Page 18 of The Ruse of Romancing

Dani

“This isn’t working,” I growled under my breath as I slammed my laptop closed and pushed it away from me.

I’d been attempting to write at Sugar and Sea Bakery for several hours with mixed success.

Last night, I’d actually written several chapters, veering away from my initial outline and allowing my characters to guide me.

It was rough and I knew Sadie would have a field day tearing it apart with edits, but it was something .

When I’d started writing today, words had been flowing, up until now when I’d slammed headlong into a plot hole that had me completely stumped.

I could just see the negative reviews now: “Author Danielle Baldwin, a one hit wonder” or “ Of Curses and Pomegranates sequel not worth the paper it was printed on.”

Nothing was working. My original outline was all but useless with the changes I’d made last night.

Neither Hypatia nor Petros were talking to me, which made writing their book more than a little bit difficult.

Add in the periodic, well-meaning texts from Avery asking for progress updates, and the pressure was on.

I knew Avery was throwing herself into work to distract herself from the breakup with Mr. Noodles-for-Brains, but I wouldn’t be offended if she turned some of her attention on a few of her other authors.

The weight of Poppy’s bracelet on my wrist was slowly driving me insane with each word I typed and deleted.

I was about ready to chuck it and my laptop across the bakery and ask Joane if she was hiring, make my hiatus in Oregon permanent.

I’d just have to sell my townhome and figure out a way to get Hercules out here, but both were doable with the right motivation.

What if I couldn’t write a solid sequel? What if this book flopped? What if I wasn’t cut out for this author gig?

Maybe I’d quit my day job too soon. No, I hadn’t had the PTO needed to go on book tours, but that job had at least served as a safety net against failure, a safety net I wouldn’t mind having at the moment.

I groaned, massaging my temples as I tried to decide what to do next.

Maybe I needed to go back to the rental, try a change of space.

Though if I did that, chances were very high I’d wrap up in a thick, fuzzy blanket on the couch with the young adult fantasy I’d picked up at the bookstore yesterday .

The book description had sucked me in, and I had a feeling that if I started it, I’d stay up way too late reading.

My gaze snagged on a green sticky note that I hadn’t noticed was stuck to my laptop.

It was the note I’d found from Mason this morning as I’d pulled out of the garage into the driveaway.

The note had been stuck to my door and, while I couldn’t explain why, it had annoyed me the instant I laid eyes on it.

It appeared my neighbor had responded to my notes from the day before.

I’d tromped up the stairs to the front door, curious to see what the bearded ladies’ man had to say that he couldn’t just knock on my door to tell me in person.

Dear Dani, I’ll take your notes on my caretaking ability under advisement.

By the way, Scooter was kind enough to cut your internet cable yesterday.

I’ll call the provider first thing tomorrow and see if we can’t get someone out ASAP to get it fixed.

Also, my apologies for Tiffany, though to be fair, I had no idea she was in town.

Now that I know she’s here, I’ll be sure to avoid home as much as possible.

Though I’m curious, why do you care who visits me? Am I sensing some jealousy?

Mason

I’d stuffed the note in my bag, galled at his audacity.

It had taken everything in me not to immediately pen my own note in response.

If I wasn’t an introvert who preferred just about anything to face-to-face confrontation, I might have even knocked on his door.

Instead, I’d decided he wasn’t worth the effort and climbed into my car, grumbling to myself about self-important men the entire drive to town.

If I took the curves on the drive a little too quickly in my anger, that was no one’s business but my own.

When I’d texted the cousin chat about my internet issues once I’d reached the bakery, Lucy had offered once again to book me a new rental, but I’d hesitated.

Yes, a new rental would mean internet and a less annoying neighbor.

It also meant leaving before I could give Allen my phone number, a thought that left me feeling more disappointed than it probably should have.

I’d settled in at the bakery for lunch and another writing session.

And, fueled by frustration, coffee, carbs, and the hint of a promise of seeing Allen again, it had worked.

