by Cat Johnson
“It is. I finally started it. I came up with a concept I’m excited about and knocked out a whole chapter.”
“Tonight? In the hour I was downstairs cleaning up?” I asked.
“Yup.” Wide awake now, she beamed with pride.
“But it, uh, looks like some sort of a murder mystery.”
“I'm trying something new.” She grinned. “It’s still romance but leaning toward small town contemporary women's fiction.”
“But it looks like your female character is a murderer? So she's bad?”
“She’s not really bad. She only kills people who deserve it.”
“And the guy she kills—the one who is giving online advice to the townspeople—deserves to die?” I asked, trying to sound casual when I felt anything but.
“Well, he did a lot of other bad stuff in the past that she found out about. And he's also the one who stole his enemy’s campaign signs.”
“Wow. You don't stray too far from reality for your plots, do you?”
She giggled. “No. Why should I? Sometimes this town is so messed up, it's better than fiction. Come on. Seriously. I couldn’t make up some of the stuff that happens around here.”
“I thought you liked living in Mudville.”
“I do. There's a very fine line between love and hate. You know that, baby. But not all the secrets this town is hiding are bad. Did you know that Dee and Agnes knew Gloria Steinem? Or that Dee worked with Ruth Bader Ginsberg?”
“Uh, no. I didn’t.”
“It’s pretty amazing.”
Harper looked so excited I decided I’d better google Gloria Steinem later.
“Uh, but back to the book. Are your readers going to be okay with you changing things up so much? I mean it’s about a woman who kills a bunch of the men in town.”
“Yes, it is. But the killer is the antagonist. The first chapter is a prologue to set the scene. The heroine I’m going to introduce in the next chapter is an amateur sleuth who will investigate and solve the murders.”
“Oh. Still, the whole concept is a bit dark for you, don’t you think? It’s definitely different than your usual stuff.”
“Maybe a little. It’s not too far from my usual romantic comedy. Just more of a black comedy. Besides, after not having any good ideas for what felt like a month, finally, I got inspired.”
“And what was it, exactly, that inspired you tonight?” I feared I knew the answer.
“All the many and creative ways I imagined killing Anonymous after checking the forum.” She grinned.
I swallowed. My mouth dry I managed to eke out an, “Oh.”
“Come to bed, baby” she purred. Sultry. Enticing.
Any other night I’d have been naked and on top of her already.
Yet here I still stood, next to the laptop with the murder book inspired by Anonymous, all while the incriminating truth that I was the man she wanted to kill bounced around in my brain.
I shook myself out of my own head and reached for the bottom of my T-shirt to pull it over my head.
I’d tell her. One day. Probably. Maybe. But my confession wasn’t going to happen tonight. Not with my girl looking at me the way she was now.
I crawled into bed and got to work trying to drive the memory of that chapter out of both our heads.
Sex with Harper was always good. Tonight it had an edge to it. She was . . . wild. Intense. Different.
When our encounter left me sweaty and exhausted, I had to wonder if it was plotting Anonymous’s death that was responsible for Harper's enthusiasm.
It was with that disturbing thought that I finally fell to sleep next to Harper with one arm around her and the other wrapped around the covers so she couldn't steal them.
Hours later, I woke in the dark room, cold and half uncovered.
I glanced at the clock and saw it was near dawn.
If I got up now I would have time for coffee and breakfast before starting work. If I closed my eyes again, I wouldn’t wake up for another hour at least and feel like shit having to drag my ass out of bed and rush to the farm.
Decision made, I slipped out of bed and dressed by the glow of the night light. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and was about to slip it into my pocket and kiss Harper goodbye when I noticed the notification on the cell’s display.
It was a notification from the Mudville forum.
Were the nuts on there private messaging their problems to me now? Or had Harper messaged Anonymous to deliver her displeasure in private?
Either way it was clear, I needed to delete my account. That would solve so many problems for me. Mainly, Harper’s issues with Anonymous and my having to confess I was the man behind the account.
Too curious to wait to see who’d contacted me, I opened the message while standing there in the dark next to the bed where Harper still slept.
I frowned when I saw the message was from the local paper, the Mudville Inquisitor.
Some editor wanted to speak with me. Actually, they wanted to meet with the person behind the Anonymous account. Today if possible. In person. Because they had a proposal for me.
Two thoughts hit me. First, what the hell was this about? Second, that I might never know what they wanted because there was no way in hell I was attending that meeting.
TWELVE
Harper
I’d always thought the idea of a Christmas wedding was so romantic.
The festive decorations. The twinkling lights. The holiday spirit that abounds naturally at that time of year, compounded by the joy of the happy couple’s nuptials.
I felt none of that joy now as I sat with Red at Honey Buns while Bethany prepared for Boone and Sarah to arrive.
They were coming to settle the final details for their wedding cake.
Even the big dollop of cream cheese icing I’d just swiped off my cupcake and popped into my mouth wasn’t helping my mood at the moment.
It was as if Boone, like the Grinch, had stolen Christmas from my little corner of Mudville. It wasn’t the holiday keeping almost everyone I knew crazed and busy. Instead, it was this wedding.
