer.
She scowled. “What is this?”
“My manuscript. What do you think? I’ve been working on that for two weeks now. It’s really compelling, isn’t it?”
“Molly…,” Brooklyn said in a cautious tone. “It’s blank.”
I threw my head back on my pillow, laughing uncontrollably. “I know.”
“Is this because of that guy at the magazine?” she asked.
I shot my eyes to her, then Drew. He gave me a smug look. “I told her.”
“I don’t know why I tell you anything when you obviously can’t keep your mouth shut. You’re worse than a teenage girl.”
I didn’t know why I hadn’t told Brooklyn about my supposed coworker. Maybe I was worried she’d be able to read between the lines and figure out it was a lie. Drew was a smart man, but he was often too distracted by his own crazy life as a single dad to give mine too much attention. Brooklyn didn’t have that problem. I feared if I told her too much, she’d eventually figure out the truth.
“And I don’t know why you don’t talk to me about this stuff, too.” Brooklyn placed her hand on my arm, getting my attention. “I get that you and Drew have a weird bond. I don’t know what that’s like.” She looked away before recovering her composure. “And, to be fair, Drew put up a wicked fight, but I eventually beat the truth out of him.” She winked at him, grinning, then faced me. “Have you spoken to this coworker of yours since you kissed him?”
I shook my head. “When I went in the following day, I learned he was taking some vacation time and had decided to transfer to a different department,” I told them, stretching the truth in a huge way. I didn’t know how much longer I’d be able to keep my story straight.
Brooklyn studied me for a protracted moment, her bright green eyes unnerving me. “You liked him, didn’t you?” she finally said.
“What? No!” I grabbed a Snickers bar off my nightstand and peeled off the wrapper. Chocolate was the only thing that would help me handle this conversation. In truth, alcohol would have been better, but chocolate was more accessible at the moment. I’d have to walk a whole thirty feet into the kitchen for alcohol. “I like him as a person, but not like you think.”
“Then why are you still hung up on him?” Drew’s eyes were heavy with skepticism.
“That’s ridiculous. I’m not—”
“That’s why you tossed the manuscript,” Brooklyn stated rather matter-of-factly. This was the precise reason I didn’t want to tell her everything. She had an uncanny ability to uncover the truth…the truth I’d spent two weeks convincing myself was anything but.
“No, it’s not. I’m starting over because it isn’t the type of story my publisher wants!” I argued.
“No. It’s because you actually have real, honest-to-goodness, boyfriend/girlfriend feelings for this man.”
I jumped off the bed. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Then why have you been cooped up in your apartment, living off bad takeout and candy?”
“It has nothing to do with your preposterous idea that I had feelings for this guy.” I went to the en-suite bathroom and splashed water on my face. “The only reason I decided to spend any time at all with him was because I thought it was necessary for the book I’m supposed to be writing.” I reappeared in the doorway. “I was able to channel my characters’ thoughts so easily. That’s the only reason I kissed him. I should have listened to my editor weeks ago. But I’m listening to her now and am starting over.”
Drew rolled his eyes. “The old Molly would have been at the bar the same day he transferred in search of a new muse.”
“You’re the one who told me I needed to stop looking in bars for sources of inspiration, that I was getting too old for that.”
“And you are,” Brooklyn agreed.
I stared at them for several long moments, my jaw tightening, my fists clenched
“So what’s your plan for finishing the book?” Drew lifted a brow.
Softening my expression, I returned to the bed, plopping down between Brooklyn and him. “My publisher extended my deadline, but only because I used Dad’s deteriorating condition as an excuse. I hated doing it, but I just need a little bit more time to get back on track. This whole experience has taught me I should just stick to the way I’ve always done things.” I looked away, my voice less than enthusiastic. “Find a muse. Write my book. Walk away.”
“So back to the bars then?”
I released a long breath. “I’m not going to find the type of guy I need for this book at a bar. I’ve been messaging a few from the online profiles I set up all those weeks ago. You’re right. I’m getting too old for the bar scene. No one wants to be that wrinkly, gray-haired old woman who still dresses in mini-skirts and lets the lips of her vag hang loose for all to see.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Drew groaned, playfully shoving me. “You’re disgusting.”
“If the lips of your hooha are visible beneath your skirt, you have bigger problems,” Brooklyn added.
“You can’t even say it, can you?”
“Say what?”
“Vagina.”
“I can.” Her cheeks turned red as she avoided my eyes.
“Prove it.”
“I don’t need to prove it. I read your books. That should be proof enough.”
“Whenever you give me feedback, you never say vagina. You always say something like hooha or lady bits or whatever dainty phrase you come up with. I’ve never heard you say vagina.”
“What difference does it make? So what? I prefer calling it a hooha. That has no bearing on our conversation right now.”
“Say it,” I pushed.
“Why?” Brooklyn groaned.
“I just want to hear it. That’s all. It may just be the cause of my writer’s block,” I said sarcastically.
“No. Your problems run much deeper,” she joked.
“You’re probably right.” Inching closer, I stared at her, waiting.
“Fine!” she exclaimed finally, her face turning red. “Vagina! Happy now?”
The room erupted in laughter, startling Pee Wee from his slumber. I hadn’t laughed so hard in weeks. It was amazing how something as simple as a laugh could make you feel as if you could overcome all your problems. It gave me a renewed drive to find a new muse and write the book I should have been writing before one Dr. Noah Joseph McAllister ruined my plans.
“Did you ever consider that maybe your writer’s block is all in your head?” Drew asked once our laughter died down. “Maybe you should stop this useless search for someone who inspires you to write a particular story. Maybe you just need to find someone who inspires you.” He paused as I simply stared back at him. “Unless you already have…”