A scene I would have never expected involving Hypatia dragging Petros into a tiny bookstore office to hide from the Fates who were hunting them had quickly populated the page, which had absolutely nothing to do with my similar run in from the day before.

At least, that’s what I told myself up until the moment when they left the bookstore, and the words stopped flowing.

Now I was at a complete loss. I’d been on this trip for two days and all I had to show for it was a handful of chapters, a pastry addiction, and a feud with my neighbor.

Avery was going to kill me.

“Sounds like things are going well over here,” Joane observed from where she was wiping down tables following the lunch rush.

“That’s an understatement,” I said, staring forlornly at my closed laptop.

“I wrote some, but it’s not nearly enough.

If I can’t make some solid progress on this book soon, I’m going to miss my deadline.

And while my sister’s determined and would find a way to still make things work, I know her company would take a major hit with the delay.

Not to mention, she’s planning on using my popularity to help boost the other authors publishing with Rose & Quill. ”

So many people to let down, so little time.

“So, no pressure.” Joane walked over to my table and stopped with one hand on her hip, the other one waving a cleaning rag at me while she spoke. “Maybe you need to step away for a minute. What do you do for fun?”

“I don’t have time to step away,” I said, guilt churning in my stomach as I thought about all the writing I should have already finished.

“That’s not what I asked. What do you do to refill your cup?

To get your creative juices flowing?” Joane asked, sinking into the chair across from me and pinning me with a serious expression.

Today her hair was pulled up into another ponytail, and she was again sporting a Salt and Sea Bakery apron like the one I’d seen her in the day before.

Underneath the apron, her shirt was covered in bright paisley swirls, reminding me of a similar shirt I’d seen my Grandma Sue wear on multiple occasions.

“I read and write.” I knew my response wasn’t what Joane was looking for, but it was all I had. When I was in Utah, I occasionally hiked with Hercules, but hiking alone on unfamiliar paths here in Oregon didn’t sound like the smartest idea.

“That’s it? All you do with your life is read and write?” I felt mild offense at the incredulity in Joane’s tone.

“You say it like that’s a bad thing,” I muttered, self-consciously looking down and tracing a finger along the grain in the wood of my table.

Joane seemed to consider my words a moment before pushing to her feet. Startled at her sudden movement, I looked up to find her gesturing for me to stand.

“That’s it,” she said. “We’re getting you another hobby, something to help you recharge. Otherwise, you’re going to burn out, and none of us are going to see that second book.”

I hesitantly stood, watching as Joane bustled around the room, flipping the Open sign to Closed and flicking off the lights.

“Why are you closing early?” I asked, packing my laptop into my backpack and waiting to see what Joane would say next.

I’d double checked the hours listed on the door before I’d settled in to write, just to be safe, and though the bakery wasn’t open for dinner on Mondays, Joane said she typically kept it open a little longer for anyone who wandered in looking for a sweet treat or late lunch.

“Because we’re leaving the bakery and you’re coming to my house,” she said, as if it was the most obvious conclusion in the world. She opened the shop door and waved me through.

“Umm, why?” Honestly, the exchange should have been setting off alarm bells in my head seeing as a near stranger was expecting me to follow her home, but instead of being concerned, I was simply curious.

“Because I’m introducing you to Carl. Though you can’t tell Joyce Campbell. If she found out, I’d never hear the end of it.”

My mind was spinning as I tried to make sense of what she was saying. “Who’s Carl and why does Joyce care?”

Joane let out a huff and threw her hands up in the air, clearly only hearing half of my question.

“If I knew why Joyce Campbell cared about anything, I’d fill my shop up with everything she hates and chase her away for good.

Unfortunately, I’ve yet to find the secret to making that happen, so instead I do my best not to tick her off.

But trust me, if she knew I introduced you to Carl, let you take a piece of him,” she stopped to shake her head, “let’s just say, for all of our sakes, it’s better if no one from town, least of all Joyce, learns about what we’re about to do. ”