Chapter 6
SAM
As Sam settled into her seat the following morning, she finally felt ready to get started with her book.
She started thumbing through the pages of her notepad, carefully scanning each page for any of the hundreds of ideas she’d jotted down there over the years.
None of them were wordy or robust, no paragraphs detailing a play-by-play of what she’d been thinking, merely a few words strung together in an attempt to convey what she meant.
To anyone else, it likely wouldn’t make a lick of sense.
She figured, however, that by process of elimination, she could narrow down to at least one storyline that would work.
She’d already started striking out any redundant storylines to what she’d already written, nixed nonsensical verbiage that likely had stemmed from some vivid dream she’d had that, in the moment, had made complete sense but no longer seemed to even be written in the same language, and axed any ideas that she didn’t think would work well as a romance.
In total, she had six ideas left to mull over.
She’d arrived just after the coffee shop doors had opened, even earlier than her usual arrival time there, in hopes that she’d pick an idea and get started working on a rough outline to present to Angel when she got back from her trip.
But unfortunately, her mind kept drifting back to those text messages.
A groan rumbled through her. Knowing how much work she had to do, she wished more than anything that she could just not think about that and go about her day.
After she’d gotten back from dinner with Charlie last night, she finally had to scroll through a string of texts, all from different numbers.
She had taken screenshots of all the texts saved off to the side, in the little folder she’d created when this whole disaster started.
The cop she’d spoken to last, though less than helpful in most senses of the word, had at least given her his phone number in case things escalated.
She hoped more than anything that she wouldn’t have to use it, but that folder with his name plastered on the front of it was starting to grow thicker by the day.
She attempted to return her thoughts back to her mission at hand. Review notes, pick an idea, start on an outline. In that order.
The cup of hot coffee, another deviation from her usual iced latte, was perched off to the side—something to warm her up despite the dreary weather outside as rain continued to tap against the nearby window.
The dull roar of nearby passing cars as they splashed through the forming puddles reverberated through the quiet space around her.
The perfect kind of atmosphere for a writer, if Sam had to voice her opinion on the matter. Sure, she could always write in her apartment. It was one of the biggest perks of not having a nine-to-five to rush to. She could write from wherever she wanted to.
The problem was, as she discovered pretty early on, that she worked best with some structure to her day. Leaving her to her own devices often ended up in long stints in bed, watching Netflix.
It had taken some practice, but she’d managed to create her own little schedule that suited her needs quite nicely. She got ready, walked to the Oak House to grab her morning coffee, and set up shop at whatever table was free.
Damn it, her mind had drifted again.
She blinked the tiredness from her eyes and flipped the page.
Down near the bottom of the page, she came upon an idea that finally excited her.
The story could be fairly simplistic without sacrificing a good plot.
There were an endless number of subplots that could be added to create further depth to the characters without it feeling forced.
And, naturally, there were ample opportunities for spicy scenes—something she looked forward to just because she’d never actually written anything like that before.
It was perfect.
Her debut smutty romance.
She began formulating a to-do list and snatched her laptop from her bag. First important milestone: an outline. It wouldn’t need to be nearly as intricate or detailed as her other books had required, but it would definitely help her to plan things out.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as another thought suddenly occurred to her, giving her pause.
What in the hell did she know about real romance?
Hell, it had been literal years since the last time she’d had sex with anyone.
Sam couldn’t even remember the last time she’d even been on a date with anyone. Well, beyond the one she went on a few months ago. And given she knew exactly how that situation was going, she wasn’t sure she was an authority in the romance realm.
Sure, she knew what she liked when she was reading a romance, but this was different. She was the writer now. She was the one who would have to come up with the romantic situations, the intimacy, the spice. What the hell did she have to use as reference material?
The world was at her fingertips, but she lacked the ink to form the words on the page.
She slumped in her seat, already feeling defeated, as her head fell back against the headrest. Why hadn’t she thought about this before?
Was the chance of trying something completely new so tempting that she’d overlooked this glaringly obvious roadblock?
Hell, Angel had teased her about it with the horror-genre comment.
Why hadn’t that been a red flag that this plan was doomed to fail?
Yeah, this was going to put a huge damper on things. How could she possibly write something with a believable and compelling romance if she hadn’t the faintest idea what that would entail in real life?
Calling Angel to back out of this was extremely tempting. She could always go back to the drawing board and think of something else, right?
She pulled up the calendar on her laptop to see if she could schedule a call but quickly remembered that Angel was already out of her office—likely halfway across the world already.
What were the odds Angel hadn’t already hinted at this idea to her publisher?
Knowing her? Less than likely.
Fuck, this was bad.
Alright, she could handle this. She’d dealt with worse situations than this, so she could figure this out. She just needed to do some research, that was all.
Then again… there was already a high probability that she was on some FBI watchlist for her browser history when she was working on her murder mysteries, but how the hell could she research romance?
No, that wouldn’t work. Maybe some more…
hands-on experience would be the way to go?
A hook-up could give her the experience she would need?
Something fleeting and casual, where they went their separate ways afterwards?
She could admit she wasn’t the biggest fan of the idea, but it could work in a pinch.
Yet the more she chewed on the thought, the less appealing it became.
The only sexual encounter she’d ever had was a one-night stand back in college, and it hadn’t exactly been anything that she’d write home about.
She’d been drunk and feeling particularly in her feelings about a certain individual, who she definitely shouldn’t still be having feelings for at this point, so she wasn’t sure if she would be thrilled to try that out again.
If it hadn’t worked then to get rid of her feelings, it likely wouldn’t work now.
No, she concluded after a few moments, that wouldn’t work.
She could try actually dating someone. She had never tried dating apps before, but she could try going out with someone there?
No, she really didn’t like that idea either. Not only did she not have the kind of time it would take to develop an entire-ass relationship right now, but she also wasn’t sure how comfortable she’d be able to get with someone if they were only going to meet up a few times at most.
Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to them knowing that it wouldn’t work out in the long run. There was only one person she’d ever truly had feelings for, so it felt unfair to put someone else through that.
And after the last real date she’d been on, which she was still dealing with the consequences of, she wasn’t too sure she wanted to put herself through that all over again and risk the same outcome.
She was jolted from her train of thought by a large hand snapping in front of her face, causing her to jump in her seat. She blinked a few times and glanced up to see Charlie standing there in front of her, seeming more than amused by the absent look on her face.
“You alright?” he asked, a chuckle in his voice as he lowered himself into the seat opposite hers.
“What are you doing here? I thought you were in the office today,” she asked defensively as she all but slammed her laptop shut.
“Easy, tiger.” He laughed. “I thought I’d work remotely today and join you, if that’s alright?”
Sam relaxed her shoulders and took a deep breath before responding. “Yeah, of course. Sorry.”
“Are you okay?” he asked, shoving his laptop bag to the side and leaning forward on his elbows toward her.
It forced her to look up at him, leaning toward her with a curious quirk of his eyebrow.
She was reminded once again of the rain outside, seeing that his hair was damp, causing it to appear darker than usual.
Absentmindedly, she grabbed some of the napkins near her and pushed them toward him, so he could dry off.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I was just deep in thought.”
A twinge of embarrassment flickered through her body as her mind returned to her previous train of thought.
She had never been ashamed by her lack of experience, nor had it been a particularly pressing issue.
She was perfectly happy with her life, her friends, her career, and dating someone hadn’t ever been something she’d been that interested in.
It was only at Angel’s insistence that she at least tried to go on a date to get out there.
It was the only reason she’d gone on that stupid fucking date months ago.