Fearless

by Abby Brooks

  The man eyed me. “Right. Like you didn’t just work some internet magic and find that info.” He scoffed. “You have no idea how many ghosthunters I’ve had to chase away from this place since those articles hit the paper.”

  “Right. You’ve got me there.” I stared at my feet like a dejected puppy, then hit him with a glare that meant business. “Oh, but, would an internet search also provide me with the key? Or the deed?” I grabbed my purse off the table near the door, found the key, and slipped it into the lock. With the man still leaning in the doorway, we were closer than I would have liked. Especially given my lack of clothing, the fact that he’d just broken into my house, and even knowing that, I couldn’t help but stare into his decadent, chocolate-colored eyes.

  “Huh. Imagine that.” The man stared at my key in the lock and barked a laugh. “It’s nice to meet you Eveline—”

  “Evie.” Amelia stood and took his offered hand. “And I’m Amelia. And that’s Morgan and you’re…?” She practically purred and I wanted to murder her.

  This guy could be a killer, or a kidnapper, or some crazy stalker. Because we’d run into him twice now—once almost literally and once inside my house—she was ready to call it fate and bless our marriage with sage, vetiver, and whatever stinky herb signaled eternal happiness.

  “Alex Prescott.” He shook her hand with a smile. “I live next door. Morgan is very sorry for breaking and entering. We…uhh…saw your car in the driveway and came to investigate.”

  Dark curls begged for the attention his eyes commanded. A strong nose drew my gaze down to supple lips. The strap of his messenger bag pressed a ragged T-shirt against his pecs and distressed jeans highlighted just the right amount of everything.

  And when I said everything, I meant everything.

  Sweet googly-moogly, the man was gifted.

  I blinked as all of that circled my head then landed with the sloppy kiss of realization. “Alex Prescott? As in, Alexander Prescott?”

  As in, the author of world-class thrillers who graced the New York Times Bestsellers List every time he released a book. As in, the writer who’d come to speak while I was a student at Brown University and I, in all my glorious awkwardness, had decided to be brave enough to talk to him afterwards. Said decision led to me basically jogging along beside him, spewing compliments and forcing a discussion about writing as if we were friends as he tried to escape to the parking lot.

  At the time, I’d been proud of myself for my bravery. For taking the initiative to talk to someone I admired. But as he lowered himself into his car and drove away, I realized I’d word-vomited a conversation at a guy who outclassed me times a million. He was so much better than me we weren’t even playing the same game, and I’d gone on and on about writing as if my opinion mattered in the slightest.

  That day, the angel of self-doubt landed on my shoulder and squawked in my ear. You’re the crazy girl who stalked Alexander Prescott to his car, Evie. You will be the story he tells his friends when he talks about weird interactions with fans.

  Everything Drew said after he betrayed me had welcomed that whispering voice right back. The angel had been perched on my shoulder for months now and the litany of self-doubt was paralyzing.

  Alex smiled weakly as Morgan flopped to the floor at his feet. He shifted his bag and eyed the still-open door, desperate to leave now that I’d recognized him—or maybe he’d recognized me. “That’s me. The Alexander Prescott.”

  “He’s a writer,” I explained to Amelia. “A damn good one.”

  And he was hot as hell. And I stalked him to his car six years ago. And I almost killed him last night. And now, apparently, he was my neighbor. Holy shitcakes. If it wasn’t impossible to die of embarrassment, I’d have called the morgue to request a pickup.

  “Evie’s a writer.” Amelia elbowed me. “A damn good one.”

  Well, look at that. Death by embarrassment looked more and more possible.

  I held up my hands, waving off her compliment as I met Alex’s eyes. “As my best friend, she’s required to say that. I think it’s a law or something. I’m…well…I’m not even employed anymore so I guess that means I’m not a writer at all.”

  Amelia rolled her eyes. “I keep telling her to care less about those details, but she’s determined to lock herself in this hierarchical box of success. Being published does not magically validate your skill, you know?” She nodded like he’d agreed, then hurried on, standing as she waved her hands through the air. “I’ll leave you two to get to know each other. Coffee calls!” With a pat on Morgan’s massive noggin and a less-than-secret wink my way, she disappeared into the kitchen.

