Page 6 of Love Notes

It wasn’t a problem, not in this case, but sometimes it seemed as though I spent half my life talking myself out of being the problem.Bad haircut?Cold soup?All it took was for someone to apologize to me, and in less than five minutes I’d be claiming that cold soup was my favorite and I’d always wanted my head to look like that.It wasn’t just that I hated confrontation, it was that I hated to think that other people felt bad, even when they’d made me feel bad, which then only made me feel worse afterward.It was probably why I killed so many people in my books.Murder was my only outlet.

“I’ll leave you to get settled in, then,” Rebecca said.“If you need anything, remember, my number is on the refrigerator.”

She gave me another grateful smile and then left.

I walked over to the living room window and gazed out at the lake.I waited until I heard Rebecca’s car leave, and then went out and hauled my suitcase and laptop bag out of the trunk.The breeze was cool and fresh, the air smelled of pine needles, and birdsong filtered down through the trees.

It was beautiful.

It was going to be the perfect place to shake off all the cobwebs in my brain, the doubts in my heart, and the imposter syndrome that was currently inhabiting every part of my body on a cellular level so I could write the fourth book in the Harmony Murders series.

“ADAM NELSON DOESnot know the meaning of the word failure,” I told myself out loud later that day, sitting on a tree stump at the side of the lake and staring out at the view instead of staring down at my notebook, which was still totally blank.

Leo, Anita’s assistant, had sent me a book last Christmas on positive affirmations, claiming they worked amazingly.I’d thanked him and then went into a week-long spiral about how even my agent’s assistant thought I needed to trick my brain into thinking I wasn’t a complete loser.Clearly the only reason was because Iwasa complete loser.But I was willing to try now.Not enough to actually open the book and read it, but the back cover had pretty much spelled it out, right?

“Adam Nelson does not know the meaning of the word failure,” I repeated, and I was sure the duck that paddled past gave me some serious side-eye.I checked my notebook.Still blank.“Adam Nelson does not know the meaning of the word failure because he is a terrible fucking writer.He should knowallthe words.”

It was the golden hour, and the lake looked incredible.The sky was shades of pink and orange, which was reflected in the shifting mirror of the water.Long shadows stretched out from the trees.Everything seemed soft and beautiful.I could have sat and watched it forever, except for the sudden rumble in my stomach that reminded me I hadn’t eaten anything since I’d had one of the cookies Rebecca had left.

I stood up and went back into the cabin.

Rebecca’s welcome basket was still on the kitchen counter, and the wine was looking a little too tempting.I needed to go and get some groceries before I decided that cookies, chocolate, and wine were a square meal.

The drive into Caldwell Crossing didn’t take too long, and I drank in all the little details I could—the way the late afternoon sunlight filtered through the trees, the driveways and houses I passed, the precise shade of the grass by the side of the road—which made me feel as though I was actually doing something toward the next book.That had been the whole point of coming here, after all—to regroup and re-energize, and to be inspired so much by Harmony Lake that the words would just flow out of me.Obviously they hadn’t today, but that was only because I was tired from the drive.Tomorrow would be a new start and a new me.

“Adam Nelson does not have writer’s block,” I said, which was less an affirmation and more a desperate plea to the universe.

At the grocery store, I grabbed a basket and went looking for the essentials: bread, eggs, and coffee.Then, because I didn’t want to eat egg and coffee sandwiches, I forced myself to retrace my steps and actually browse the aisles.This store was small, but I could do a larger shop later in the week once I had my bearings a bit better.As long as I had dinner for tonight and breakfast tomorrow, everything else could wait.

I paid for my groceries and drove back to the cabin at the lake.I arrived as the sunset was beginning to fade into soft darkness.As I drove down the gravel road to the cabin, I was momentarily confused by a light shining through the trees.I’d thought the cabin was on the other side of the little road?It wasn’t until I pulled up at the cabin, still in darkness, that I realized the light I’d glimpsed must have come from Rebecca’s brother’s place.The road split off to the right through the trees just before the cabin.We probably shared it.

