Goldie's Grumpy Grizzly

1. Chapter One

“Give me some good news, Rae.” Janelle’s voice is part threat, part plea. Since we’ve been friends forever, we don’t really bother with formalities even if she’s my literary agent now. “We’ve already asked for two extensions. You’re not going to make me ask for a third, are you?”

I put Janelle on speakerphone and stare at the mocking, blinking cursor on my laptop screen. When I minimize the window, my social media feed pops into view. It’s an endless stream of mentions, full of fan requests for the final installment of my paranormal romance family saga centered around gruff but loveable bear shifters.

No. I definitely can’t request a third extension on my deadline. The loyal, passionate fans might—as one fiery reader suggested—riot. Or turn up at my regular writing haunts with shining, hopeful eyes and a bunch of questions I don’t have answers to.

Besides, my dwindling bank account should be motivation enough to finish the damn book. My siblings are bound to want to use the family beach condo soon, and I won’t have the expansive, cavernous place to myself anymore.

If there’s one thing I don’t need, it’s more attention.

And that’s what my world-famous celebrity family attracts everywhere they go.

Me? I don’t mind the flash of cameras on occasion, but I’m not drawn to the lure of the red carpet or the unglamorous lack of privacy that came with the Golding name as soon as the adoption paperwork cleared. It’s a life my A-lister parents chose for themselves, and one my five famous siblings chased after. I’m the exception to the Golding rule–less entertainer and more big dreamer.

“Of course I’m going to make my deadline!” I say brightly, fingers playing idly with the trio of gemstones hanging from my neck. It’s the one token item I have from my birth parents, the only piece of jewelry I never take off.

“Oh, thank God. For a minute there, I thought Gia’s next album was going to drop before I wrestled another manuscript out of you,” Janelle laughs. The sound is tinny, relief pulsing in every word. “How much progress have you made?”

No more than the last time she asked, but I’m not about to admit to that. My jaw tightens at the mention of my prolific sister’s hyper-productivity. For every book I write, Gia puts out at least two albums. Not that anyone’s counting.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it done and it’ll be amazing.” I try to reassure both of us while glancing at the scattered notes strewn about my desk. I’d spent my whole morning poring over them, trying to make sense of my chicken scratch writing and fragmented notes.

My desk is a mess. Like my book. Like my mind. Everything feels scattered as if the details of the tale I’ve spent the last six years painstakingly piecing together have been reduced to a thousand different threads I can’t tidily weave together. But somehow, someway, it must be done.

For my sake. For the fans. For the publisher so I don’t get dropped like a hot potato at the end of this.

And for that lucrative TV series deal Janelle managed to secure so I can buy a house somewhere and put down roots like my parents keep nagging me to do.

The thought alone has me leaping up from my desk, suddenly too hot as the pressure I can’t seem to escape rises in me again. Janelle’s going on in my ear, talking about how pleased she is to hear the writing’s going well, what promotion plans are in place–a book launch, a red carpet premiere, a sold-out fan event in the town my books are set in–and how casting for the TV adaptation is going. But my body rebels against the idea I should put down roots here, or anywhere.

The problem is no place I’ve ever stayed has felt like home. Not any of my parents’ residences across the country, or their European escapes. Not even this sleepy beach town, where I’ve spent the most time since graduating from college, feels quite right, even if I still have lots of friends in the area.

I can’t seem to settle, always moving when the mood strikes to wherever the wind blows. So much so that Janelle and the rest of our friends joke I’m like Carmen San Diego—minus the thieving and running from authorities part, of course. They’re always trying to guess where in the world I am every time they call and find me somewhere else.

Janelle’s words barely register as I yank open the sliding glass door and stumble out onto the exterior balcony, sucking down the cool, salty air, trying to keep the panic at bay. The ocean is less than a mile away, and the view of the distant horizon usually allows me to feel expansive and free.

Free from all the pressure and expectations I feel crowding me whenever I let myself think about how much is riding on me delivering a satisfying conclusion to the series I literally dreamed up.

