Page 12

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Tuesday morning Gracie opened the bathroom door, feeling way too overtaxed for a woman who’d done nothing more than simply pee in a toilet on her own. Oh, the things she’d always taken for granted.

“Wow, this lady really hates that horse, doesn’t she?”

One of those things she’d taken for granted was never living next door to her husband.

Ex-husband!

She cinched her robe tighter around her waist. “What are you doing here? You can’t just pop in and out of the house all willy-nilly.”

Noah stood in the hallway, one shoulder casually pressed against the wall, as he licked his finger and flipped a page in the pile of papers he was holding. “I can if I’m fixing breakfast so you don’t starve to death.”

The scent of maple syrup and bacon wafting from the kitchen punctuated his words and made her stomach growl. He must’ve heard, because one of his brows lifted.

“Fine. Maybe a quick breakfast. Hey, is that my story?” She peered closer at the papers.

“You tell me.” He scratched his gnarled beard. “I thought your story was supposed to be a romance.”

“It is a romance.” Or it would be. Once she fixed everything.

“Between who? The lady and the horse? Because I actually wouldn’t mind seeing them reach some sort of happy reconciliation by the end. Not so sure about the guy.”

Well, Gracie wasn’t so sure she was going to make it another step if Noah didn’t offer her any help soon. “Noah,” she bit out.

“Huh? Oh.” The papers flopped to the ground as he angled in front of her, offering both of his forearms so she could grip them like a walker the remaining steps to the kitchen.

“I thought the physical therapist said I’d recover quickly,” Gracie said once they finally made it to the kitchen table.

“Considering you’ve only been home a few days and you’re already using the bathroom on your own, I’d say you’re recovering at lightning speed. More than I can say for the horse. Did she really have to shoot him?”

“It was an accident. He’ll be fine. Everyone needs to stop worrying about that evil horse already.” Noah helped lower her onto the kitchen chair, then retrieved the pile of papers off the hallway floor and straightened them into a tidy stack on the table.

“Hey, your dad tried calling while you were in the bathroom. Hope you don’t mind I answered.”

“Is he okay? Do I need to go see him?”

“Buck’s fine. He specifically said you shouldn’t visit him, that you should focus on getting stronger and finishing your story first.”

“Oh, Dad.” They talked all the time, so he knew more than anyone how hard Gracie had been struggling to write this story. How hard she’d been struggling in general.

She’d give him a call later this afternoon. Hopefully she could catch him between his dialysis session and his late afternoon nap.

Gracie ran her finger over the pile of papers that contained her mess of a story as Noah started grabbing plates from the cupboard. “Where did you even get a copy of this?”

“I printed it off last night from your computer after you fell asleep on the couch. Which reminds me, you’re out of ink now.” He opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of orange juice.

“Why?”

“Pretty sure the ink cartridge was low to begin with.”

“No. Why are you reading my story?”

“Figured you needed the help. Didn’t you say you were on a tight deadline?”

“Yeah, but I’ve got it under control. Thank you,” she added when he set a glass of orange juice next to her plate.

He scratched the briar patch growing all over his jawline, making an mmm sound. She knew that sound.

“What? I do have it under control. This isn’t even the right draft.” She motioned to the stack. “This is from a much earlier draft.” Like from a whole twenty-four hours ago. “I’ve made a lot of revisions since then.” In her mind. Not exactly on paper. “The story is taking on a whole new shape now.” A big sort of blobby shape.

He leaned against the counter, continuing to run his knuckles over his jaw, which Gracie knew from their years of marriage meant the same thing as his little mmm sound. “So you’ve fixed that whole scene in the middle then?”

“Of course. Probably. What scene in the middle?” If this were anybody but her ex-husband, she’d be opening a notebook and uncapping a pen, ready to scribble down any scrap of advice she could get on this story. Because good golly, she needed help. So much help.

“The scene where the guy, whom I can only assume is supposed to be the hero of the story since he has broad shoulders and smells like sandalwood, accomplishes a physically impossible feat that no reader in their right mind would ever buy?”

And see, this is exactly why she hadn’t pulled out a real notebook to take advice from her ex-husband. She’d already be slamming the notebook shut and recapping her pen. “What’s wrong with sandalwood?” She’d get to the supposedly impossible feat in a minute.