  “She’s right, you know. Many writers more talented than me will never get a book deal.”

  He was being nice and somehow that made it worse. I smiled, waiting for him to recognize me as the crazy woman who stalked him to his car then sighed when he didn’t. Maybe he was being polite by not bringing it up. Or maybe one of the most embarrassing moments of my life didn’t even rate as memorable in his.

  Alex leaned against the wall near the door. “So, Evie McAllister, inquiring minds. What job did you lose that rescinded your status as a writer?”

  “I was a junior editor for a newspaper in a small city. With the economy and everything…” I shrugged and hoped he’d let his imagination fill in the blanks as to why I’d been let go. There was no way I’d tell this man I’d been called safe, bland, and boring.

  Alex rapid fired questions my way.

  College? Brown.

  Accolades? A few.

  Years of experience? Five.

  “What is this? A job interview?”

  Alex laughed. “Just curious.” He tapped his temple. “A writer’s brain is filled with questions and character details.”

  “My dad used to threaten to tape my lips together if I asked one more question.”

  “There you go, then. You know what I’m talking about.” Alex pressed off the wall and I did everything I could not to drool. How could a man look that good so early in the morning? “I should let you get your day started,” he said. “It was a pleasure to meet you. Sorry we basically broke in. Come on, Morgan.” The dog raised his head, then begrudgingly lifted himself from the floor.

  “I’ll consider it payback for almost killing you last night.” I frowned as I rewrapped my robe around me. “How’d you get in anyway? I could have sworn I locked the door.”

  Alex stared for a long minute. “You do know this house is supposed to be haunted, right? Maybe the ghost has a key.”

  I laughed, then shrugged. “Or maybe I forgot to use mine. It was a bit of an eventful arrival.”

  We said our goodbyes and I watched him amble down the walk, Morgan prancing at his side as autumn leaves fluttered from the trees. Dappled sunlight traced lines of rippling gold along Alex’s head and shoulders. He turned and caught me staring, then lifted a hand.

  As I raised my own in return, Amelia appeared beside me. “When your life implodes, it does it in the best way possible. I mean, your Karma must be amazing.” She bumped her shoulder to mine. “This house is gorgeous. That man is gorgeous. That dog?”

  “Gorgeous?” My gaze returned to Alex as he crossed my yard into his.

  Amelia leaned her head against my shoulder. “Pretty much.”

  For the first time, I didn’t need tequila to wonder if she was right.

  Chapter Five

  Alex

  The moment I stepped into my neighbor’s house, my writer’s block dissipated, the thick clouds obscuring my creativity parted, and I could see.

  It was sublime and had been like that from day one.

  Toward the end of her life, Ruth told me that after she passed, Sugar Maple Hill would go to a family member she hadn’t seen in decades. The possibility of the house sitting vacant weighed on her, so she asked me to look after the place until the new owner arrived. I’d promised to take care of her home like it was my own, made a copy of the key, then checked in on the
woman several days a week.

  My days fell into a predictable pattern. Wake. Shower. Visit Mom, who’d spent a lonely life married to my mostly absent father and deserved to know she mattered. Peek in on my sister to make sure everything was moving smoothly on her end and she didn’t need anything. Then take Morgan for a walk on the beach, stopping to check on Ruth on our way home. She was a sweet woman, alone in the world save for a great niece she hadn’t seen since she was a child. Like my mother, Ruth deserved to know her existence mattered, and I did everything I could to bring that into focus.

  The routine eroded my mornings, but something about being in my neighbor’s house inspired me. When I’d leave Sugar Maple Hill, my head overflowed with plot and prose, and I’d spend the rest of the day transferring it to the page. But this morning, as I’d stood just inside the front door, my eyes locked on Evie, the effect multiplied. My characters…the plot points, setting, and backstory…they all screamed at me in a way I’d almost declared dead and gone.

