My phone buzzed in my bag, pulling me from my thoughts.
Reaching in, I pulled it out and groaned when I saw the name on the screen.
Melissa Faulkner.
“Hey there, Melissa.”
“I haven’t heard from you, Hudson. Are you there? Settled? Have you gotten any writing in?”
With a roll of my eyes, I started the car and waited for my phone to connect to Bluetooth—and for Melissa to stop asking me a million-and-one questions.
“Does the place you’re staying have good Internet?” she asked. “And for the love of God, where are you?”
“Are you finished?”
She sighed.
“I got here yesterday, and the bed and breakfast I’m staying at does have Internet if I need it. I have gotten a few words down, and, for the last time, I’m not telling you where I am. The whole reason I left New York, Melissa, was to get away from everything and everyone.”
“I suppose that’s a little bit of a dig at me.”
It was my turn to sigh. Melissa was amazing at her job, which was working as an assistant to Russ Wallace, my literary agent. She was also my ex. We had dated off and on for two years and then mutually decided that we worked better as friends. She’d only recently been promoted as Russ’s assistant and, honestly, I thought things would be weird at first. But Melissa was now happily engaged to a guy she had only been dating for three months. According to her, it was love at first sight, and Manny was her soulmate.
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.
“Did you get a chance to look around the town, son?” This came from Ron Rogers, Joanne’s husband who was sitting at the table with us as well.
“Some. I spent some time at the bookstore on Main Street. Turning Pages.”
Amanda gasped. “Oh, that bookstore is so cute! And the owner…what was her name again, honey?” She turned to look at Pete.
He tried to quickly swallow the roll he’d popped into his mouth. “Greer, I think.”
Joanne smiled. “Greer is a sweetheart. She’s also the go-to for anything you need to know about Boggy Creek and the valley. She’s sort of our town historian.”
“Is that so?” Amanda asked. “We’ll have to stop back by tomorrow and chat with her.”
“Are you a reader, Hudson?” Ron asked.
It was then I noticed Pete looking at me with a knowing smile. He either knew who I was, or figured I was hanging out at the bookstore because of Greer. I couldn’t blame him…after all, Greer was stunningly beautiful.
Focusing on Ron, who was now slicing up a pot roast that smelled divine, I answered, “I’m an avid reader, yes, sir. But I wasn’t there to read. I’m actually writing a book, and I’ve come to Boggy Creek to finish it.”
“I knew it!” shouted Pete as everyone looked in his direction. “I knew you were Hudson Higgins, the suspense writer. Dude, I love your books; I’ve read them all! When I heard your name, I nearly tackle-hugged you.”