7. Piper
CHAPTER 7
Piper
I meticulously review my manuscript file, noting the total word count. A smile of satisfaction creeps onto my face. By my guestimation, I only have about twenty-five thousand words to go before I’m done with this rough draft. Sure, my deadline to get Trouble by Name to my editor comes up in two weeks from now, but I think I can do it.
The last three days of research were invaluable; now, I'm done with this part of the work. I gathered all the needed information to make my setting as vivid as I wanted. I roamed around downtown, snapping many amazing pictures of buildings, streets, points of interest, landmarks, and other features that will help me make my descriptions more accurate.
I even managed to add about eight thousand words to the book, which is not bad at all, considering that my schedule was all out of whack because my research took more time than I had anticipated. By the time I got back here at night, I was so tired from walking around, sightseeing, and dealing with general information overload—not to mention the hellish heat—that there was no way I could get words out of my addled brain in my usual night owl style. I decided to try working on the go during the day and set up to write for a couple of hours every morning in this cute little coffeehouse before going out to snap pictures. Even though I didn’t think it would work, my plan turned out to be pretty good and didn’t significantly impact my average daily word count too much in the end. I’ve got to credit my success to the incredibly delicious breakfasts, both sweet and savory, that they serve there, the non-intrusive staff, and, of course, the blasting AC that kept the monstrous heat at bay.
My nights were freed up to rest and veg on the sofa or the balcony. I'm not used to this heat, and it makes me drowsy and listless, especially if I push myself to be active rather than following my inclination to just plank myself down in a comfy place with a paperback or some type of screen in front of me, so I was in no shape to do edits when I got back in the evenings.
So, either I spent time with Netflix keeping me company while I fell asleep, or I just headed to the balcony with a cold beverage handy and my trusty telescope set up just right to gaze at the night sky. Which, in my opinion, in this era where we’re bombarded by information every which way and our phones keep going off, bugging us with social media stuff every hour on the hour, is the best way to relax before going to bed aside from a book. Especially in a world where a lonely girl like me doesn’t happen to have an Adonis-like Mr. Hot Stuff sharing her bed and mellowing her out in an entirely different way.
I close my MacBook with a sigh and connect it to its charger before grabbing the first cup of coffee of the day.
Today's Thursday, and I will stay in, take it easy, and just spend the day writing away. I'm aiming to get at least two chapters out of the way, which means at least five thousand, hopefully, good words.
My headphones should be delivered sometime this afternoon, but I'm sure putting some music on the speaker will be okay again. The apartment next to mine is still sitting empty, after all.
As I've been coming and going, I think I've heard a few noises occasionally coming from there. Sylvianne did mention that the building management had let her know that sometime in June, some workers might be around to fix some last-minute stuff before they put the apartment up for rent. Still, I'm pretty sure she also said that so as not to disturb the quiet too much, the work would be done from four to seven p.m. or some such, so there would be no one in there at this time.
I just have to be sure to close every window and the balcony doors as well, so I don’t end up being the one that disturbs the quiet of the people living upstairs and downstairs. Not that, with this killer heat, I would dream of leaving any of them open anyway.
Besides, I already got my balcony time for the day, and, like clockwork, I got my usual, much-appreciated, sexy eyeful of the man that's been hounding my every thought since the first time I laid eyes on him —or rather, since the first time I laid telescope lens on him.
Every day around seven a.m., I see him run one last lap of the park abutting the building, always wearing a tight tee or, worse for my sanity but good for my libido, going shirtless, then standing a few minutes at the entrance, to catch his breath and check his watch and other gear, holding still for me just long enough to make me drool and turn my legs into Play-Doh, before he strides his hot self inside the building.
I wish I had the balls to sneak downstairs and see if I can spy the floor button he pushes on the lift before he goes up, but I'm too chicken or like, Syl says, not enough of a stalker to actually do that.
On that thought, as visions of the man himself and closeups of his hotness flash before my mind’s eye, I brew my espresso, mostly out of the cup I was holding under the machine, and swear, huffing out a breath.
Those angel wings on the shiny, muscular expanse of that sexy, sweaty chest of his. Mercy!
He's a sight to behold for sure. Big, buff, tattooed, and bearded, with piercing, often brooding dark eyes that seem to gaze into the distance. He's my kryptonite, yet I don't even know his damn name. To say I have a crush on him would be the biggest euphemism of the century.
My phone goes off, and I see Sylvianne’s name on the screen.
I answer the call with a smile as I sit at the desk. “Hey, girl, what’s up?”
“I’m great. Just got back to the hotel, actually. London is just as amazing as I thought! What about you, Piper? Enjoying Phoenix, or is it too hot for you? Pun intended.”
I shake my head, faking a laugh. “Ha-ha! Very funny, Syl!”
“Kidding aside. Have you seen him again?”