  As a creature of habit, the run-in with my new neighbor should have derailed my day. Instead, I floated down her walk, mesmerized by the sunlight skittering over my feet. I felt her eyes on my back and sure enough, a glance over my shoulder showed her on the porch, in that ridiculous silk robe that hid nothing and highlighted everything.

  And I mean everything.

  I waved. She did too. Morgan huffed at a leaf with the audacity to fall to the ground in front of him and I practically clicked my heels together in happiness.

  The weight of her eyes on my back faded and I risked a peek. Her door clicked shut as I crossed the invisible line that delineated Ruth’s yard from mine—well…this wasn’t Ruth’s yard anymore, really. It belonged to Eveline McAllister, owner of silk robes and pert nipples. Friend to neo-hippies and trespassing dogs. Blonde hair. Gray eyes. A mesmerizing smile and an aura of—

  My phone rang, shattering my thoughts before they could go any further. I huffed a breath when I saw the name of the caller. “Good morning, Brighton,” I said to my agent while Morgan did his business and I stared at the world around me.

  Fall treated Wildrose Landing like a pampered socialite, dressing the town in designer gowns and jewels. I’d tried for years to capture in words the reds and golds of the leaves, the long slant to the sun, the crisp air, fresh and alive off the ocean. I failed every damn time. It didn’t matter how many bestsellers lists I hit, I wouldn’t consider myself a successful writer until I finally crystallized the essence of autumn in New England.

  “Is it a good morning, Alex?” Brighton’s snide voice broke through my thoughts. “Are you anywhere near a finished draft? If you aren’t, and let’s just say I’m pretty damn sure you aren’t, then this is not a good morning.” The woman had the aggression and tenacity of a pit fighter, something that worked in my favor, as long as I was on her good side.

  “Now see. About that. I have a bit of a dilemma—”

  “We have zero fucking time for dilemmas.” Brighton’s sharp tone made it clear I’d overstayed my welcome on her good side. “Grab your gear, sit your ass down in your dead neighbor’s house—”

  I rolled my eyes. “At least pretend to be decent and have respect.”

  Brighton loosed a long sigh. “Sorry. I’m…my nerves are frayed, Alex. I’ve asked for, and gotten might I add, three extensions on this project. We’re officially in danger of losing this contract. You’d have to return the advance. The scandal alone…” She sighed again and I imagined her leaning back in her office chair, pinching her nose and closing her eyes. “I know you’re busy doing the eccentric author thing, where you can only write in your deceased neighbor’s house, but you’ve officially found the end of everyone’s patience. Get your ass into that kitchen and get the words on the page.”

  “That’s where the dilemma comes in. The house is no longer vacant, Bri. Something I discovered when I used my key this morning and scared the new owner half to death.”

  And it was all worth it. My mind offered an image of Evie in her silk robe as proof. Yeah. Definitely worth it.

  “Okay.” Brighton did not sound like she cared one bit about this problem. “Now what?”

  “I don’t know. The words aren’t coming.” I shook my head as I turned my face toward the sky. How could I describe the frustration? The fear? How could I make her understand I was doing everything I could, and still got nowhere? “It’s like turning on an old TV and all you see is fuzz. I’m staring at fucking static all day long and trying to find the story in it. The one place my brain stopped glitching, even a little bit, was in my neighbor’s kitchen, and now someone lives there. What do you want me to do? Knock on a stranger’s door and ask if I can come over every day to finish a book?”

  “I don’t care what you do. Use your key and write while she’s asleep if you have to.”

  “I’m not breaking into my neighbor’s house while she’s asleep.”

  “Then make friends with her. Shit. Date her if that helps. Just finish the book. I’ve done my part, and I’ll keep doing it. As soon as we end this call, I’ll reach out to your publisher and ask for another extension. But hear me, Alex. It’s time for you to stop messing around and do your job.”

  The call ended, as did every ounce of inspiration I’d found.

