Matthew drilled one last screw into place on the wall-length metal hanging rod he’d just installed, then took a step back to admire his work. “You know, for a guy with a desk job, I don’t think I did too bad.” He gave the coat rack a satisfied pat with his free hand.
“Violet will be impressed when she comes in tomorrow.” Anna dipped her roller in the paint tray at her feet. “Hopefully her driving exam went well this morning.”
“She told me yesterday to watch for her driving her mom’s Escalade,” Matthew said.
“I think her hopes are much too high,” Anna said with a laugh. “If her mom’s anything like Katie, she’ll be lucky to drive a beat-up old work truck.”
Matthew chuckled and rolled up the sleeves of his hooded sweatshirt. “I’m going to pack up these tools, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
Anna ran the paint roller up the wall in front of her, careful to make sure she caught the edges of the rough-cut lumber. “No rush. You’re not in my way.” She gave him a sideways glance. “Besides, I kind of like the company.”
“Only kind of?” Matthew began to wrap up the cord from the power drill.
“I mean, you’re no Violet, but—”
“Ha, ha.” He placed the drill in the old milk crate he’d used to haul the tools, then pulled his phone from his pocket and frowned at the screen.
“Something wrong?” Anna asked.
He shrugged and slid the cell into his pocket. “It’s my mom. I’ll call her back when we take a break later. I’m sure she’s got some job postings to tell me about.”
Anna stopped painting and turned to face him, holding the roller in front of her. “Again? Well, you’re not alone.”
“What do you mean?”
She raised a brow. “Meddling mothers. Mine is determined to make me return to Calgary and have me work for her corporation.”
“Wow, a real bigwig huh?”
“Yup. She’s the Vice President of King Oilfield Construction. Been there since she was like twenty-five, a single mother with a toddler and a baby to care for, climbing the corporate ladder.”
“That’s actually pretty impressive.”
Anna sighed and placed her roller on the edge of the paint tray. “Sure is. But she’s not too pleased with her daughters not living up to her legacy.” She waved a hand. “Anyways, it’s not a big deal. I’ve met your mom. I don’t think she’s as condescending as mine.”
Matthew cocked his head. “Maybe not. But she has her expectations for us kids too, and I’ve never lived up to them. Her dream was for me to be a doctor like my dad, but science was never my strong point.”
“Let me guess, you were more into English too?”
“Of course. Writing and literature always came naturally to me.” He sat on the edge of the milk crate and put his elbows on his knees. “I never tried very hard in school though. I was having too much fun running around with my friends.” He cocked a brow. “I bet you were always a real book nerd.”
She adjusted her glasses and gave him a proud look. “Of course. I was always that quiet kid. And to this day, I’d rather explore an old bookstore or sit in a café with my laptop than go to parties or big events.”
“You know, I’m the same way now,” he said with a laugh. “My ex, Brittany, was all about going out to clubs and staying out late. It was one of our biggest issues.”
Anna shifted her weight, unsure of what to say. “Well, sometimes things just don’t work out.”
“You got that right,” he agreed. “Hey, speaking of being a book nerd—how are things going with your fantasy manuscript?”
She sighed, then pulled over the step ladder she’d been using to reach the high portions of the walls and sat on the top rung. “I’m still trying to age it down to YA. It’s not going well, though. I’ve never written for teens before. I got some advice from a friend who has, but it still doesn’t feel quite right.”
“Do you want to write for teens?”
“Not really.”
“So, then why are you even trying?”
“Well,” she said slowly, “my agent knows the industry better than I do. If I want to be published and build an author career, I should listen to her advice. Don’t you think?”
Matthew shrugged. “From what you’ve said, your agent knows her stuff. But the thing is, you might pigeonhole yourself as a YA writer. You don’t want to get stuck there if that’s not what you want to write.”
Anna sucked in a breath. I hadn’t thought of that. I don’t want to get stuck writing stories I’m not passionate about. She thought back to the agonizing months she spent waiting for responses from agents, only to be let down time and time again. After Clarissa had agreed to work with her, she’d thought she had finally made it. And when things fell apart, she’d hung on tightly, trying to force it to work.
But what if that’s what it takes to get published? Where’s the line between learning and improving your craft and losing your authenticity as a writer? She glanced at Matthew. “That gives me a lot to think about, thank you. It’s so hard to get an agent, it took years and dozens of queries. I’m afraid to lose her.”
He clasped his hands together. “You did it once, so you know you can do it again. Besides, once you send her your new project, she might bite. I looked at your chapters last night, and you’ve got a great story brewing there. I think you could do something with it.”
She bit the side of her cheek, taking in his words. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I should put away The Wicked Moon for now and focus on my mountain story. A swell of panic pushed against her at the thought. All those years, all that hard work perfecting her book, convincing an agent to take a chance on it—could it all have been for nothing?
What would my mom think? Her stomach tightened. Would I have to move home and take a full-time job again, with Mom hovering over my shoulder, trying to push me into a ‘real’ career while trying to write? She didn’t think she could do it.
