“Right, Zoe. Got it.”
“Yes, Zoe.” I pounded my password into my Mac instead of making eye contact with whoever he was.
“I’m—”
Lou stepped out with another plate of her amazing cookies and a pitcher of ice-cold sweet tea. “I see you two have already met. Isn’t this exciting, two authors at The Inn at the same time? Why, the two of ya might could write something together.”
“You’re an author?”
He tipped his head. “So I’m told.”
“Daniel here writes science fiction books. Working on something new right now. That’s why he came here, to work on his latest novel, right?”
“That’s right, ma’am.”
“I told him you two might could sit out here and write together, maybe share a few writer stories. Said you might even share a cookie or two with him. Maybe.”
“Are you published?”
“I am. You?”
“Why ‘course she’s published. She’s Zoe Mayfield, bestselling author of what they call rom coms, romantic comedies, like the movies, but in books. Already has ten out and is working on the next one while she’s here. All of them have been New York Times bestsellers, too.”
I blushed. “Lou, please. You make me sound so much better than I am.”
“But it’s all true, so you are that good. Don’t sell yourself short, missy. Now Daniel, he’s still new to the game, so maybe you can show him the ropes. You know, help him out and teach him a thing or two about the business.”
“Are you traditionally or self-published?” I asked.
“I’m with an Indie publisher. Big time author like you probably never heard of it.”
“Try me.”
He mentioned one I wasn’t familiar with. “You’re right, I’ve never heard of them. What’s your last name? I’ll check out your writing on Amazon.”
“Oh, please. I hate that. Besides, I write under a pen name. I thought it was best that way.”
“Interesting.”
Lou chose a cookie from the plate and addressed Daniel. “Now why don’t you go on and get yourself situated, and when you’re ready, I’ll call you two down for dinner.”
“That’s a mighty fine idea, ma’am.” He smiled my direction and headed back into the house.
“You might could do that man a world of good.”
“Sci-fi really isn’t my genre.”
“Well, even so, he’s a looker. Wouldn’t hurt to spend some time with him anyway.”
“I’m not all that interested in fostering any romantic relationships at the moment. Besides, I really have to get this book finished. It’s already two months late.”
“Oh dear, and I’m not helpin’ with that now, am I? Let me let you get movin’. Lordy bee.”
“Thanks for the treats.”
She waved as she scooted back into The Inn.
A few minutes later Daniel returned with his laptop. He stood just behind me and to my right. “Hmm. That’s interesting.”
“What?”
“What you’ve got that Nate guy saying.”
“What do you mean by interesting?”
He bent down and ran his finger across my screen, pinpointing the area he wanted to discuss. “Is the character, um, how should I put this?” He rubbed the top of his index finger under his chin.
“How about you put it quickly and bluntly? I’ve got to get this thing finished.”
He nodded. “Okay, does this Nate guy have a pair or what?”
“Excuse me?”
“Charisma, it’s called love, and it’s the greatest feeling in the world. Really? What guy says that kind of thing?”
“Uh, Jack Nicholson. ‘You make me want to be a better man,’ in As Good As It Gets, for starts.” I pressed my lips together. “And who can forget this one. ‘Nobody puts baby in a corner.’ That was Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing. Shall I continue?”
He put his laptop between his knees and held up his palms. “No, no. I’m sorry. You’re right. My bad.”
He walked over to the other side of the extended upper porch, just far enough away from me to not be a bother, but still within earshot and not out of view, and sat.
“What publisher did you say you’re with?” he asked.
“I don’t believe I did.”
“Ah.”
He tapped away on his laptop. “Oh, nice. That’s one of the top five. And your books are doing well on Amazon. Looks like you’re exactly what Lou said. I’m impressed.”
“Some might think it’s rude to check out another author when you won’t allow the same courtesy.”
“I didn’t realize this was a competition.”
“It’s not. It’s just rude.”