  A normal person would have been joking when they suggested I break into Evie’s house. Brighton most certainly was not. “I’m not that guy,” I said to Morgan, who cocked his head as if to question the statement. “I’m not. Who in their right mind would do something like that? I’m not gonna date her either.” We jogged up the porch steps to the front door and I let us inside.

  As I unclipped Morgan’s leash and hung it on the hook near the door, I had to wonder. If I wouldn’t break into Evie’s house because duh, and I wouldn’t start a relationship of any kind with her just so I could get something I needed…what would I do?

  Chapter Six

  Evie

  Amelia strolled into the living room with a Cheshire Cat grin. She was up to something, and I suspected it had to do with a man who broke into my house at the buttcrack of dawn. “There actually isn’t any coffee in the kitchen.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “I do say. I just went in there to give you and sexy neighbor man some privacy. I mean, come on, if you didn’t believe in the universe dropping hints, you have to after a grand display like that.” Amelia gestured toward the door, then turned her focus to the living room in general. “This house is gorgeous in the daylight, by the way, and I think the sage worked. That creepy-crawly vibe is totally gone, don’t you think?”

  I had so many questions that wouldn’t organize themselves until caffeine hit my system. I said as much then wrapped my arms around my stomach as I realized I had no clue where to actually go to get coffee. Everything about Wildrose Landing was new and that scared me to death.

  “Don’t you worry about that, sweet thing.” Amelia waved her phone. “While you deepened your connection with Alex, I found a cute little cafe that serves coffee, then made a list of all the places we should explore, ending in a candy shop called Sweet Stuff. This town is utopia. I’d almost consider moving here too.”

  “I haven’t decided if I’m staying, yet.” The response was knee-jerk. A defense mechanism. Out before I had time to think about what I was saying.

  Amelia rolled her eyes. “I’ve decided for you. Believe me. You do not want to see how aggressive your spirit guides will get if you don’t take their hints. Shit gets real, sweetness. You’re moving. End of discussion.”

  Moving.

  What a strange concept. A week ago, I was happily employed, living on my best friend’s couch. Just a few days later, I was unemployed, living in a small town, in a house I owned but didn’t feel like mine.

  And worse, Amelia would be leaving me tomorrow.

  “I don’t think I can do this.”

  She frowned. “You can’t explore a quaint New England town in the height of autumn? We need to work on
this fearless thing more than I thought.”

  “No. I don’t think I can live here. Without you. Without a job. Without a plan.”

  “First of all, you’ll still have me. We’ll just video chat more than we used to. Second of all, maybe you could use all this time to actually pursue your dream and write. You have enough money in savings to support you for a little while. When that runs out, maybe you could sell some furniture or something.” She gestured around the living room. (Drawing room? Study? What room were we actually standing in?)

  I couldn’t write and she knew it, but bless her for trying to help me. “I’m suddenly realizing just how much about my life is going to change and it’s freaking me out a little. What am I gonna do?”

  The question was rhetorical, but Amelia folded her arms as she contemplated an answer. She was extreme and over the top, but she looked out for me like she thought it was her job and I loved her for it.

  “You’re going to say yes,” she said decisively.

  Her statement bounced off my head. Between king-sized, four poster beds, demons named Morgan, and hot neighbors who broke into my new house first thing in the morning, I had a lot going on. “Babe, what does that even mean?”

  Amelia moved into the middle of the room and held out her hands. “You’re going to look every opportunity in the eyes and say yes. You’ve been led here for a reason and I promise you, if you keep running away, you’ll end up learning your lessons the hard way.”

  “Amelia. Darling. I love you but it’s very important you hear me.” I put both hands on her shoulders and stared deep into her eyes. “It’s too freaking early for lessons from the universe.”

  Wildrose Landing proved just as quaint and eclectic as Amelia said it’d be. Set just off the coastline, the luscious, briny scent of the ocean filled the air. It combined with the sweetness of changing leaves. The comfort of oversized sweaters and the energy of the tides. Strangers waved as we passed. Shop owners stopped to introduce themselves. Apparently, our “not from around here status” was pretty much airbrushed on our foreheads.