“Those are my thoughts,” Matthew straightened in his seat and shrugged. “It’s up to you to decide though.” He paused. “You know, I have an agent friend who is interested in women’s fiction stories like yours. I’ll email you my notes tonight. If you edit those chapters and shine them up, I could send them her way to see what she thinks.”
Anna’s throat thickened. She wasn’t sure it was ready. She’d barely started the manuscript. It wasn’t even fully plotted. Yet, she already knew where it was going. Internally, she was sure of the points she wanted to hit and how the story would end. It had come a lot more naturally for her than The Wicked Moon—which scared her, in a way. Could something that flowed so easily in the beginning really be any good?
She swallowed. “Maybe. I’ll go through your notes tonight and get back to you.”
He gave her an understanding nod and got to his feet. “You bet. Just let me know.” He bent to check over the tools, then looked over his shoulder at her. “Oh yeah, about Friday—Marshal and Sophie are taking off on a little getaway, so I’ll have the house to myself. I was wondering if, instead of a stuffy restaurant, you’d like a home-cooked dinner?”
Anna tucked her hair behind her ear, pushing the thoughts of her writing away. She’d been thinking about their date since he’d asked her, aching for the work week to end. She’d already picked out the perfect dress, her teal-blue one that showed off her small waist and shoulders. And maybe that necklace her mother gave her a few years ago—the one with the teardrop pendant.
Now, her chest fluttered at the idea of an intimate dinner with him. Alone at his house, without the hustle and bustle of a busy restaurant. A better chance to get to know him more, and maybe this time a real kiss that didn’t involve her freaking out afterwards. “That sounds amazing. That is, as long as I’m not the one doing the cooking. Fridays are my break from kitchen work.”
“That would be pretty rude of me to invite you over and ask you to cook.”
“Can you?”
“Can I what?”
“Cook?” she teased.
“Of course. I can grill a pretty mean steak.” He gave her a wry grin that made her want to step into his arms right there in the coat room.
The sound of a phone vibrating hummed through the air, and Matthew jerked his gaze from hers and pulled out his cell again. He frowned at the screen. “I should probably take this one.”
“No problem.” She stood from her perch on the stepladder and stretched her arms. “I should probably finish up this wall and get ready to go, anyways.”
He tipped his head to her. As he strode toward the door, he held his phone to his ear. “Hey, Brittany.”
He stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.
Brittany? A knot formed in Anna’s stomach. Isn’t that his ex-girlfriend? He still talks to her? She grabbed her paint roller and dipped it the stain at the end of the tray. It’s not a big deal. I’m sure there’s an explanation. But her mind wandered to thoughts of Jace, of how he assured her there was nothing between him and Jillian anymore. And then he dumped me to go back to her.
She dropped the paint roller’s handle and took out her phone, searching for a distraction. An email notification blinked on her screen, and she tapped it open to see a message from her mother.
Hi Anna,
Please see the attached information about the data entry job and the confirmation of your tele-interview next Wednesday. I submitted your resumé to our human resources department, and they are interested in talking to you. You’ll need to find three references. Hopefully your current boss at that casual inn job will be willing to vouch for you.
Let me know you received this. If you’d like some coaching for the interview, I can try to set aside time this weekend to have a virtual call.
Anna gripped the phone with trembling fingers, staring at the screen in disbelief. She submitted my resumé? Without even talking to me? She turned off the phone and jammed it in her pocket, fuming. Is that even legal?
She grabbed the paint roller and slapped it on the wall, causing the stain to splatter the front of her hoodie. But she didn’t care. Her mom had crossed the line this time. And she would—well, she would send her a firmly worded email stating she was not moving back to Calgary any time soon.
She paused mid-paint stroke, fear washing over her. Or should I just do the interview? My writing situation is a mess with no guarantees or a clear way out. And after this barn is done, I’ll be looking for work again. She swallowed, tears stinging her eyes.
As much as she hated to admit it, maybe her mom was right. Time to get your head out of the clouds and grow up, Anna. Her heart pricked at the mere idea of moving away from Cedar Lake. Leaving the quiet countryside, her new friends, and the inn that had come to feel like home. And what about Matthew? Things were just starting to go their way.
She’d never thought doing the responsible thing would feel so wrong.
Chapter Fifteen
Matthew set down his coffee mug on the kitchen table, engrossed in the revised opening scene of Anna’s manuscript. The main character, Eve, stood frozen on the edge, terrified to continue. Her sister moved across in front of her with purposeful strides, not showing even a glimmer of fear. Anna’s prose and details were even more gripping than before, and her words flowed seamlessly from the page.
This is really good. She took my suggestions and made them even better. He finished the scene, then clicked over to the email Anna had sent him.
Hi Matthew,
I think I’d like to take you up on your offer to send these chapters to your agent friend. Do you think they’re ready for her appraisal? I’m not sure about the flashback to the sisters’ falling out. Let me know.
Also, I know your website isn’t ready, but I passed your email along to my friend Scott. His sci-fi novel was cut from Raven Stone too, and he’s thinking about self-publishing it and would like to speak to an editor soon. I hope that’s okay.
