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The scene I just finished reading vividly described the night we spent together, including the diamond and sapphire engagement ring. I glance at my left hand, staring at the ring, wondering if it is his grandmother’s ring or just some prop he uses on women when he has writer’s block.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts and quietly step back from Ben, leaving him to his writing, realizing I don’t really know him at all. Sure, he was my teacher for four years, and we talked during class and sometimes after class. But never about anything important. I didn’t even know he was a famous author.

My head is spinning with so many thoughts that I forget where I’m stepping, and I trip over the coffee table, ending up on the hardwood floor after stubbing my big toe. “Shit!” I curse, grabbing my foot in pain as I scramble to stand.

“Emma, what are you doing awake? I thought you’d still be in bed at this hour.” His tone is full of love, and I curse myself for ever doubting him, but I have to know the truth.

“I-I couldn’t sleep. I noticed you weren’t in bed, so I decided to look for you.”

“Sorry for leaving you alone in bed. But when inspiration hits, I have to write.” His smile is sweet, a stark contrast to the man who only moments ago typed a story about me being a serial killer.

“So, is that what you think of me, or did you use me for inspiration for your book?” I nod at his laptop. “That I’m serial killer material.”

A look of understanding replaces the confusion on his face as he walks to the bookshelf and pulls out three books. “You’ve been the inspiration for all of my books. In this one, you were the detective who fell in love with the serial killer—you held his heart and his fate in your hands.” He sets the book on the coffee table. “In this book, you were the wife of the serial killer who helped cover his tracks.” He sets that book down on top of the first book. “And in this one, you were the spunky sidekick who was the one who actually solved the murders.” He sets the last book on top of the other two.

“What about that one?” I point to his laptop, stunned at learning I’ve been his muse all these years.

“In my latest thriller, you're a college student madly in love with her professor. But he harbors darkness inside him, and you are his bright spot until he discovers you're just as dark as he is.”

“Wait, so in the book we’re both serial killers? Cool. Not that I would ever kill anyone,” I add quickly, because I can’t even kill anything, let alone a person. I might talk a good game about fishing, but I’m more of a catch-and-release kind of fisherman.

“Well, yes. Are you okay with that? And for the record, I’ve never killed anyone or even wanted to, for that matter.”

“That’s good.” I giggle, realizing this whole conversation is off the wall. “I’m sorry I doubted you. I’m just not good with relationships.”

“We’ll figure it out together.” He kisses my ring finger, then swoops me into his arms again and carries me back to bed with the promise of a future full of love and happiness.

Epilogue - Emma

Five Years Later

“Are you sure yourgrandma will be okay with all the kids staying over?” My husband of four years worries over our three children and grandma.

I glance out the window at the main lake house, filled with light and laughter. “Her and grandpa will be just fine. Besides, the twins have passed the terrible twos, and Darcy will put them in their place if they act up.”

We named our daughter Darcy after the fictional character who brought Ben and me together. But our Darcy is stronger than any fictional character. At four years old, she protects her little brothers, mainly from themselves. But she loves harder and with all her heart.

“If you say so.” Ben keeps his eyes fixed on the window, watching for any sign of distress from his children or grandparents.

“Besides, we have another number one best-selling book to celebrate.”

Ben retired from teaching to focus entirely on his writing career, which has definitely paid off. He is now the best-selling author of all time across all genres.

I teach part-time English Literature at the local high school while raising our kids and still finding time to act out scenes for Ben’s novels—not the killing parts, but the sex scenes, since he’s become just as well known for the thriller aspects of his books as he is for the smut.

“And just how do you plan to celebrate Mrs. Simpson?” Ben shifts his gaze from the window to the tiny string bikini I’m wearing.

It’s not the same one from our first summer together, since I’m a size larger than I was before, after having three kids. But it still lights up Ben’s eyes like a Christmas tree.

“I was thinking we could play mermaid and sea creature.”

“Is that a hint that you want me to write monster smut now, wife?” His hands wrap around my bare waist as he pulls me in close for a kiss.

“Maybe.” I shrug before giving in to the kiss and thanking my lucky stars for that one sizzling summer when Ben and I claimed each other for a lifetime in this very lake house.

-The End-

My Recluse Valentine