Page 24 of Under the Mistletoe
“And after college?”
“She took a job in Detroit, and I figured I’d forget about her.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Nope, so last year when I heard she was coming to that Christmas party Liam and I threw, I thought, what do I have to lose? The deal Liam and I had was over, and it was now or never.”
“But…”
He pushed off the island and walked back toward the window. “But she showed up at the party with Liam. Guess he had the same idea.”
“I don’t remember her dating Liam.”
“Evidently it didn’t last long, just long enough to stomp out any hope I had.”
“What did you do?”
“What could I do?” The snow was picking up now, peeling from the sky in fat flakes. Cal ran the length of the side yard then back before dropping and rolling in the snow. “Nothing. Actually, I should have done nothing. What Ididwas I said something rude and then kept my distance from her for the rest of the party. That was the last time I’d seen her until Thanksgiving.”
“This happened last Christmas?”
“Yup.”
“So just before you bought the cabin and decided to hide away?”
“Maybe.”
“About the time you started writing book four that was terri—uhh…not accepted?”
He faced his father. “What are you getting at?”
“I don’t think you stopped believing in love. I think you stopped believing that youwantedlove. I think you chose to stop feeling. And I don’t think you think romance is boring. I think you believe romance is painful and not worth it. It’s like you have closed off your heart. And until you let yourself dig into those desires again, this novella and book four will never happen. A girl will never happen either, butthatdoesn’t have to be fixed in the next forty-eight hours.”
Logan didn’t comment. His dad might be right, but he had no interest in opening that door again. He’d walled his heart off for a reason. Maybe it was time to end this conversation.
“I read once that good writing isn’t fancy words.” But his dad wasn’t done. “Good writing evokes emotion, and you can’t do that if you refuse to feel those emotions yourself. You need to write them as if you are experiencing them right along with the characters. Romance has been painful for you. Are you willing to write that pain?”
“So now you’re a relationship guruanda book doctor?”
His dad shrugged. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
He couldn’t, and that was the worst part. Because if he opened his heart again, laying it all on the page would gut him. He might never recover. There had to be another way.
“I’ve got to get back to work.” Logan put his glass in the dishwasher, then glanced out at Cal still rolling around.
“I’ll let Cal in.” His dad picked up the paper again. “Besides, you know your mom will want him to hang out in the mud room until he’s dry, before heading up to your room.”
“Thanks.” Logan stood and hurried back upstairs.
He sat back in the chair and closed his eyes, erasing the lavender walls and flowered bedspread from sight. The desk, window overlooking the yard, and all of Heritage gone. He pictured Cambria with the high, rough stone walls, the cold floors, and the elaborate tapestries. The war horses, the smell of the stables, even the clang of metal against metal as the warriors practiced for battle. He was there. In the moment. Logan opened his laptop and reread Christina’s notes.
It has a strong start, but feels unfinished. Where is the problem at the end? The compelling element that has me begging to read more? Girl likes boy. Boy likes girl. That is life. It’s not a captivating story. Placing them in a fantastical world isn’t enough. What stands in the way of this union? Also, dig deeper into this hero’s character. There is more to his story. Let that bleed onto the page.
Logan pulled up the chapter and reread it. More to Orin? The guy was the golden boy who always got everything he wanted. How deep did she think he was? And then there was the fact that his dad wanted him to write his pain on the page. Well, guess what? His pain was never getting the girl. What kind of love story was that?
He stared at the screen a moment, then dropped his elbows on the desk and ran his hands roughly through his hair. What if this blond hero didn’t get the girl? What if this character he created wasn’t the king but rather the brother who always came second to the king? Longing for something he’d never have. That was a story he knew.
And just like that, the story formed inside of him. But writing it would rip him open. There was a reason he’d locked away his heart almost a year ago. Love was pain. He’d started writingThe Keeper, the first book in the Stone of Anwar series, as a way to process all his unexpressed feelings, but then it had gotten too personal, too accurate, too revealing. He just didn’t know if he could open that door again.