He hit the keys on his computer, unplugged it from the wall and carried it to me. “Here you go, full disclosure.”
I glanced through the pages on his website. “Not too bad. Looks like you could use some better keywords and maybe a reader magnet. Your publisher set this up?”
“I used a freelancer. What’s a reader magnet? Like I said, ma’am, I’m pretty new to all of this.”
I explained how a free book works to draw new readers into his fan base.
“And please, don’t call me ma’am. I’m not eighty.”
“Yes, ma’—Ah, got it. I’m still pretty new at this stuff. My publisher is pretty small. They don’t do a lot for me. Most don’t, especially for authors like me. Your kind, that’s different. You’re golden to your publishers.”
“Excuse me? What’s that supposed to mean?” I shoved his laptop toward his stomach. “I take my job very seriously, thank you. As a matter of fact, I’m seriously behind on my deadline. I’ve got my editor riding my butt to get this book done, and my agent breathing down my neck too. It’s two months late, and if it’s not finished in the next few weeks, I could lose my publishing contract. So, no, I am not golden.”
He used his laptop as a shield. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought, you know, because you’re with one of the big five, and your books are in the double digits on Amazon, that you’re treated like a queen. I didn’t realize...”
“That I’m under a lot of pressure? Well, I am, and I apologize for being rude, but I really need to get this book done.”
“Understood.” He sauntered back to his side of the porch, his beat up brown cowboy boots clicking on the wood with each step. My eyes locked on his butt, entranced with the way it shifted up and down and left and right as his legs lifted off the floor. When I caught myself gawking, I shook my head and focused back on my novel.
Charisma couldn’t help but stare as Nate strolled in front of her. The fit of his faded jeans, perfectly cut to match the shape of his lean legs and tight behind, the way his boots echoed in her head each time they hit the ground…her heart nearly exploded, and it wasn’t the only thing ready to explode. Desire overwhelmed her. She wanted him, needed him. Now.
Woah. Where’d that come from? I kept at it, my fingers swimming along the keyboard faster and faster, like the good old days. Seconds, minutes, maybe even an hour passed, until I stopped from a paralyzing pinky cramp in my left hand. I stood, stretched, manipulated my hand as much as possible, and did a few laps on the deck to get my blood flowing again.
I paced, lost in my thoughts. Should Charisma rush to Nate’s side or should she lag behind and continue to gape at the sight of his perky, hot buns? Of course, I wasn’t paying attention and didn’t see the dip in the flooring, lost my balance and tumbled forward, arms flailing in front of me as I unsuccessfully tried to stop myself from crashing onto porch, which I did, with a booming thud.
I rolled onto my back. “Ouch.”
Daniel bent down on one knee and repeated that quirky, flirtatious smirk again. I wanted to reach up and run the tips of my fingers over the wrinkles on his forehead. “How you doin’ down there, big shot?”
Lou burst through the French doors onto the porch. “Well lawdy be, what happened here? Sounde
d like the bottom fell outta the porch or somethin’.”
Daniel and I made eye contact, but I broke it right away. His mouth stayed straight as a steel rod, except for the right corner which twitched ever so slightly. A giggle tickled the back of my throat, nudging its way up, and forcing me to smash my lips together. I fought it, but its strength won, and the giggle exploded into a contagious laughter, and Daniel leaned back and laughed along. His laugh, a deep, throaty, from the gut chuckle that made Lou giggle and me guffaw more, so much more I snorted, and Zoe snorts sounded worse than pig snorts. Much, much worse.
Daniel and Lou stopped laughing, and I of course, snorted one more time.
They froze, gawking at me, slack jawed. I raised myself up into a sitting position and fussed with my long, brown curls. “What? You’ve never heard a woman snort before? Happens all the time. Geez."
Daniel moved his hand toward my face, but I swatted it away. “What?”
He brought his hand back to my face again and swiped his thumb across the bottom of my lip. “You’ve got something here.”
Our eyes met.
