Page 17 of Story of My Life
“Uh-huh.” Zoey was clearly not listening as she guzzled her latte.
“So we’re giving ourselves a fresh start.”
She stopped guzzling and squinted at me over her to-go cup. “A lot hinges on your next sentence. Are we getting a fresh start on a tropical beach in the Caribbean?”
“There will be water,” I said, tossing a few tanks and workout pants on top of the growing mound.
“You know I love to see unhinged, off-to-the-races Hazel. It’s been a long time.” She waved a hand at me. “But I can’t just take a vacation right now. I need to land a new job, and I need to do it with an agency that’s going to let me bring you on board. And absolutely no offense intended, but the only one in this equation bringing even more deadweight than me is you.”
“Offense taken. But also, I wrote.”
Zoey sat up straighter and yanked the eye mask out of her hair. “Like actual words?”
“Like actual words in a somewhat legible outline for a scene with a big-city heroine whose life just imploded, leaving her with no place else to go, and a small-town blue-collar hero who can’t help but help her.”
Zoey was up on her knees, crawling closer. “Tell me they’re complete opposites and that he works with his hands and that she can’t stop thinking about getting those callused palms on her.”
“He wears a tool belt and fixes things, including an elderly neighbor’s house when she couldn’t afford it.”
“Does he have a brother?” she asked hopefully.
I slammed the lid shut on Zoey’s suitcase. “Two.”
Zoey closed her eyes and wiggle-danced on the mattress. “That means three more Spring Gate books!”
“It means threeStory Lakebooks,” I corrected.
Zoey’s eyes opened, then narrowed. “Wait. Hang on. You’re supposed to be writing the next Spring Gate book.”
I paused my packing. “I can’t, Zo. I can’t keep going in a series that was stolen from me. I need to do something new, somewhere new. And before you try to talk me out of it, I already pulled the trigger and there’s no backing out. Which is why I’m dragging you along. I need you to keep me going. Four hundred words is a start, but it’s no book.”
“Four hundred words is great, Haze! We’ll worry about the rest later.”
“Great. So you’re on board. We’re moving to Story Lake, and you can help me spy on the Bishop brothers.”
Zoey choked on her coffee. “I’m what now?”
Thanksto the hangover and my friend’s general inability to function in the morning, it took less convincing than I’d anticipated, so we were on the sidewalk with a showered Zoey and her legion of bags in an hour.
“I’m just reminding you that you can’t base a character on a real-life person and then not get sued,” she said as we juggled and kicked luggage to the curb.
“That article was the first thing to inspire me in close to two years. It feels right.”
“You’ve never lived anywhere but New York. I know Hallmark Christmas movies make the big-city, small-town transformation look easy, but have you thought about howhangry you’ll get when it’s Saturday night and there’s no delivery cake?”
“I need a change. Besides, I’ve already committed.”
Zoey peered over her sunglasses at me with bloodshot eyes. “When you say already committed…”
“I bought a house in Story Lake at four a.m. from an online auction. So this has to work. You know I always do my best writing when the stakes are high.”
She moaned. “I think I want to throw up again.”
“No vomiting in the rental,” I said, guiding her to the blue convertible that was parked at a forty-five degree angle to the curb. I’d given up on parallel parking after the fourth attempt.
“No offense, but do you even know how to drive?”
“I have a driver’s license,” I said, pressing the button on the key fob.