Thanks again for helping me with this.
Anna
He typed her a quick reply, letting her know that he was thrilled she passed along his contact information, and that he loved the fixes she’d made and was sure they were ready to send to Dana. Then he found the original response he’d received from the agent, telling him she’d love to take a look at Anna’s chapters. He wrote her a response, attached Anna’s manuscript along with his own observations about the text, then hit send.
There. If anything, she’ll respond with more notes on how to improve it. But he was sure Anna’s work would pique her interest. Two sisters and their tribulations, healing the wounds of their childhood on a quest through nature, and working together to overcome the odds—this was the kind of story Dana would eat up.
And maybe, I’ll finally have a client lined up soon. His mood lifted at the thought. Some real work. Something I’m passionate about.
His stomach rumbled, and he got up from the table to search for leftovers in the fridge. He swung open the door and eyed the contents—a day-old ham-and-cheese sandwich, a half-empty bottle of ketchup, a container of milk, and a box of beer. For a produce farmer, the lack of vegetables in this house is alarming.
There was no way he could make anything with these. It was as much his fault as his brother’s, though. Between working at the inn, helping with the greenhouse, and editing Anna’s story, he hadn’t made the time to run to town for groceries. And Marshal was swamped too. It was no wonder they were living off take-out and pizza lately, like true bachelors.
I’ll see what Marshal has on hand in the shop for produce, then pick up some nice steaks from the butcher shop. He’d already saved some online recipes for a kale salad and oven-roasted herbed potatoes. Maybe dessert would be nice too. I can stop by Josie’s Diner to pick up some of her famous cheesecake.
He grabbed the sandwich and shut the fridge door, and the sound of a car rolling up the driveway caught his attention. Marshal had left only an hour ago to get supplies for his and Sophie’s trip. He wouldn’t be home this quickly. Matthew set his paltry meal on the counter and went to the window above the sink to see who it was. His mom’s white SUV rolled up to the house, and the driver’s door opened. A set of crutches swung from the vehicle to the ground.
What’s Mom doing here? Matthew strode down the hall to the front porch and pulled on his boots. He stepped outside, letting the door slam shut behind him. By the time he got there, Paula was thumping her crutches on the steps, struggling to maneuver herself with a plastic container tucked under one arm.
“Mom, what are you doing? Let me help you.”
She frowned with determination. “I can do it. Give me a second—”
“I’ll take the container. Geez, Mom.” He reached out, and she begrudgingly handed him the Tupperware. “What is this?”
“Homemade potato salad and two pork chops. Madison went for dinner with Dylan, and I made too much for your dad and me. I thought you and Marshal would appreciate the leftovers.”
His lips twitched with a grin. Right, she happened to make two extra pork chops, knowing full well that it was only her and dad tonight? Nevertheless, he appreciated the gesture, and so did his growling stomach.
“Thanks, Mom. Marshal’s not home, but I’m sure I can finish his half too.”
She gave him a dry look, then leaned on her crutches and tried to hop up the first stair on her good foot.
“Wait. You’re going to sprain your other ankle.” He took her elbow with his free hand and helped her hobble up the remaining steps and into the house.
He led the way down the hallway and into the kitchen, then pulled out a chair for her at the table. He closed his laptop and set it on the island in the middle of the room, then grabbed the sandwich from the counter and put it and the container of leftovers in the fridge.
“Want anything to drink?” He gestured at the half-filled coffee pot. “I have coffee on, or I could make you some tea.”
“It’s too late in the day for coffee.” Paula leaned her crutches against the table
, then twisted in her seat to rest her sprained ankle on the chair across from her. “And since when is Marshal a tea drinker?”
“Since he started dating Sophie,” Matthew replied. He made his way to the cupboard above the coffeemaker and opened it. “There’s English breakfast, green jasmine, or a herbal blend with chamomile.”
“English breakfast with a bit of cream would be nice.”
“Milk okay?” He grabbed the box of tea and set it on the counter, then pulled a mug from one of the hooks on the wall next to the oven and dropped a tea bag into it.
“Even better.” She eyed the vase of orange flowers on the table, then pulled it closer to her and gave the blooms a sniff. “These are pretty. Sophie’s doing, too, I assume?”
“You got it. Her feminine touch is all over this house.” He filled the copper kettle from the tap and set it on the stove to boil, then sat across from her at the table.
His mom smiled and set the flowers aside. “She’s sure been good for him, that Sophie. You know, you need to find a girl like her. Now that Madison has Dylan—”
“You already have prospects for upcoming weddings and grandbabies, if that’s what you’re after.” Matthew gave her a teasing grin, trying to avoid the topic. He couldn’t tell her about his date with Anna. Not yet. She’d probably show up here and invite Anna to Sunday family dinner. He wasn’t ready for that, and he was pretty sure Anna wasn’t either.
Paula pressed her lips together. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to see my kids happy.”
“Of course,” he replied. “And I am happy. I have a few things to figure out, but I’ll get back on track.”
“Like your career?”
Novel Dreams Page 11