I licked my lips. “Oh.”
“Well then, I think I’ll just scoot on outta here. Looks like you two got things handled just fine.”
Daniel broke the connection and acknowledged Lou. “Thank you, ma’am, I think we’re fine.”
He offered me a hand and pulled me from the floor. I adjusted my shirt and played with my curls some more, trying hard not to look him in the eye again. “Uh, thank you. I don’t know what happened.”
He crouched down and ran his hand along the wood planks on the porch floor. His slender, long fingers were golden as if he’d spent years in the sun, only they lacked the dry, scaly texture common with sun damaged skin. “I do. Looks like one of the planks is warped.” He pushed himself up and wiped his hands on his jeans. “I’ll make sure to mention it to Stan. I’m sure he and Lou wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt on it.”
“Yes, I’m sure.” I bowed my head and fiddled with my hands. “Well, I…I really should get back to my book. I’m…I’m…”
“Late getting it to your editor?”
I pointed up at him. “Yes, that.”
He smiled. “Yes, you need to get writing if you want to keep on being a bestselling author, and I must get to my book if I want to reach that status.”
“Absolutely.”
I strolled back to my seat, my eyes glued to the wood planks so I wouldn’t embarrass myself again.
* * *
Lou prepared the most amazing traditional southern dinner, and I ate so much, I considered asking Stan to use the pulley to get me to back to my room. After finishing three pieces of perfectly fried chicken, two extra large chunks of freshly made, just from the pan cornbread, a heaping scoop of extra buttered and heavily brown sugared mashed sweet potatoes, corn and black bean salad and two, yes, two servings or Georgia peach cobbler with big scoops of vanilla bean ice cream, I had a food baby bigger than that women who gave birth to eleven babies at once.
My stomach rumbled, and I knew I’d done a very bad thing. Daniel shared my table and chose then to ask me a million questions about my publisher. I struggled to focus on his questions when the gurgling in my gut echoed inside me.
“What kind of pre-release marketing do they do for you?”
I crossed my legs and leaned forward, which probably wasn’t the smartest decision on my part. “What do you mean?” I sucked in my stomach, but nothing moved. That wasn’t a good sign.
He poured himself another glass of wine. “Like with reviews. Do they help you get them before your books are released, or is that something you set up?”
I shifted in my seat, hoping that would calm the rumbling. “They submit them to a few companies like Kirkus, Netgalley, and Publishers Weekly. They send out ARCs, too. That kind of thing.” I sipped my water hoping it would calm my stomach, but it only proceeded to fill it more. I desperately needed to burp but of course, didn’t.
“Reviews are challenging for small press publishers. They send out ARCs but really, that doesn’t always guarantee a review. They’d like me to have a street team, but I’m a guy. Guys don’t really do that kind of thing, you know?”
“I understand.” And, I did. The whole street team concept seemed female in nature to me. “I imagine it’s hard to market your books online, being a guy.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I think I should be offended.”
I nearly blushed. “Oh, no. I don’t mean to be offensive. It’s just that so many online groups are focused on women readers, and really, it’s women that publishers focus on, so all your street team efforts would be female focused, and that would probably be a little odd for you I’d think.” I shifted in my seat again, and the move gave my stomach a bit of relief.
“It is. They want gift bags and certificates for massages, and I’d want to give away cases of beer and football game tickets.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Those probably wouldn’t go over as well as the massages.”
He drank the last bit of his wine and refilled his glass. “Probably not.”
“Though I do love a good college football game.”
“Go Dawgs.”
“I’ll drink to that,” I said, and held up my water glass.
We clinked our glasses together, his wine and my water, and my stomach growled. I prayed he didn’t hear it.
“I’m sorry, but I need to get upstairs. I’m not feeling well at the moment.”
He stood, crossed to my side of the table, and offered me his hand. “No, no. I understand. You ate quite a bit for someone your size.”
“I think you just called me a pig.”
