Page 2 of A Midnight Romance

Lux

“ H ow’s your first draft coming along?” my editor asks, checking in on the progress of my current manuscript.

I slide my sunglasses down from the top of my head as the setting sun shines into my eyes the moment I step outside the self-defense studio.

“It’s going,” I say, even though I’m a little behind on this one.

Writing fiction crime books is my passion, but the research process can be emotionally draining. Sure, they’re only fiction but all fiction is based on reality in some way.

“That doesn’t sound good,” she comments. Ellie has been my editor for the books I’ve written and we’ve just settled into a groove. She knows I need time between each release, but she’s always good about keeping me on a timeline. “Do you need me to jump on a call with you?”

Ellie’s great, but I prefer full control over the plotting part of my writing process. Because once I get an idea in my head, it’s hard to change my mind.

“No, I’m good. I just got out of a self-defense class and I’ll be home soon to get back to work.”

“Are you sure?” Ellie asks.

“I’m fine, I promise.” I slide into my car and set my workout bag on the passenger seat. “And besides, aren’t you packing for Hawaii?”

“Don’t remind me. My sister’s wedding is supposed to be fun, but I’ve been so stressed about leaving for that long. ”

“How long are you leaving for again?”

“Per her request, everyone will be there for two weeks, but then my husband and I decided to stay an extra week and have our own little vacation. “

“I’m jealous,” I whine, pulling out of the parking garage and heading for home.

“But don’t worry, you can still reach me if you need anything,” she reminds me.

“No, enjoy some time off. Besides, it will give me time to focus on getting it done without having to worry about you checking in on me constantly,” I playfully say.

“Fair enough.” She laughs. “Well, sending you good writing vibes for flowing ideas.”

“Okay, we’ll talk soon. Safe travels.”

Shortly after we end the call, I’m pulling my townhouse property in a quiet suburban neighborhood right outside of Seattle.

After a quick shower, I make myself a chicken salad, then head back upstairs to my office to get to work.

I only manage to write for an hour when I get the urge for some caffeine. I could make it at home, but my favorite coffee shop is down the street. So I slide on my shoes, grab my purse, and head to the front door. But as soon as I open it, my sister is walking up the path.

“Hi!” Stevie yells as she approaches in workout clothes.

“Are you staying over tonight?” I joke glancing at the large black bag on her shoulder.

“Nice to see you, too.” She smiles and shoves passed me into my house.

I follow behind her and then shut the door behind us. So much for a caffeine fix.

“You live ten minutes away from me. We see each other all the time. ”

Stevie drops her bag on the floor and falls into my couch. “I’m bored. It’s Friday night and I don’t have to work late.”

“I hate to burst your bubble, but I’m on a deadline. I was just about to run out and grab some coffee at The Overcast Cafe. You’re more than welcome to tag along.”

She shakes her head, arching her upper lip. “You don’t need coffee. You need a large glass of wine.” Then pops off the couch and skips into the kitchen.

“The red is in the fridge,” I tell her, knowing that’s what she’s looking for.

“Eww, I forgot you like it chilled.”

I hear the cupboards open then close before she reappears in the living room holding the bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other. She hands one to me, and I reluctantly take it, knowing sometimes I write better after a few glasses—if I don’t fall asleep first.

“This is peer pressure.”

She flashes me a smirk as she sits crossed legged onto the couch. “Not if you actually want to do it.”

“Ha-ha,” I say wryly, slumping onto the cushions next to her.

Stevie places the bottle on the coffee table. “So what were your plans for tonight?” she asks, and I’m already annoyed with where she’s going. “Coffee and hanging out in your office all night?”

“I just told you, I’m on deadline.”

“Boring,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Friday nights are for going out.”

“Out? Where?”

“Like, to a club?”

I almost spit out my sip when I hear her suggestion. Stevie knows that’s not my scene. It’s hers once in a while but we haven’t gone out like that since college. “Are you serious? ”

“Yeah. Why not?”

“We’re too old for that. And clubs aren’t safe.”

“Twenty-nine isn’t old.” My sister rolls her eyes. “You sound like Dad. Can we pretend to be unaware and live in perpetual ignorance like other people?”

Stevie’s only two years younger than me, yet the difference in our personalities is as distinct as night and day.

“You know how many predators hang around places like that. Sociopathic men waiting to take advantage of a drunk college girl? Or slip something into their drinks?”

