Chapter Twenty Bennett
| Twenty |
Bennett
Bennett unlocked his study and turned on the lights.
As he looked around, he thought that it needed a good dusting.
Opening a desk drawer, he pulled out a microfiber cloth and ran it over the desktop, keyboard, and computer screen.
It was nine o’clock and he was tired, but he still had work to do, so he pressed the button to turn on the computer.
Savannah would be arriving tomorrow, and he had spent the day preparing.
He’d had Felicia stock the refrigerator with all her favorite food and had her get pink peonies from the florist—Savannah’s favorite flower.
His hands hovered over the keyboard as he stared at the blank screen.
He blew out a breath. Just write, he thought.
You don’t have to use it, you only have to try.
He began to type and if the words didn’t exactly flow, they came somewhat easier than they had over the past few days.
He was distracted, that was all. And who wouldn’t be?
His life was about to change drastically.
After tomorrow it would no longer be only Finn and him in this house.
Savannah would be here, and he would have to make conversation even when he was out of words.
But that was what a marriage required. Compromise.
Being there for the other person even when you didn’t feel like it.
Suppose his moods pushed Savannah away and she left him?
Or what if she drove him crazy? Tried to interfere with his writing schedule?
He had a routine. A way of living and he wasn’t sure he was ready to change that.
What if he had made a terrible mistake? Look what had happened with Poppy.
He should never have invited Savannah here.
“Stop!” he said aloud. He was doing it again. Catastrophizing. It was going to be fine. He was going to be fine. Everything was going to be fine.
He checked to see how many words he’d written.
Still a thousand shy. He read over it. Utter shit.
He highlighted the entire section and hit delete.
He had to focus. Forcing himself to attend to the story at hand, he managed to finish just shy of eleven o’clock.
He was back on top, and there was no way he was going to allow himself to slip again.
Besides, he was famous. He needed to make sure he stayed that way.
He was under more pressure than ever, though.
Three years between books was not going to cut it anymore.
He had to stay top of mind, which meant publishing a book a year.
That took a lot of concentration and time on his own.
That was when all the trouble had started with Poppy.
She’d stuck her nose where it didn’t belong, wanted to know more about his writing routine—for him to share that part of his life more.
He’d warned her not to pry. But the more you told Poppy she couldn’t do something, the more she wanted to.
Savannah would be different. She was a writer, albeit a novice.
But she would understand that he needed his seclusion, that his words belonged only to him until he was ready to share.
She wouldn’t cause him any trouble. He would make sure of that.