“Nothing’s wrong with sandalwood. I just don’t understand why every guy in every romance novel always has to smell like it.”

“Because you’ve read every romance novel, have you?”

“I’ve read every one of yours.”

Gracie opened her mouth, ready to toss out a retort. Then closed her mouth, not sure she had one to make. “My men all smell like sandalwood?”

“Every last one.”

That wasn’t true, was it? It might be true. “Fine. I’ll make him smell like... I don’t know. Lemons. But back to the issue of the scene. Are you thinking a guy can’t lift a woman up onto a huge horse that easily?” Because honestly, Gracie had a few doubts about it as well.

“Now that you mention it, yeah, probably not. But that wasn’t the scene I was talking about. I’m talking about the scene right after that one. Where they’re back at the house looking at the stars.”

“Back at the house... You mean the porch step scene? When they kiss? What’s wrong with that scene?” That was probably the only scene in her entire book she wouldn’t have to fix. The one scene that held anything remotely close to zing.

“There’s no way they would kiss like that,” Noah said. “It’s not believable.”

“Because they don’t like each other? They actually do. That’s how the whole enemies-to-lovers trope works. Plus these characters in particular have tons of history together, because this is also a second-chance romance story.” Or it would be. Once she fixed everything. “I know it seems like they’ve just met, but really—”

“I’m not talking about the motivation behind their kiss.” Noah grabbed the maple syrup off the counter and plopped it in front of her. “Good grief, they can kiss the first time they meet as far as I’m concerned.”

“Then what’s the problem? They’ve certainly got chemistry.” Or they certainly would. Once she fixed everything.

“The chemistry isn’t the problem either.”

“Then what’s the problem?” she asked, her voice raising as she leaned forward over her plate.

“The problem,” he said, his voice matching hers in volume as he palmed the table and leaned toward her, “is logistics.”

“Logistics?” She might be shouting.

“Logistics.” He was definitely shouting.

Gracie took a deep breath. Noah did as well. Perhaps because they both realized certain words don’t require being said at top volume. Words like logistics .

As soon as Gracie believed she was ready to speak at normal conversation level again, she said, “I’m sorry, but what does logistics have to do with a kiss?”

The way he stared at her, she may as well have said, I’m sorry, but what does pitching have to do with baseball?

“Everything, babe. Everything.” Before she could scold him for calling her babe , he rushed on. “Think about it. If Mr. Broad Shoulders is sitting two entire porch steps above Miss Horse Hater, how’s he able to kiss her with all the... you know.” He moved his hands around as if he were locking someone in a passionate embrace. “Logistics.”

“He lifts her onto his lap. That’s not logistics. That’s common sense.”

“I thought she’d lost the use of her legs at this point. Like in that whatever movie you kept referencing at the beginning of the story. Something about an affair?”

“ An Affair to Remember. Yes. My heroine gets injured after she first knew the hero, and now she can’t use her legs. So what?”

“So I don’t understand how he does it. How does he scoop her onto his lap so easily if he’s sitting on the top step and she’s two steps below?”

“He was able to lift her onto a horse earlier that afternoon, wasn’t he?”

“Which I thought we already established is rather questionable.”

“He’s Mr. Broad Shoulders, okay? He’s strong. He can lift her onto his lap.”

Noah raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, it’s your story. If you want to insult your readers’ intelligence, go ahead.”

“Insult my readers’—” With a pirate growl—she was getting rather good at those—Gracie swiveled in her chair and motioned for Noah to help her up. “Fine. Let’s go. Front porch. Right now. I’ll prove it to you.”

“Prove what?”

“That I can drag you up those porch steps, that’s what.”

“Oh, so you’re going to play the role of Mr. Broad Shoulders, are you? Miss I-Can’t-Even-Sit-On-The-Toilet-Without-Sounding-Like-A-Deranged-Bird? That’s right. I hear the noises you make inside that bathroom.”

“Well, you’re about to be the one making deranged noises when I prove it can be done.” She reached for her phone. “I’m calling Matt.”

“Because he’s going to drag me up the porch steps and onto his lap with a passionate embrace?”

“That’s exactly what he’s going to do.”

“Put down the phone. You’re not calling Matt.”

“Oh, but I am. And he’s answering right now. Matt?” Gracie said before her nephew could even offer a hello. “Don’t ask questions. Just get here as fast as you can. It’s an emergency.”