Chapter 28
The ogre king.
Sitting in front of his laptop, typing away, Mitch shook his head at himself. And at the brain fog that grief had created and caused him to forget what he’d written just two books ago. How could such a major detail like that slip his mind?
He knew how. Losing Jeanie had created all kinds of chaos in his life. More than he would have imagined. Things that shouldn’t be affected, were. The books were the perfect example.
Since talking with Harper, which hadn’t been nearly as painful as he’d guessed it would be, he’d finished Chapter One and was now halfway into Chapter Two. He ended the paragraph he was on. It was a good breaking point, so he leaned back to read through the couple of pages he’d written.
He tweaked a few words, added a little more description, and took his hands off the keyboard. So far, the new pages weren’t rubbish. They were decent. The story held together well, and it was interesting. He exhaled in relief.
Did that talk with Harper count toward Arlington’s request? If so, it was Number One—he’d sought her out. Two more to go and he’d never have to see her again.
Well, he would probably see her at some point. She lived next door. But he wouldn’t have to intentionally see her.
Unless he wanted to. Wouldn’t be the worst thing. She was a fan. And even if he couldn’t say anything about it, knowing that she’d been instrumental in getting Arlington to play the Doomsday Oracle had earned her a few points with Mitch.
Enough that he’d invited her in today for coffee.
He glanced up. “That should count as One, Arlington.”
He hated to admit that Arlington had been right about Harper helping him, but thanks to her and her knowledge of the books, he was now writing again. With purpose as opposed to earlier when he’d just been writing without really knowing where the scene was going or what he was setting up.
He’d made progress today and that was huge. Having written something that he wasn’t going to delete tomorrow made him feel better than he had in a long while. It also made him feel like he owed Harper something. A thank-you of some kind.
Coffee cup in hand, he got up and went out to get a refill. Joyce was dusting in the living room.
She glanced at him. “Haven’t seen much of you today.”
“I’ve been writing.”
Her brows lifted slightly, and she paused her work. “Good for you.”
“Very good for me.” He gripped the handle of the coffee pot and poured. Maybe he could finish Chapter Two. Regardless of how far he got, he’d make some notes for tomorrow’s writing. He had a pretty good idea of what was going to happen next.
“Was that because of your talk with Harper?”
He put the pot back and turned to face her. “She said something that gave me an idea, but—”
“So it was because of her.”
“I didn’t say that.”
Joyce smiled and went back to her dusting. She picked up a small carving of a bird. “You sort of did, though, lad.”
“She just reminded me of something. That’s all.”
Joyce wasn’t looking at him, but she nodded. “She’s a smart one, that Harper.”
Because Joyce couldn’t see him, he rolled his eyes. She was going to have a field day with his question. Maybe he shouldn’t ask. But he didn’t want to get it wrong. “I was thinking I should send her a little thank-you of some kind. Something small,” he emphasized. “To say thanks and show her I’m not the world’s worst neighbor.”
Joyce’s lips were pursed in obvious amusement, her eyes sparkling. “Something small, is it?”
“Yes. And nothing that’s open to a different interpretation.”
“Like a heart-shaped box of chocolates.”
“Nothing remotely like that.” He shouldn’t have brought it up. This might go very wrong. He already felt a tension headache starting.
Joyce looked away, narrowing her eyes. “How about a basket of goodies from The Barkery?”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“Little shop in town that does healthy, organic dog treats. Biscuits, cookies, bone-shaped treats.”
He nodded, the beginning of the headache gone. “That’s good, actually. She thinks I hate her dog.”
“You do.”
“No, I don’t. I just…hate the barking. Can I order from the website? Do they have a website?”
“I’m sure they do but it might be better to call them.”
He grimaced. The only thing worse than talking to people in person was talking to them on the phone.
Joyce sighed good-naturedly. “I’ll do it, shall I?”
“Thanks. Keep it under seventy-five dollars.” He took his coffee back to his office and sat, ready to put some more words on the page.
Hopefully, Harper would see the gift as it was meant. A thank-you. And a sort of apology for his unsocial behavior. Nothing more.
He thought hard about his next few lines. Then an idea came into his head. What if he gave Charlie Nightingale a dog? Wouldn’t have to be permanent. It could be a dog that had gotten lost. She could take care of it until she found the owner.
It would complicate things, which was always good. Complications meant more words and more pages.
And then what if the dog’s owner was someone important. Or significant in some way? He nodded at the thought. Now that was interesting. Who could it be?
He didn’t actually need to know. At least until the owner showed up. And he could put that off until the end of the book. By then, he’d know.
But what if the dog’s owner was the son of the mayor, a man who hated the ogres? And what if by the end of the book, Charlie was working for the ogre king? But she and the mayor’s son had some chemistry?
He blew out a breath. He’d gone from having nothing to write to needing to make notes, real notes, about what was going to happen next.
All because he’d talked to the annoying neighbor next door. Who really wasn’t that annoying.
How was that possible?
He knew he’d been isolating himself. But that was nothing new. He’d always done that. He preferred it that way. It was how he worked best.
Except he hadn’t been completely isolated like he was now. He’d had Jeanie to talk to and work through his writing issues with. She’d been great at brainstorming, sometimes suggesting the most ludicrous things, but those things had led him to workable solutions.
No one could replace Jeanie. Ever.
But was talking to Harper the next best thing? He crossed his arms. Couldn’t be just talking to her, could it? Wouldn’t talking to anyone be just as good?
He got up from his desk and went back out to the kitchen to test that theory.
Joyce was sitting at the counter, a notepad in front of her, her phone to her ear. “Yes, that’s right. He’s a good-sized lad. About sixty pounds, I’d say. All right. Perfect. Thank you. You, too.”
She looked at him. “The basket will be delivered tomorrow.”
“Thank you. Couple of quick questions. Just respond with the first thing you think of, all right?”
“All right.”
“Should the dog’s owner be the mayor’s son? Or someone more sinister?”
She made a face. “What dog? The mayor of St. Helen’s Beach? Sinister people shouldn’t own dogs. They should make that a law. If a wrong ’uns got a dog, you should tell someone. Is the dog in trouble?”
“No one’s in trouble.” Mitch shook his head. “Never mind. As you were.”
She frowned at him, got up, picked up her duster, and went back to work.
Well, that answered that question. Harper it was.