“How’s that sound, Rae? Does that work for you?” Janelle’s attention abruptly changes as she swears loudly, the horn of her car blaring through the line. “I fucking hate driving in LA. Everyone’s in such a damn hurry to get nowhere. There’s a mile-long stretch of red lights, asshole. Get off your phone and open your eyes!”

My fingers tighten on the glass safety partition and I lift my gaze to the sprawling hills surrounding the town. I take in the varied Californian terrain and look up at the distant mountain range. Janelle’s angry interjection buys me enough time to collect myself and breathe deep as I watch the sky and clouds stretch above the distant rocky peaks.

“Sorry about that,” she mutters. “I’m hands-free, okay? I’m not trying to be a hypocrite here. So, everything kind of hinges on you getting me something to look at by the end of next week. You’re one thousand percent sure you’ll be sending me the completed manuscript by then?”

Everything hinges on you doing your job and writing the damn book. People are counting on you, Rae. They’re waiting for you to do your part, so just do it already.

My eyes drift shut, and I tune into the sound of the breeze moving through the surrounding trees. I count the seconds between my breaths until the panic passes. When the heat of my body lowers and the sweat on my brow cools, I feel the warmth of the gemstone pendant between my fingers. Its smooth surface grounds me and I find my voice again.

“Yes. End of next week, you’ll have the manuscript.” I sound steady. Sure. Not nearly as shaky as I feel.

Janelle waits a beat, analyzing my tone and words. She’s known me long enough to know when I’m cutting it close. It’s not our first rodeo, after all.

“If you get stuck, or you need to talk through any sticky plot points, you know I’m just a phone call or text away. Any time, day or night. I want this to succeed as much as you do, Rae. You can do this.”

“Thanks, J. I just need to hunker down somewhere and bash out the words I need.”

“Need me to send you a chef for the week so you can focus on getting it done? It’d be like old times.”

I laugh, remembering how she’d rallied our group of girlfriends into bringing me food and snacks while I worked tirelessly to meet my deadline after the first book sold. They kept me alive, kept me going, and let me fully focus on the work.

That isolation let me immerse myself in nothing but the world I was creating without any concerns for the outside world. I lived, breathed, and dreamed about the enchanted forest where Bruno, the hero of my books, resided.

Maybe that environment is just the sort of thing I need to recreate the magic of the first book that flew out of my fingertips.

An idea forms, slowly but surely, while my gaze remains transfixed on the tree branches waving in the gentle wind. It’s odd. It’s as if the trees are beckoning to me, coaxing me along the path I should be on.

“You don’t have to do that, but I think I know what I need to do.” I whirl away from the view and head back indoors. I reach for my laptop, and close the window to shut out the internet voices with all their demands and threats and gushing praise.

“What? Did I spark something? I did, didn’t I?”

I can hear the smile in her voice.

“You did.” I pull up a search engine. “I’ve got to go back to the start, Janelle. Back where it all started.”

“To the dorms?”

“No, to the place where Bruno the Bear Shifter was born. But for real this time. I’ll talk to you next week. Don’t call me, I won’t be reachable.”

I disconnect the call, cutting off her protest, and search for Wilderwood Lodges and Campground in Fable Forest. The forest and surrounding towns are well known to have a diverse population of multi-species residents. Shifters of all types, giants, orcs, and more.

It’s the town I’d used as a blueprint for the fictional setting in my own books. Visiting the source of my inspiration and spending time in the picturesque setting would be an ideal way for me to rejuvenate my passion for my characters and their stories. It’d be true immersion in a magical wood (not just my dreams), away from distractions and the pressures of staying holed up in my parents’ beach condo. It worked for me once, why not this time?

Besides, then I’d have a chance to experience the place before next year’s fan event.

Within minutes, with a few clicks and keystrokes, I’ve booked my flight, accommodation, and car rental. Then I fire off a quick email off to the owner of the lodges and get packing.

Maybe I’ll even meet a devastatingly handsome dark-haired bear shifter like Bruno.

I snort. What are the chances?