Chapter 15
“I don’t know, Fetch. Roses are cliché, right? The main character messed up badly. Flowers won’t fix things with his leading lady,” Will mused aloud.
He sat kicked back at his desk, feet propped up, bouncing a pink ball rhythmically off the office wall.
The soft thud echoed through the room, met with absolute focus from the dog lying nearby.
Lady—whom Will still believed was his own dog, Fetch—tracked every bounce with the intensity of a world-class goalie.
Will glanced over at her. “No comment? Okay, then. Cliché it is. Back to the drawing board. What is the next epic love story?”
The ball bounced again, but this time Lady leapt into action, catching it mid-air and trotting over to drop it into Will’s lap. He jolted upright, feet thudding to the floor as he blinked at the unexpected retriever behavior.
“Where did you learn to do that? You never play ball,” Will said, stunned.
Just as he opened his mouth to interrogate her newfound athleticism, a sharp knock echoed through the apartment—interrupting his dog-parent crisis like a plot twist in a sitcom.
With a sigh and one last confused glance at the furry imposter on his floor, Will pushed up from his chair and headed for the door.
Out in the living room, Will swung the door open to find Margot balancing what could only be described as a bakery tower—boxes stacked to eye level and a drink tray teetering on top, sloshing with a rainbow of caffeinated concoctions.
She looked like a woman on a mission... or one who’d just looted half the food carts downtown.
“Writing fuel,” Margot announced proudly as she stepped inside. “Brought all your favorites. Donuts, cookies, matcha, a latte, and... some other stuff.”
She plopped everything onto Will’s coffee table like she was presenting a buffet meant for a team, not one struggling writer.
“My favorites, huh?” Will asked, already eyeing the loot. He grabbed a donut and took a big bite.
“So they’re gluten-free? You know I’m allergic and…” he began with mock suspicion.
Margot’s eyes went wide as she snatched the donut back from him. “Okay, I guessed.”
Will grinned and took it right back, indulging in another bite. “I’m kidding. I don’t know if it’s writing fuel. Looks a little more like heart attack food.”
He reached for the latte while Margot dropped onto the sofa and took a hopeful sip of the matcha—only to grimace and set it down like it personally offended her taste buds.
“No, that comes this afternoon,” she said, recovering quickly. “Pizza, tacos, onion rings, and a sandwich from your favorite shop around the corner.”
Will tilted his head. “Sandwich shop?”
Margot sighed. “Okay, got me again. I just got everything in hopes something would... spark inspiration.”
“I think we’re on different pages if you want a story inspired by pizza,” Will said, arching an eyebrow.
“Writers get the munchies while writing,” Margot countered, lifting a hand like she was quoting an ancient rule. “I’m just doing my part to unlock the genius.”
Will gestured at the spread. “You really think I’ll eat all this?”
“Whatever feeds that creative mind of yours. Now, what do you have for me so far?” she asked, brushing a few crumbs off her jeans.
“Oh, uh, we’ve been plotting this thing all morning—yesterday, too,” Will said, stumbling just slightly. “It’s going to be great.”
As if summoned by the word we , Lady hopped up onto the sofa beside Margot and rested her head in her lap. Margot flinched at first, but then smiled as she gently stroked the dog’s soft ears.
“We?” she asked, eyebrows lifting.
“Yeah. Me and Fetch, who isn’t supposed to be on the furniture,” Will said, shooting the dog a mock-glare. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him. Get down and leave the lady alone.”
Lady BARKED—loudly—causing both of them to jump.
Will’s eyes widened. “Sorry. He’s been acting so odd.”
“It’s fine,” Margot said, giggling. “I think he’s sweet.”
Lady returned a second later, pink ball in mouth, and dropped it neatly into Margot’s lap like an offering.
Will blinked. “He doesn’t even like to play ball. I said to leave the lady alone.”
Lady barked again—defiantly—and then jumped right back onto the couch, nestling beside Margot like she was now part of the meeting.
“See what I mean?” Will muttered.
Margot laughed and reached for the dog’s collar. Her fingers brushed over the shiny tag. Her brows knit, then rose with surprise as she read aloud, “Lady?”
Will stopped mid-sip of his latte, blinked, and leaned in.
“Uh, Will?” Margot said, turning the tag toward him.
Will squinted, then recoiled dramatically, taking a giant step back and pointing at the very dog he’d been calling Fetch all week.
“That’s not my dog,” he said, utterly horrified.