Chapter 2

Trevor Jones leaned back in his chair and watched the newbie fidget in the chair. She didn’t look completely terrified to the core of her soul, but close.

Of the people he knew who were writers, many were shy and didn’t do well in groups or social settings. The saying that writing was a solitary profession was very true. It took a long time to write a book, and most of that time had to be spent alone in order to concentrate. Very few people could do it. But of those who could, often it was because that person preferred to be alone than in a social setting. He wondered if Zella was one of those people who didn’t interact well with others.

Watching Zella almost cower as Sheila offered her extra copies of Sasha’s first and second chapters, he thought that might be true. Unlike himself. While he was far from the life of the party, he enjoyed going out and doing things with friends—when he had time, which often was nonexistent between deadlines and the day job.

The hard facts of the writing life were that until a writer had a few bestsellers under his belt, he needed another income to keep a roof over his head and food on the table. Which meant rich parents, a supportive spouse, or a day job to pay the bills until the next royalty check. Or all of the above.

Trevor didn’t have rich parents or a wife to help support him as he made his uphill climb, but according to his agent, he was almost at the point he could quit his day job—or at least take a few years off—to write full-time. Not yet, but he was close.

Unless he didn’t make his next deadline. Then it would all be over. The day job wouldn’t be a choice, it would be a necessity.

“Okay,” Sheila said as she straightened her pile of paper. “Let’s get started. Patty, do you want to go first?”

Instead of paying as much attention as he should have to comments the group made on Sasha’s latest project, Trevor focused on Zella.

As the only one who hadn’t previously read the chapter, Zella was at a distinct disadvantage, yet she managed to chime in once or twice. He found it intriguing that the more she read and the more the discussion intensified, the less nervous she became and the more she participated.

The same happened when they pulled out three other members’ chapters they’d been working on. By the time they turned the last page of Jorg’s chapter, all traces of Zella’s nervousness had disappeared.

He couldn’t help but smile, even though he was the only one. He loved brainstorming, and he saw that Zella had a vivid imagination and jumped right in, digging into plot configuration and red herrings. She was a great fit for their group.

Too bad this wasn’t the week to do one of his chapters. He was curious to see what she would think.

Sheila noisily slurped the last of her coffee then thunked her mug down on the table. “We’re done, people. Unfortunately we’re late again—the librarians are going to come in here any minute and kick us out. We can’t disrupt their scheduled closing or we won’t be allowed to come back. Everyone’s got to help clean up.”

Trevor could now see that Zella wasn’t shy at all. She pitched in to clean up the scattered papers and coffee supplies without hesitation.

He liked that. Since most writers were voracious readers, at least when they weren’t on a deadline, she probably was, too. He liked that as well. Also as a writer, you had to be an effective time manager to balance making an income, writing, family, and still having friends and a social life. He really liked that in a person, too.

He realized he was assuming a lot, so he wanted to get to know her better to find out if all these things he wanted to be true about her actually were.

Having young children at home, Patty and Sasha grabbed the envelopes Sheila had prepared for them and scampered out of the room. The other ladies and Jon weren’t far behind, leaving himself, Jorg, Sheila, and Zella to finish up. Like he did every week, after he’d finished stacking the chairs and knocking down the table with Jorg, Trevor was now ready to put the box of coffee supplies on the top shelf for Sheila.

He froze before he took his first step.

Zella had already lifted the box and was effortlessly sliding it into its place on the top shelf.

The woman stood about nine inches taller than Sheila. He looked down to Zella’s feet. Sneakers. She wasn’t even on her tiptoes.

She had to be nearly six feet tall.

At six foot four, he towered above most women.

He wouldn’t tower over Zella Wilson. With her long legs and sensible shoes, she would keep pace with him when they walked together.

He wondered if she liked to go hiking. Or if she did rock climbing. She could with legs like that. Looking at her from the back, she was slim, but rather than being vainly model skinny, she was adequately filled out and looked physically fit. Maybe she’d even give him a run for his money on the track.

If he wasn’t sure then, he was sure now. He definitely wanted to get to know her better.

Trevor approached her. “If you don’t have any plans, I was wondering if you’d like to join me for a cup of coffee at the place down the street.”

As he waited, he could barely believe the way his heart was pounding—he was actually nervous. It had obviously been too long since he’d asked a woman for a date. Not that this was a date, but it was the closest he’d come since his last deadline.

Sheila reached up and rested her hand on his forearm. “That’s a great idea. I’d like that.” Sheila turned to Zella. “Would you like to come, too, dear? What about you, Jorg?”

Jorg shrugged his shoulders. “Sure. I’ve got nothing better to do.”

Zella glanced between all of them, checked her watch, and then smiled nervously. “I’d like that. Lead the way.”

Trevor gritted his teeth. A group outing wasn’t what he’d had in mind, but if it was this or nothing, he’d take it. “See you all there in five.”

As she carried her coffee cup and muffin to the table to join everyone else, Zella reminded herself to keep quiet and just listen. She had the same bad habit as her sister Annie, which was to talk too much when she got nervous.

