I wasn’t a believer in love at first sight. Sure, I believed two people could fall in love and live their lives together in unified bliss. I had witnessed that sort of love with my own folks. They were the fairytale book of happily ever after. It was rare, a love like that. At least in my opinion. Most of my friends had been married and divorced already. My sister Everly had thought she’d found love, and that had proven not to be the case.
It wasn’t that I didn’t believe in love. I just hadn’t ever felt it before. Melissa and I had dated for a while, and I liked her. Thought maybe I might love her, but when it came down to her flat-out asking if I was ever going to ask her to marry me, I realized I wasn’t in love with her like she needed me to be, and we broke up. We stayed on good terms, which I was thankful for.
“Your silence is my answer,” Melissa said, drawing me out of my thoughts.
Laughing, I replied, “No, it’s not a dig at you, although you are riding my ass with this book. I thought that was Russ’s job, not yours.”
“It’s because you have a deadline, Hudson. One that’s coming up and one that you cannot miss. The publisher is paying you a rather handsome advance when you deliver said book. Or have you forgotten?”
I sighed. When had my books become more about the money they brought in than the stories they told? No wonder I had zero desire to write this fucking book.
“Are you struggling with the love story aspect? I know how are you are with love, or your lack of believing in it.”
Now that was jab at me. I decided to let it go. “No, I’m not struggling with that.”
The fact that she’d even mentioned it pissed me off. I may write suspense novels, but they always had threads of romance. It wasn’t like I would be busting out a romance novel anytime soon, and I had no desire to do so. But I was very capable of writing romance into my books. The publisher had asked me to intertwine more of a love story into my latest novel, which I had no problem doing. It was simply the fact that I hadn’t wanted to write this book in the first place. It was a follow-up to my last book, about one of the side characters. Everyone fell in love with the guy and asked for his story. So, what should have been a stand-alone book was now a book and a sequel.
For the past few weeks I had been sitting for hours and staring at my laptop and maybe writing five to a thousand words a day, if that. I’d often find myself putting off writing and doing other meaningless things. Like repainting my entire two-bedroom apartment in Manhattan. Then there was the class on how to create stained glass I had signed up for.
I shivered. No more Pinterest for me for a while.
“Then what’s the problem, Hudson?”
My frustration grew to anger. “The problem is, I don’t want to fucking write this book, Melissa. I can’t write.”
“Everyone gets writer’s block from time to time.”
“I know that. It’s not that I don’t know what to write, I don’t want to write. There’s a difference.”
After a long exhale, she replied, “So you thought going to this little town in the middle of nowhere would bring back the desire to write?”
“It’s more than that.”
“Well, whatever it is, find your mojo and finish the book, Hudson. I’ll check back in with you in three days. Russ will want an update.”
It wasn’t like Russ to sic Melissa on any of his clients. Then again, it wasn’t like me to get so close to a deadline and not have much of anything down. He was worried, I got that. If I missed the deadline, the publisher could request the advance back. It wouldn’t come to that. I’d get the damn book written, one way or another.
“I’m hanging up now, Melissa. And just so you know, from now until I get back to New York, I’m not answering your calls.”
Before she had a chance to respond, I hung up.
With a smile, I said, “Damn, that felt good.”
“How was your day, Mr. Higgins?” asked Joanne Rogers, one of the owners of the Willow Tree Inn.
I pulled out a chair at the large dining room table and smiled at her. “Please, call me Hudson. And my day was…eventful.”
Her brows rose slightly as she placed a large basket of steaming rolls in the middle of the table. Another couple—Pete and Amanda, I think their names were—sat down across from me. We were the only guests staying at the Willow Tree at the moment.
“Well, that sounds good. I think,” Joanne stated.