Morgan’s Farm Market Christmas tree lot was going to be used for the ceremony, and the preparations to get it ready added hours to Stone’s usual workday.
Even Bethany’s selection of baked goods available today had been dictated by what she’d made for the wedding cake tasting. I was just lucky Boone and Sarah chose to taste the red velvet or I’d have been screwed out of my one joy.
And even Red was obsessed. She’d taken on outfitting Sarah with the perfect vintage bridal outfit, even if it meant searching through piles of dusty old clothes at a vintage clothing shop in the next town.
And here I was, unhappy and bitter and hating myself for feeling this way. I hated myself as much as they would all hate me if they knew how I secretly felt.
I managed to put on a happy face about the wedding, but I didn’t feel it. Not deep down in my heart where it mattered.
Obviously, I was a horrible person.
A Christmas wedding. It was magical. A freaking perfect Hallmark movie moment. I should be thrilled to be involved, even peripherally, in such a happy occasion.
Why wasn’t I happy?
Maybe because when I’d thought about Christmas weddings in past, it had been while imagining my own nuptials. Not the marriage of my boyfriend’s youngest brother.
It could just boil down to simple envy. Heck, after two years of dating I’d only now gotten Stone to willingly start spending the whole night with me.
Until now, I’d thought I’d been happy with our relationship.
No. I was happy.
I mean, not dancing on rainbows while riding a unicorn kind of happy, but I was definitely content.
I loved Stone.
Yes, some of the thrill of being new to each other had gone. But with that went all the pressure. The angst.
Things were comfortable between us. I could wear my old comfy PJs with him.
He’d se
en me at my worst—stressed while fighting a deadline, not showered, in a ponytail while wearing the same clothes for three days—and he loved me anyway.
Things were good. Solid.
He did his thing, working on the farm with his brothers, and doing manly stuff like hunting and fishing and drinking beer.
I did my own thing, writing and hanging out with Red and Bethany.
Then we did the couple thing together, going to football games, followed by more private things together later.
Our relationship was fine . . . we were fine . . . until I looked at our relationship through the lens of Boone and Sarah’s whirlwind romance and engagement.
In two years, we’d never discussed the future. Marriage. Living together. Nothing.
The comparison made me question the strength—and the future—of my relationship with Stone.
“I have to say, I’m a little jealous of that tasting plate you made up.” Red’s comment dragged me out of my own misery.
I glanced up from my plate and saw her eyes focused on the tasting platter Bethany was assembling in preparation of Sarah and Boone’s arrival.
Bethany rolled her eyes. “Red, you’ve had all of these cupcakes, more than once.”
That might be accurate, but I still had to agree with Red. The selection looked amazing. And after the past few weeks I’d had, I was ready to hunker down in front of the tray and do some stress-eating.
“I guess I have.” Red shrugged. “But somehow seeing all those different flavors of miniature cupcakes lined up like that on one plate makes them seem even more exciting.”
“Red’s right, Bethany. Those tiny cupcakes are adorable. Maybe you need to offer a tasting selection of them for regular customers. I know I could happily work my way through all of them.” I snorted. “Maybe that’s exactly what I need. To binge on some comfort food. My anxiety level lately has been through the roof.”
“Is Stone’s campaign stressing you out?” Bethany guessed.
“That too.” I nodded. “But mostly it’s the Mudville forum.”
I’d become completely obsessed. Instead of writing my book, I stalked the online board. For hours at a time. Getting more and more angry at every post and comment. Then refreshing and looking for new ones.
“Why are you stressing over the community forum?” Red asked.
“That damn guy, Anonymous. Not only do his posts get insane levels of engagement, when I’m getting none, not even one question, but now people are starting to call him Mister Naughty.”
Bethany paused in the midst of placing a pink-iced cupcake on the plate. “Mister Naughty? How did that happen?”
“I guess it started because I commented on so many of his posts as Ms. Naughty.”
“Why are you commenting on his posts?” Red frowned.
“I have to chime in with my own advice after he’s given his, don’t I? He’s even telling men what women want in bed now. A man. Giving advice about what women want. Don’t you think that’s horrifying?” I widened my eyes and looked from one to the other, waiting for them to be equally appalled.
“Um, yeah,” Red agreed.
“Well, is it at least good advice he gives them?” Bethany asked.
“No. But that doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t presume to give it.”
“I guess.” Bethany turned back to get another cupcake while Red looked completely focused on peeling the paper off her cupcake.
“Anyway,” I continued. “I guess some people noticed my name on the forum was Ms. Naughty. And since Anonymous and I never agree, the commenters started to take sides. It all began when one idiot commented that he wasn’t going to listen to Ms. Naughty. That he’d only take advice from Mister Naughty.”
Red bit her lip as I thought I saw a smile threaten to sneak out. I narrowed my eyes at her.
She scrambled to say, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh. But you should be happy. I can’t imagine this guy—whoever he is—is thrilled to be called Mister Naughty. I doubt he’s enjoying it any more than you are. This is a good thing.”
“I don’t think it’s a good thing. I was building that as my brand. Now that a bunch more people started to call him Mister Naughty too, that plan is ruined. It’s become more his brand than mine now, whether he likes it or not. Whoever he is.”