Stevie cocks her head to the side while frustration sweeps across her face. She’s annoyed but recognizes I’m right. “Fine, those things can happen. I get it. But the benefit to us is you, my skilled big sister, can identify a man with ill intentions at first glance.”

“A skill, yes, but not something to be solely relied upon.”

With us being raised by a single father who is also a homicide detective meant our childhood focused more on being more alert than other children our age, who lived carefree lives believing the world was a good place and imaginary monsters only lived under your bed.

Seeing that her argument for leaving the house isn’t going as she planned, Stevie takes a new approach. “You live and breathe your job.”

“What can I say?” I shrug, clutching my wine glass close to my chest. “Crime happens to be my entire personality.”

Growing up, I watched my dad agonize over grizzly homicide scenes, and the ones that involved women or children were always the most difficult for him.

Ever since, I vowed to use my natural ability to write and my curiosity about crime to write stories involving women who get revenge on their attackers.

I like to think of it as my own way of serving justice .

“And dead people are mine,” she retorts, flashing me a toothy smile. “I love owning a mortuary, but you don’t see me trying to hide behind them in order to avoid a dating life.”

I try to ignore my sister’s passive aggressive comment, but it’s difficult since she’s, once again, spot on. “I’m not trying to avoid dating.”

“I think you are.”

“What about you?”

“Me? I have a Nick, remember?”

Oh yes, the college sophomore my sister met last year when she worked his grandmother’s memorial service.

“And where is he tonight?” I quip.

Her eyes lower at my condescending remark. “He’s at a friend’s wedding. I’m sure he’ll text me later tonight.”

“So you want me to find someone to just hook up with?”

Stevie shakes her head. “That’s not what I’m saying.” She sighs. “After Mom died, Dad’s job took over his entire life. I guess I just don’t want us to live like that.”

Stevie and I lost our mother in a car accident when we were very young. Her loss was hard on our dad, and to deal with his grief, he threw himself into his work.

“Do you think he’s unhappy?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” she says, running a hand through her almond corkscrew curls. “He works himself into the ground. That’s all we see. Maybe it’s just my own concern and I’m pushing it off on you.”

“No, you’re right. It’s just hard to find time for anyone else when I find myself obsessed with writing these stories.”

“I get it.”

If I don’t end this conversation soon, Stevie will drag me down a rabbit hole of philosophical discussions about why I became intensely fixated on writing thriller and her becoming a mortician to take care of people after they’ve passed.

And will end with us talking about our father and whether we would have chosen different professions if we hadn’t lost our mother so young.

I sigh, feeling my mind slowly changing. With an exaggerated eye roll, I turn to my sister. “One drink.”

“Really?”

Against my better judgment, while anxiety simmers below the surface for both my deadline as well as my dislike of clubs, I give in to her. Maybe she’s right—a little break might be good for me?

“I guess.”

“Awesome. Then we can come back here and watch a movie until Nick calls.”

“You promise?”

We do a quick pinky promise like when we were kids, then I grab the empty glasses from the coffee table.

“But wait, you don’t have any clothes here?” I ask walking into the kitchen to put the glasses into the sink.

“I’ll just wear something you have!” she tosses over her shoulder while sprinting up the stairs.

“Funny how nothing has changed since we were kids.” I follow her upstairs and quickly find her rummaging through my closet.

“How about this?” She holds up a little black dress with sequins.

I pull out my laptop and sit on the side of my bed, knowing she’ll need more time to get ready than I will. I may as well sneak in a few words. “I like it.”

“Or this one?” She carries a red halter top dress from out of the closet, chuckling. “You need new clothes.”

I ignore her and continue typing .

She walks over and tents the top of my laptop. “Does Dad know that you stole his logins to the police department’s database?”

My armpits sweat knowing I’m doing something unlawful. But it’s been helpful with the research process when I write. “Of course not.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Blinded by the love of his innocent daughter.” She heads back into the closet.

“Maybe.”

“Are you going to get dressed?”

Hanging my head low, I shove my computer to the side and drag my feet until I join Stevie. “Yes.”

Stevie and I spend the next half hour getting ready, then it takes her another thirty minutes to figure out where we’re going.

And before long, two sets of heels click-clack on my hardwood floors as we head into the night for what I expect to be uneventful, all while wishing I was cozy in my pajamas sitting at my desk writing.