Page 4 of Touch My Shelves

My head tips at a concerning thought. I’ve never done the face-sitting thing. Was it possible I’d smother him? It would be horrible to have death by pussy reported.

Theo snort-laughs, making me wonder if I said that out loud too. But since he’s in my head, wouldn’t he hear it anyway?

He takes the key from me and unlocks my door before handing it back. “I hate to disappoint, but I am not having sex with you or ravishing you. In fact, I am considering calling the police, but maybe you’re just drunk and not really crazy. I suggest you go upstairs and sleep it off.”

Then he pulls out of my arms, grabs the earbuds dangling on his chest, and pops them back in before jogging away. Humph, so that’s where the music came from. Good point. That makes it totally believable. I feel my dreamy man slip away.

“No! Wait!” I cry out, but he’s already running down the sidewalk. He doesn’t turn or look back. Instead he disappears in a foggy cloud or down an alley between the bakery and the coffee shop. Damn.

With nothing left to do, I climb the stairs and do exactly as he said. As I fall into bed, I can’t help but be disappointed that he’s not with me. Maybe I can dream him up again. I may not want a relationship, but I do want sexy time. With Theo.

CHAPTER 2

BRAX SULLIVAN

“She’s incorrigible, is what she is, Mr. Sullivan. I lost ten years off my life when she came out of the closet with her head in her hands. There was blood oozing down her neck and onto the beautifully smocked dress your dear mother sent her. It’s ruined. There’ll be no getting that stain out.”

My “dear mother” hasn’t seen her granddaughter in two years. I dare say she’d not be overly upset about the state of an obligatory birthday gift. I twist to see my daughter and arch one brow her direction. She mouths the word “catsup.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh. This isn’t her first mutilation. It’s not even her first decapitation. What’s really impressive is that Mrs. Robbins actually had my daughter in a dress. I can’t even remember the last time that feat was achieved.

The frazzled woman clears her throat before saying an all too familiar phrase. “Therefore, I tender my resignation, effective immediately.”

From the moment I hired the woman, I knew this day was coming, although I did think she would last longer than a week. “I understand, but would you consider staying until a replacement can be found? I’ll double your salary.”

The woman’s face sours. “It’s not the money, sir. You pay me quite well as it is, but no amount of money is worth the worry and fright the child puts me through. I’m packing my bags and I’ll be on the next ferry off the island. If I may say, sir, living in this castle isn’t the best environment for a child with such an active imagination.”

With those sage parting words, Mrs. Robbins—the sixth nanny I’ve hired this year—departs. I don’t even blame her. I rub my forehead to ease the ache behind my eyes caused by the stress I’ve been under and now this. I really needed the nanny to last until I meet my deadline.

I open my eyes and find my daughter at least looking remorseful as she slumps sideways in the leather upholstered chair, still in her “blood”-stained white dress, with her skinned knees showing.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she mumbles softly.

I sigh heavily and pull out a tissue to wipe the catsup from her face. “I know, Freeya. But did you have to play the headless card?”

“I didn’t have to, but the part called for it,” Freeya explains and scrunches up her face as I try to get the dried sauce off.

I love that my daughter has an uncharted imagination. I never want to stifle or change her. I want her to dream, and make up stories, and act them out. I want her to be inquisitive and not afraid to seek out the answers on her own. I toss the tissue in the waste bin. A bath is what she needs.

I just wish in this one instance she would go easy on the nannies. I have a month left until my deadline, and I’m nowhere near writing the end. My publisher is pushing me to send her the first draft and I don’t have it. This one isn’t coming easily to the page. The first three books almost wrote themselves. This fourth book of the series is missing something… I just don’t know what. It wouldn’t be quite as bad if it were simply a book release, but the first three books were picked up by a network and developed into a television series. Only the first two seasons have aired, with the third season in production. The crew needs to start working on the fourth season. Thanks to the talented cast and directors that see my vision, the ratings remain through the roof.

My sister, Lena, had always been my support system with Freeya. I don’t know what I would have done without her when I brought a new baby home from the hospital with no clue how to even feed her. Not that Lena had any more experience than I did, but we learned together. That was during a time when I was just starting to make a good living writing fulltime.

Then Lena married a military man a year ago and they are stationed in Italy for the next three years. I’m happy for my sister, but I know Freeya misses her aunt, which is probably the reason the nannies haven’t met her approval. We’ve gone through so many. Lena has been the only mother figure my daughter has known.

That doesn’t mean I take my job as a father lightly. I soon learned that I needed to find a balance of time spent working and time with my daughter. For years, Lena lived in the guest house behind my home in California, at her request, and kept Freeya during the week from nine to five. The evening and weekends I devoted solely to my daughter, then and now. She’s the most important person in my world.

When Freeya became old enough, Lena suggested homeschooling since we moved around so much with my job. Growing up, we never had that option. We never had any options, especially not ones that required money.

“Come on, you need to get into the tub. It’s almost time for lunch and I think I heard Claude say he was making chicken piccata.”

Her nose wrinkles. “Yuck. Can we go into town for pizza?”

“You know how I feel about going into town.”

When I’m writing, I need to be by myself. Alone, without interruptions. The castle on Faire Island is a perfect refuge to escape to when I’m in the zone. I just wish I could find my zone.

“We could go incog-need-toe.”

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