Ugh! That man made me so mad.
I couldn’t help my bottom lip sticking out in a pout as I pressed one finger against the few crumbs remaining on the plate and licked them off.
“Well, think of it this way. All the interaction you’re getting by commenting on his posts will get more people to know you. In fact, I bet you’ll start getting people asking you advice any day now.” Red lifted her gaze to the counter where Bethany stood. “Don’t you think so, Bethany?”
Bethany glanced up from her work and met Red’s stare. “Um, yeah. I think you’re right. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you got your first question soon. Today even.”
I screwed up my mouth unhappily. “I hope so but I don’t know.”
The whole endeavor was depressing. Failure often was. I should just quit. I was about to tell them I was thinking about doing exactly that, walking away from the forum and Mister Naughty, when the bell above the door tinkled.
I glanced up and saw the other thing that had been depressing me lately—and immediately felt guilty for thinking it.
Boone held Sarah’s hand as he opened the door for her. They both beamed.
It was like they glowed with a halo of love. It encircled them. Like there was too much to be contained inside, so it had to seep out and follow them around . . . and just the sight of them put me in a bad mood.
This was crazy. I should be happy for Boone and Sarah.
I was happy. I loved Boone like my own brother. I wanted him to be happy. Even old man Buck with his cataracts would be able to see Boone had never been happier than he was with Sarah.
And even though I didn’t know Sarah all that well, when we’d spent time together, we got along well. I always enjoyed spending time with someone I could talk marketing with.
So that was it then. I was done feeling sorry for myself. Done being depressed that I wasn’t the one planning the fairytale forest Christmas wedding at Morgan Farm.
I was finished being envious that I wouldn’t soon be legally a member of the Morgan family like Sarah.
I would be thrilled for Boone and Sarah . . . and worry about if there was something wrong with my relationship with Stone later. After the wedding. And after my deadline.
Boone grinned from ear to ear as he steered Sarah toward our table. “Hey. Look who’s here. Did you all come for our cake tasting?”
“No. That was just a lucky coincidence. Yay.” I smiled and honestly did my best to feel it.
“I’m glad we are here though,” Red said. “Sarah, I have something at the shop to show you. I think it would be perfect for your wedding ensemble.”
“Okay,” the brunette nodded. “I cleared my schedule for the whole day today so I’ve got all the time you need.”
“Perfect. Wait until you see it. It’s a vintage Irish wool cape. Ivory-colored with the most beautiful white embroidered details. I think it will look amazing over your wedding dress.”
“And it might keep me from freezing during the December outdoor ceremony.” Sarah laughed.
Boone shook his head. “I told you we could have the ceremony inside.”
“No.” The woman, obviously completely in love with him, squeezed Boone’s hand. “I think it will be beautiful outside. But I am glad Red found me that cape to go over my dress.”
“Speaking of dresses, does this mean I can’t come with you to Red’s, because I’m not supposed to see what you’re wearing before the wedding?” he asked, looking a little crestfallen.
“Oh, no. You can come with her,” Red said. “But while she’s inside trying on the cape over her dress, you can be loading the sleigh that’s in my garage into the back of your truck. You need to take it over to
the tree lot at the farm market. The Rotary wants to use the sleigh for the Winter Wonderland Santa fundraiser.”
“Hmm. So you’re putting me to work for the Rotary, are you?” Boone cocked up a brow.
“You’re doing it for me too. Red showed it to me and we decided the sleigh is going to be amazing as a prop for our wedding pictures,” Sarah said.
“Oh, all right. I guess, in that case, I can move it over. No problem.” He winked at Red, clearly joking before he leaned in and kissed Sarah. “And I’d do anything for you. You know that.”
“Aw, aren’t they sweet?” Red asked.
As Boone rested his forehead against Sarah’s, my stomach twisted.
“Sweeter than Bethany’s honey buns,” I agreed and almost succeeded in keeping the edge out of my tone.
I drew in a breath and fought the feelings within me. My new vow to not be envious wasn't working out so great so far.
Bethany carried the tasting tray over to the empty table next to us and set it down, along with napkins and two plates. “Whenever you’re ready, it’s all set for you.”
Thank goodness. Sarah and Boone had to get busy deciding on a wedding cake flavor. That should curtail the discussion about vintage Irish capes and storybook-worthy horse drawn sleigh rides to the fairytale forest wedding vows, which all sounded absolutely lovely.
Perfect, actually. Exactly what I would want . . . if it were my wedding.
I was trying. I really was. But in my whole life I’d never felt so . . . sad, for lack of a better word, while watching two people be so joyous.
No wonder I was having so much trouble writing lately. Hard to write romance when my heart wasn’t in it. Wondering if I’d ever have what Boone and Sarah had, realizing I might not get my own happy ending, wasn’t conducive to writing happy endings for my characters.
What if that man-and-wife-’til-death-do-you-part kind of forever wasn’t what Stone wanted? What was I going to do? He was the man I loved.
Could I be happy with less? Could I be content with what we had and no more, just to be with him?
“Harper.”
“Hmm?” I glanced up at Red.