She couldn’t try to bluff her way into having these people think she was trying to be a writer. The best thing would be to sit quietly and let them assume. Then she had a week to actually try to write something, so even if she wrote really badly, which she was sure she would, at least she could have a small taste of what it was like. She hadn’t been sure what they were talking about when they groaned about sagging middles, but she didn’t think it had anything to do with anyone’s waistline. Except maybe for Jon.

Zella shook the wayward thought out of her head as she sank into the chair and clamped her lips shut.

Sheila turned to her. “What did you think of our group, Zella?”

So much for being quiet.

Zella maintained her smile, trying not to let her nervousness show. “I learned a lot. How long has the group been together?” It was kind of answering a question with a question, but she needed to change the subject and get everyone else talking.

Sheila grinned ear to ear. “Six years. We started out in my basement, but it got too small when more members joined, so we moved to the library. How long have you been writing?”

Zella gulped. “I…” She couldn’t lie to these people. “Not long.” Approximately three hours. Not that she’d actually written anything, but she had started thinking about it.

Beside her, Trevor shook his head. “Can’t you see she’s nervous? Give the woman a chance to get used to us.” He turned to Zella. “I thought we could talk about something else. Like the last Mariners game when the roof on Safeco Field got stuck. Or if you’re going to Bumbershoot this year.” He paused, making a lopsided grin. “I wonder how they came up with a bizarre name like that.”

Zella bit back a giggle. “I know the answer. The word bumbershoot is an old slang for umbrella, and it refers to the festival being a figurative umbrella for all the acts and performers. But I think it really refers to the fact that because it’s here in Seattle, everyone had better have an umbrella because it will probably rain.”

Sheila waved one hand in the air. “That’s so crowded and too noisy. I plan to spend the long weekend catching up on my reading. I have a stack of books, and I’m so behind.”

Trevor took a sip of his coffee. “You’re retired. How could you get behind on anything?”

Sheila snorted. “For your information I have a stack of books from the Romancing America series to read, among others. What about you, Zella? What do you like to read?”

Zella thought of the five books she had in her purse. “A variety, I guess. Mostly romance, but I also like mysteries. Right now I’m reading the latest T. J. Zereth. He’s my favorite author. His website says he lives right here in Seattle. I’ve been waiting for a book tour so I can meet him and get his autograph. Or maybe get my picture taken with him. Wouldn’t that be exciting?”

Trevor’s eyes widened, and he slapped his napkin over his nose and mouth and started to cough violently. With his napkin pressed to his nose, he thunked his cup down on the table so hard that some coffee sloshed out, while it sounded like he was almost gagging. Sheila jumped out of her chair to avoid the splash, while Jorg ignored both of them, staring at Zella with eyes so wide she thought they might pop out of his head.

“A picture with the enigmatic T. J. Zereth, huh?” Sheila handed the sputtering Trevor a handful of napkins out of the holder, patted him on the back, and then grabbed Jorg’s napkin to wipe the spill before returning to her chair. “Yes, that would be exciting.”

Jorg leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “I read his latest one awhile back. What do you think of Mrs. Rubenstein?”

All three of them stared at her, waiting, and Zella wondered if this was some kind of test that she would pass or fail for admission into their club. So far she hadn’t read anything in the book that had been off-kilter or questionable, nor had she read far enough to make a judgment call on the character—a short, eccentric, elderly lady with a sharp tongue and a quick wit who was constantly changing her hair color. Who, if she had to personalize, probably looked a lot like Sheila, which now that she thought about it, was very funny. Perhaps the group had teased Sheila about the resemblance, but Zella didn’t know Sheila well enough to comment or if Sheila would think such a thing was amusing.

“I can’t say,” she said, trying not to laugh with the picture in her head, comparing Sheila to the character. “I haven’t finished the book yet. Please don’t give away the ending.”

They talked a bit about a few other books, some of which she’d read, most she hadn’t. When they were done, everyone stacked their empty cups and used napkins on Trevor’s tray.

He sighed. “You might as well give me your garbage, too. Everyone always does. Will you be joining us next week?”

When they all rose at the same time, Zella automatically looked down at Trevor as she started to reply. But when he stood to his full height, she found herself looking at his collar instead of his eyes.

She looked up. Sometimes she was at eye level with a man, but she seldom had to look up, never if she wore fancy dress shoes instead of her nice flat sneakers.

Standing beside Trevor, for the first time, for one of the rare times in her life, she actually had to look up into a man’s eyes.

He had lovely, sky-blue eyes that contrasted strikingly with his thick brown hair and a slightly larger than average nose that made him even more masculine. Just like it went in fiction, he truly was tall, dark, and handsome.

Really tall. Really, really tall.

Since she was now going to be a writer, for her first project she could create a fictional Trevor as her perfect boyfriend, writing about him so her mother would think it was real. Her mother wouldn’t have to know that the relationship she was going to allude to was made up. It would even be plausible—plausible, she was already thinking of writerly words—if she saw him every Friday.

As soon as she worked up a story, she’d let him read it, and then “accidentally” let her mother see it.

Zella grinned. “Wouldn’t miss it. See you then.”