HOLLY

“He looks familiar, doesn’t he?” Tiffany tosses her purse on the enormous fourposter bed and sits on the edge.

“Who?” I wander beside the built-in shelves that line the wall. This suite reminds me of a fairytale. The décor has a country feel to it, with shades of green, cream, and warm browns. All the furniture is built with actual wood rather than the fake pressed stuff from the cheap furniture sections at department stores.

“That guy. Down at the registration desk. He’s familiar.”

My fingers trace along the spines of several books, mostly classics. I stop when I find a familiar title. Christmas with her Cowboy. Right beneath the title is my name, and I immediately yank it from the shelf. My hand trails over the familiar cover of the book I wrote about a year ago. “I don’t believe it,” I murmur.

“What?” Tiffany’s voice jolts me from my thoughts, and I hold up the book.

“They have my book.” It’s impossible to contain my excitement. I sell enough to make a living, so clearly my books are on shelves throughout the country, but it’s different seeing it in person.

Tiffany takes the book from my hand and flips through the pages. “That’s cool. You should sign it.”

I laugh. “Yeah, right. I’m not gonna sign someone’s book if they don’t ask me to.”

My friend shrugs, placing the book back into my hand. “Suit yourself.” She wanders to the bed and bounces on its edge. “I’m ready to head out. We’ve been traveling for most of the day. It’s time to stretch our legs and do something fun.”

Of course. I should have known Tiffany wasn’t going to follow the rules. I only agreed to come under the condition that she give me space to write. Shooting her a pointed look, I slip off my backpack and let it thunk onto the desk that sits directly in front of a beautiful window. “You said you’d let me write, remember? Two hours a day at least.”

Tiffany groans. “But I didn’t think you meant the first day. Come on, you can’t just leave me hanging.”

There’s a knock on the door, and her bright eyes dart to meet mine. “You know who that is. Maybe Mr. Scott will come with us.”

“I just got out of a relationship. I don’t need a new one,” I insist as I retrieve my computer.

“You’re no fun,” Tiffany pouts. She shuffles toward the door and flings it open. Her voice lowers as she speaks to the guy.

Knowing Tiffany, I probably should be somewhat worried. She’s enlisted the help of strangers to get me out of my shell before. Nothing about this situation is any different.

“Sounds yummy. I’ll make sure we’ll be there.” Tiffany wheels her suitcase to the side and shuts the door. “They’re making roast for dinner. We’re invited. And after dinner, you’re coming ice skating with me.”

“Tiff, I can’t—”

“Oh, yes you can. Work on your story. Then we have dinner. Then we’re going out. No excuses.” She pushes her suitcase over to the bed and grunts as she lifts then drops it on the bouncy mattress.

The zipper sound breaks the silence, and she digs through her belongings.

I glance at the clock on the nightstand. Its red glowing numbers confirm that Tiffany’s plan would work.

Dang it.

If I want to make any headway with this project, I need to get to work and fast. Tiffany is still distracted with her clothes, so I snatch my computer and slip out the door. I’ll make no progress with Tiffany in the room. I need some peace and quiet.

The stairs head straight down, turning at a tight angle once they hit the second floor, then again on the main one. The rail looks like polished maple, old and beautiful. These days, designers lean hard into the modern look. It’s nice to see some of the old stuff has held up over the years. I pick up my pace, skipping down the last seven steps, and my feet land with a thud.

There is a nook in the front common area near the fireplace. It was something I noticed immediately, and I know it will be the perfect place to set up shop.

It’s quiet now. The reception desk is void of our handsome host who checked us in. I can’t help but be a little relieved. The guy came off as strange, to say the least. But then Tiff is a little strange, too.

A soft snicker travels up my throat as I consider how perfect the two of them could be together. They are both clearly extroverts. I will never understand why two people who have so much in common don’t end up together more often. In my romance novels, differences make for great conflict. But in real life?

Well, I just think it’s better for there to be some common ground.

Cole and I were practically perfect for each other. We had similar interests. We knew how to support each other. I saw my whole future with him, and then he let it all crumble.

I still can’t wrap my head around what went wrong. One day we were great, the next we weren’t. The ache in my head and my heart returns with a vengeance. It feels like I’m trying to run a marathon, but the oxygen is being stolen from my lungs. It’s becoming harder and harder to breathe.

I’m drowning.

“Seriously? I turn my back for one second, and you run away?”

I suck in a sharp breath, gasping as the air suddenly fills my lungs once more. Whipping my head around, I face Tiffany’s wrath. She glowers at me, her arms crossed tightly against her chest. “When you said you were going to work, I thought you were going to do it in our room so we could chat.”

Chat while writing? Fat chance. If I could roll my eyes without angering her further, I would.

Tiffany continues her tirade. “Imagine my surprise when I find I’m talking to myself.”

I bite back a smile despite the lingering ache in my chest. “Well, you are one of the best listeners I know.”