He blushed, and it was absolutely adorable. “I…I, uh…I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant you have a healthy appetite for a—“
I stopped him before he dug himself deeper into a hole. “It’s okay. I think I get the point.”
He placed his hand on my shoulder and then massaged the side of my arm with his thumb, and electrical sparks tingled down to my fingertips. “Is there anything I can do?”
I dug my palm into my stomach, partly to elevate my digestive issue but also to calm the butterflies his touch had just awoken. “No, thank you.” I forced myself not to run for the stairs, and walked as elegantly as possible, wanting to appear cool and collected, not jittery and quite possibly on the verge of an intestinal explosion. I didn’t turn around, but I sensed Daniel’s eyes burning into me as I disappeared up to my suite.
I mimicked Mt. Vesuvius in the pink and white bathroom, and I felt horrible for desecrating the tranquility of the themed room, but my insides thanked me for it.
I allowed myself plenty of time to freshen up, change into a cute fall sweater, and then headed back downstairs for a hot cup of cocoa. Shannon would have called me a glutton for punishment, her grandmother’s favorite saying. My heart ached when I thought of her. Why did I torture myself like that? She’d never been my real friend.
“Feeling better?” Daniel asked. He’d beat me to a cup of cocoa.
“I am. I’m sorry for rushing out on you.”
“I would have too after saying the things I’d said.”
I smiled. “You did call me a pig didn’t you?”
“Not intentionally. Can I make it up to you?”
“That depends on how you plan to.”
“How about a walk? Stan says the grounds are beautiful at night.”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Lou said. “Let me just get these in some to-go cups.” She all but grabbed Daniel’s cocoa from his hand and hurried back to the kitchen.
We waited in an almost uncomfortable silence that Daniel was about to fill when Lou returned with Styrofoam cups filled with our hot cocoa. “Here ya go. All warmed up and ready for that nice romantic walk.” She smiled big enough to show us every one of her crooked teeth. To not love the woman was impossible.
I sipped the creamy chocolate drink. It was heavenly. “Thank you.
It’s delicious.” And it was. I’d likely return back home ten pounds heavier.
Daniel patted his firm middle. “I’m glad I won’t be here much longer. I can’t afford this kind of diet.” He returned the toothy smile; only his view offered straight pearly whites. If his writing career didn’t work, he definitely had a future as a dental ad model. He wrapped his fingers around my arm. “Shall we?”
The darn butterflies took flight again. I begged them to stop, to go back to their cocoon, to wait out the storm until I was ready, because I definitely wasn’t ready. My heart hadn’t yet healed from the cheating and break up with Chad, how could it possibly feel anything for someone else?
We stepped outside and the view stopped us in our tracks.
“Wow.”
“Amazing, isn’t it?” He asked.
I spun around, taking in the scope of the dark sky, admiring each of the millions of white, twinkling lights shining down on us. “It really is. I can’t see any of this from my place in Morningside. The city lights hide it all.”
“I know. I miss this.”
“You’re from here?”
“Dahlonega, so not too far, but the view is the same. Check that out.” He pointed to a grouping of stars. That’s the constellation Cassiopeia.”
I squinted, but couldn’t quite see what he saw. “Where exactly?”
He positioned himself behind me, placed his right hand on my right hip, and held my left hand in his. I instinctively leaned back into him, resting my head into his chest. He used my index finger and traced the shape of a poorly printed W in the sky. “Right there. Follow our fingers.” Our hands moved together in the W pattern four times, and I didn’t breathe once. “Do you see it?”
“Hmm hmm.” I could barely get that out.
He lowered our hands and wrapped them around my waist. “A Greek astronomer named Ptomely named the constellation after a mythological queen with the same name. The story is she thought she was the most beautiful woman ever, but if you saw the drawings of her, she wasn’t all that attractive. I think she just had a big ego.”
The Inn at Laurel Creek: Zoe & Daniel's Story Page 2