I parked and took my groceries inside and made scrambled eggs on toast for dinner.I ate in the kitchen, enjoying the warmth of the golden light inside the cabin while outside the night grew darker, and then went upstairs to the loft to collect what I needed for a shower.

The loft bedroom was dominated by the large bed, its solid wooden frame the same dark honey color as the walls.The bedspread matched the sage-green couch downstairs.A dresser and a wardrobe shared space under the sharp pitch of the roof, but nothing else was up here except the large picture window that overlooked the lake.There were curtains, but I left them open.I wanted to wake up with the sunlight tomorrow morning, and I couldn’t imagine a more inspiring start to a day of writing than waking up to a view of Harmony Lake itself.

I went downstairs again, put my toiletry bag and pajamas in the bathroom, and then, not quite ready for a shower yet, I had a proper look at the place that was going to be my home for the next six weeks.I inspected the knickknacks on the bookshelf in the living room.They were little carved creatures, so similar in style that they had to be the work of the same local artist.There were foxes, rabbits, a deer, and a bear.Some kind of bird I couldn’t identify and a couple of frogs.Also, weirdly, there were aliens, with skinny, elongated bodies, big heads, and large eyes.They might have been creepy except their little mouths were all curled up into friendly smiles.

I snorted and shook my head, unable to figure out what they were doing here with the local wildlife or what vibe Rebecca had been going for when she’d chosen to display them.I liked them though.

I wandered back through to the kitchen; the last of the cookies were whispering my name.Then I went and sat on the couch and opened my notebook and began to write.

I mean, it was only a grocery list, but it was a start, right?

“Adam Nelson does not have writer’s block.”

I leaned my head back and stared at the ceiling and tried to remember that I absolutely had everything—my book, my imposter syndrome, and the lack of progress I was refusing to call writer’s block—completely under control.

“Adam Nelson knowsexactlywhat he’s doing here.”

And maybe if I repeated it a few more hundred times I’d actually believe it.

SLEEPING ON Acamp bed in my workshop wasn’t fun.It was nowhere near as comfortable as my bed, and the fact that I could see the lights from the cabin through the trees at night while I ate microwave meals and washed under a hose?That was just twisting the knife, really.So I was already in a bad mood when I met Haider for lunch and he vented about the German silver fox who’d turned up like some diabolical supervillain to buy Harmony Chocolates and was obviously going to sweep Haider off his feet and whisk him all the way to Germany.But that was no excuse for what happened.

I’d basically told him to fuck off to Europe since that was what he clearly wanted, and then I’d stormed off like a teenager who’d just discovered their boyfriend was talking to someone else in front of the lockers between classes.Which was stupid, because Haider and I were friends—we werebrothers—and I wasn’t jealous of the guy who’d obviously turned his head.It was worse than that; I wasterrified.Haider couldn’t leave us, right?He couldn’t leave me?It was an old fear of mine, cultivated since childhood.I’d spent so long being bullied, and wanting real friends, that when I finally got some, the energy I’d put into that desperate longing had immediately transformed into the fear of losing them.It wasn’t adult me who’d stormed away from Haider—it was twelve-year-old me who’d always known the other shoe would drop.

I drove back to the cabin feeling like the world’s biggest asshole.Yes, it would hurt if Haider left Caldwell Crossing, just like it had hurt when he’d gone off to college.It hadn’t been the same here without him, especially with Conor at fire school and Sam working from dawn until dusk on the farm.But even if I hadn’t seen them every day, they’d still been around.This was home, and it was where we were all meant to stay, because what better place was there to live than here?But life wasn’t that simple, and I had no right to tell any of my friends that my feelings were more important than following their dreams.But it would hurt more than I could express, which was why I’d lashed out the way I had.That was an explanation, not a justification.I knew I was in the wrong, and I knew I owed Haider a beer and a hell of an apology, just as soon as I got over myself enough to call him.

Experience had taught me there was no better method of killing a bad mood than working for a few hours.My workshop was my sanctuary, even when it wasn’t also doubling as my home.

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