Tiffany rolls her eyes. “I mean it, Holly. We’re doing something fun tonight whether you want to or not. It’s time to stop moping. It’s been almost four weeks.”

“Yeah, I know,” I mutter. As much as I hate it, Tiffany’s right. If the roles were flipped, I’d be saying the same thing. I nod at her. “Ice skating after dinner.”

Her expression brightens. “Good.” She glances at her smart watch. “The timer has started. You’ve got two hours, and then I’ll be back.”

Tiffany heads to the door, pulls it open with an excruciating screech, and shuts it.

I lean back in the window seat, attempting to get comfortable. My lightweight computer sits on my lap, the word processor open. The cursor blinks accusingly at me. I was supposed to have my outline done months ago, but dating Cole took so much of my time, I figured I’d take care of it when I started the book.

Now, I can’t come up with a single plot idea.

I dig my fingers into my hair, and my head thumps against the nook’s wall. The deadline is in two weeks. My editor is going to have my hide if I don’t give her a full manuscript. It shouldn’t be this hard to come up with something. I glare at the blank page as if it’s the one at fault here, when I know perfectly well I’m the problem.

“Working hard?”

I jump, staring up at the handsome face that floats a few feet away. My eyes narrow, and I bite back a groan. “That’s gotta be the worst pickup line in the history of pickup lines.”

Mr. Scott’s hands are shoved deep into his pockets, and he rocks back on the heels of his hiking boots. “In my defense, you’ve been staring at that blank screen for going on thirty minutes.”

I gasp, my eyes seeking out the clock in the corner of the screen. How has it been thirty minutes already?

He inches a little closer. “You know, you might get a bit more work done if you take a break.”

“How about you stick to giving advice about running a B&B while I stick to what I’m good at?”

His lips quirk upward at the corners, and two small dimples appear in his cheeks. His brown hair is a little longer than I prefer, curling slightly at the ends around his ears and the back of his neck. The scruff on his jawline makes him far more rugged than he has any right to be. But it’s his green eyes that have captured my attention. They’re what those beautiful pine trees are made of. All he needs is a plaid, flannel shirt and an ax, and he’d make the perfect character for one of my books.

I swallow and shove those intruding thoughts out of my head. “Well?”

He tilts his head. “Well, what?”

“Why are you still here? I’m working.”

His lips press together, and he shakes his head, albeit a little slower than normal. “No, you’re not.”

I groan. “I’m trying to work. Can you just let me be?”

He shrugs. “Sure. I’ll get some paperwork done while we wait for dinner.” He wanders toward the reservation desk. I can feel his eyes on me, and as much as I try to avoid glancing in his direction, I fail miserably.

Tiffany is right. He does look familiar. But I can’t place him either. He probably has one of those faces.

The irritation returns when I turn back to my computer. My mind has been blocked since Thanksgiving. Nothing I’ve done has fixed it. A break isn’t going to help matters. It’s going to take away from the time I do have to get my work done. But the longer I sit here, the worse it becomes.

“What did you say you do?”

I don’t even bother looking up. I know he’s talking to me. The guy really is as bad as Tiffany. “I’m an author.”

“Oh? What do you write?”

My thoughts return to my copy of the book upstairs. There’s no way he would make the connection even if I say my full name. A previous guest must have left that book here. “I doubt you would have read my stuff.”

“I don’t know. I read quite a bit.”

I snort. “That might be true, but chances are incredibly slim you read historical romances.”

He’s quiet for a moment or two—long enough for me to glance in his direction. And I immediately regret doing so. His curious gaze draws me in like a twister. Everything around me is spinning, and I’m completely trapped by his gaze. He smiles at me once more. “I think I’ve read a few of those. If you don’t believe me, there are several books in the room you’re staying in.”

The sharp breath I suck in betrays me in the most unreasonable way. A little droplet of spit goes down the wrong pipe and lodges itself painfully. The coughing fit that ensues has me nearly doubling over. When I finally get it to stop, I gape at the man before me. “Those books are yours?”

“Of course they are. Who else would they belong to?”

“I don’t know. I figured guests might have left them behind.”

“That’s a reasonable assumption, I suppose. But it would be wrong. I can assure you I’ve read every single book in that room. I’m a very…what’s the word?”

“Voracious?” The term slips from my lips before I can stop it.

He snaps his fingers. “That’s it. I’m a voracious reader.” His eyes dip to the computer I hold in my lap. “You sure you don’t want to take a break? There’s this amazing bakery down the street. I guarantee you haven’t lived until you’ve tried Eva’s gingerbread cookies. That’s what this place is named for.”

Eva?

A strange sort of feeling overcomes me.

Jealousy?

No, that’s not it. Curiosity, maybe?

Either way, something about the way he lights up when he talks about this place piques my interest. I have an hour left before Tiffany is due to return. Before I realize what I’m saying, I murmur, “Sure. That actually sounds fun.”