Page 14 of Rogue’s Path (Sweet Chaos #1)

Dylan

I am only here today to write.

That’s it.

The Ivy Café pulled me in. It has nothing to do with some bad boy biker and his addictive lips.

Nothing at all! I’m going to eat my divine-looking turkey sandwich with homemade mozzarella, heirloom tomatoes, arugula, and a pistachio basil pesto on warm ciabatta. While I’m doing that, I’m going to soak up the fun vibes and start working on my book.

Neither of which should be hard to immerse myself in.

The waterfall winds through the bar, cascading down the rocks and tree trunks, creating a whole new world.

A couple hikes through the woods to find the secret waterfall. The crisp, clear water makes the perfect romantic spot for a picnic.

You don’t write romance. Don’t start writing all sweet kisses.

Fine, the cute couple could find a body on the way to their favorite glade.

A woman would be expected, so let’s make it a guy’s body.

To balance out the beauty of everything, he could be covered in poison ivy, which they think is what killed him.

But really, he died because he ingested a wild, poisonous mushroom.

This so doesn’t feel like me. It needs to be gritty and dark.

Maybe the couple could find him on the way back to their car, right as the sun was starting to set. In his hand could be a paper that had their names and the word run on it.

Better.

Sort of.

That would have spooked them…

Why am I writing a thriller that wants to be a romance?

Rogue!!!

I’m going to blame it on his kisses.

Focus

There are a million mysteries to be written. You have files of outlines to pick from. Just pull one out and start drafting.

That would be such a waste of an inspirational writing spot.

Choose someone and be inspired.

Almost anyone could work.

Like the woman in the corner. She’s in a snazzy business suit—Who even uses the word snazzy anymore?

Readers are going to think I’m ninety. This woman is a spy hiding in plain sight.

Her government sent her here under deep cover when she was a child.

Now she’s traveling the country pretending to be a nuclear inspector, but really, she’s planting bombs at every site.

Firm lips land on mine.

I start to scream and shove when the scent of fresh air and pine hits my nose as my cheek is tickled by coarse mustache hairs.

Rogue! He came!

That’s the last thought I can hold on to for a long moment as his firm lips distract me. Such a lovely distraction.

Just like last time, he pulls away.

I lick my lips, tasting cinnamon. “Who uses cinnamon toothpaste?” Way to go, Dylan. That insightful comment is bound to keep him here, wanting to converse with you.

Except for the first time, Rogue sits down instead of running off. “Hey, Peaches.”

“You know I have a real name.” Someone needs to shoot me before I say something else dumb.

“Sure do. Everyone does.”

A waitress stops by our table and sets down a sandwich just like mine, a bottle of water, and the same peach cake I had yesterday in front of Rogue. He smiles at the waitress like he knows her. He probably does. He lives here.

There’s no great mystery there.

“Thank you, Jane.”

“Holler if you need anything else, Rogue.” Jane returns his smile and walks away.

“You seemed pretty oblivious to the world around you.”

Um yeah. Which is probably not the best idea in a new town.

But there are enough people around that surely someone would have done something if I started screaming.

“I get lost in my work sometimes.” Does he work?

It’s the middle of the day on a Monday. Only unemployed people and remote workers have the flexibility to just stop for a break whenever they want. “Do you?”

His lips tip up as he slides his jacket off and sets it on the chair behind him. “Are you asking me if I have a job?”

Kinda. “I know you have a job. But guard duty doesn’t seem like the type of work you do all the time.”

“You’re right. It isn’t.” Rogue cracks open the glass bottle of water. “We rarely pick up jobs like that.” He grimaces.

“What? You didn’t have fun?” Any other woman would have probably blushed at that question.

“Parts of it were.” His eyes move to my lips.

“You know, I don’t normally walk up to strange men and kiss them.” I reach for my sandwich and take a bite.

“Could have fooled me.”

WHAT?!? “Then why did you kiss me?”

“Because a woman who’s not afraid of her own shadow interests me. You interest me.” He takes another sip of water.

“Not enough to ask my name.” And now I sound like a broken record.

“You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

What? He’s waiting for me?

His phone dings. Rogue pulls it off of where it’s hooked to his belt and glances down. “Gotta go, Peaches.” He stands up and sets a hundred-dollar bill on the table. “See you soon.”

Is he going to kiss me?

Rogue rushes off.

Guess not. I shouldn’t miss being kissed that much.

Am I going to come back again to see him? Probably.

You came here to work, not to kiss him.

Get to it.

***

Where would she hide the body so no one notices it before she got out of town?

“Dylan.” Cordelia walks up to my table. “What are you doing here?”

“Writing. When you brought me here yesterday, I knew I wanted to come back and write.”

She sinks down into the seat Rogue was in half an hour ago.

Thankfully, Jane took all his plates away.

Except the cake. There was no way I was wasting something that delicious.

“Are you sure it wasn’t to see a sexy biker?” Cordelia raises an eyebrow at me.

You mean kiss a sexy biker? “A little bit. But writing here has been amazing.” Once Rogue left, words started pouring out. I went from a blank screen to a rough outline.

“It’s like this all around Silent Valley. The whole town is peaceful and relaxing. That’s why I moved here.”

It kinda is, minus the bad boy biker who throws off my equilibrium. “I should spend some time here.” If I called it a writer’s retreat—which it really is—it might even be tax-deductible.

“Why don’t you come stay with me for a while? I have an empty guest room and a beautiful garden when you want someplace else to write.”

“I couldn’t impose.”

Cordelia shakes her head. “Nonsense. I spend most of the day baking. We could go out in the evenings. It would be fun. What do you say?”

That I haven’t lived with anyone since college, and I wasn’t good at it back then. “Let me check my schedule, and I’ll give you a call.”

“Sounds good. I’ve got to go. There’s a restaurant waiting for my cakes.”

Now I need to come up with a plausible excuse not to accept. Mine all tend to be too creative to sound real.