Now I’m laughing for real. “Don’t tell me you called me at, what, half past midnight your time just to gossip about Mr. Hot Stuff!”
“You know it, lady! Now spill! You promised me a picture of this hottie, and I’m still waiting!”
I roll my eyes. “I never promised such a thing! I’m not going to snap pictures of perfect strangers to send them to you!”
“Right! Wouldn’t want you to fall from your moral high horse, telescope-stalker girl!”
“That’s completely different, Syl!” I protest, but I know it’s bullshit, even without my bestie pointing it out to me –which, of course, she immediately does.
“ Right … completely different. Okay, then. Why don’t you go hang out in the building hall, pretend you need to check your mail or something…”
I swivel around in the office chair. “And why would I do that, you crazy person?”
My friend scoffs. “Duh! So you could accidentally bump into him, apologize for your clumsiness, give him a nice view of your cleavage while you’re at it, find out his name, and ensnare him all in one fell swoop.”
I can practically hear her eyebrows waggling through the phone.
I laugh. “ Ensnare him ? What’s this? One of your books?”
“I was thinking more like one of yours, and yes, ensnare him! You can totally ensnare him!”
“Yeah, right! With what? My charming fight-or-flight reaction or my babbling?”
“Well, sure, those, too! Maybe he’s the type that’ll find your cray-cray cute, who knows, but I actually meant with your hem hem … other many charms.”
“Sure, ‘cause we both know I wouldn’t fuck that up royally if I tried.”
She sighs. “You always sell yourself short, dear friend of mine. I haven’t seen the guy, but hot or not, it doesn’t matter. You could totally bag him. You’re fun, you’re smart, and you’re pretty. And crazy. Let’s not forget that part. And you rock those over-the-top curves of yours and men totally eat that stuff up! I mean, you’re the whole package. He would be lucky to have you. The only thing standing in your way with this man, or any other, is yourself, girl. Trust me.”
I gulp down. “Thank you, Syl. But I don’t think I could… you know…”
“Yes, yes! I know all about it… but it’s all bullshit. Listen, would it be awkward? Yes. Would it be scary? Probably. Would you perhaps spend thirty seconds or more wishing for the floor to open up and swallow you whole? Sure. But after all that, you would have talked to him, and maybe nothing would come of it, or maybe he’d want to get to know you in the end. That’s not the point in any case.”
I put her on speaker, placing the phone on its little purple and pink stand.
“And what’s the point, Syl?”
She lets go of a frustrated little growl that makes me smile. "The point, Piper, would be having done it, having gone through it, and realizing that you're still you after doing it. You're not any worse for it. The point would be proving that you can do it. That you can take a chance on yourself and be brave. The point would be…" she casts about for words to persuade me even though we both know I'll never find the courage to go through with it, but I get what she means and tell her as much.
“The point would be doing it so I don’t end up spending time after having missed the chance, wondering about what could have happened,” I say in a whisper.
My friend huffs out a breath. “Just so, girl! That’s exactly where I was going with it,” she says, yawning.
I keep silent for a moment.
“So, will you do it?” she asks after a while.
I see Mr. Hot Stuff’s face pass through my mind, and I feel a little smile pull at the corner of my mouth.
“I’ll think about it…”
Sylvianne yawns again. “Well, that’s the best I could have hoped for, knowing you…”
I shake my head. She’s right, though. Even pushing myself to just consider it is sending my heartbeat into overdrive.
“Go to sleep, Syl. It must be close to one a.m. over there, and knowing you, you’ve probably been running around London all day since the crack of dawn…”
She laughs, but it turns into a new yawn. “You know me too well, lady!”
“That’s for sure! All right. I’ll be off to get some writing done. You go straight to bed!”
“Girl, really think about it, alright? Go get him, make me proud! G’Night!”
I sigh. “Sure, I’ll do that – NOT!– Good night!”
I get up to make sure that all the windows are closed and set my phone on the living room table— keeping it out of my workspace helps me stay focused, and believe me, I’ve learned that lesson the hard way!
After grabbing a refreshing bottle of cold Pellegrino water from the fridge, I head back to my office, happily pushing thoughts of Mr. Hot Stuff aside.
There’s no point in dwelling in the funk the knowledge that I’m not very likely to ever meet this guy face to face brings on. I’ve got words screaming to be let out of my head that won’t write themselves. I’ve got deadlines to meet, loyal readers who don’t deserve to be disappointed just because I’ve got a crush on some stranger. Hot or not. I can’t lose time mooning over him.
No more dithering and certainly no more procrastination.
I take my place in the comfy ergonomic chair that Syl hardly ever uses and fire up my laptop again.
I pull up Trouble by Name and then ask the Alexa speaker on the desk to put Pink on and loop it again.
Then I connect my cute rainbow back-lit pastel purple mechanical keyboard and let my fingers and my mind fly over it as the song’s harmonica introductory strings fill the space around me.