Page 6 of His Cabin Obsession

“Got it,” I say, a little taken aback. But pleased. She has a little fire to her, too, when she wants something. She’s a strong woman, even if she hasn’t fully realized it herself yet.

“And I can’t be interrupted,” Olivia continues, swinging her big blue eyes around to focus on me. “No talking, no distractions. I need absolute peace and quiet, or I won’t be able to work. We can talk in the evenings, and relax a bit more, but I’m here to get this story done.”

I nod. “Your wish is my command,” I say easily, but inside it’s a different story. I’m wondering exactly how I’m going to pull this off. I can’t manage to both seduce her and stay as far away from her as she needs to get her work done. How am I going to show her that she needs to be mine?

Whatever I do, it’s clear that I need a new plan. The good news is that Olivia immediately starts setting up the dining table as a writing desk – and since it’s just after lunchtime, that means I have the rest of the afternoon to come up with something to really sweep her off her feet.

Chapter Five

Olivia

It’s been a long and strange day already, but at least now I’m finally set up in my vacation cabin.

It might not be quite the cabin I was expecting, given that it comes with an extra guest, but I have to work with what I’ve got – and give that it’s all free now, I might as well make the most of it.

Aaron has cleared out onto the patio outside. I can see him through the windows, sipping a beer and relaxing in the sun with a paperback in his hands. I wonder what he’s reading. Maybe I can ask him later.

No, I have to focus. I look down at the notebook in front of me, the five pens sitting ready just in case I manage to run out the ink on the other four. There are more notebooks in my bag. I’m nothing if not prepared. I didn’t want to bring a laptop with me on this trip – it would be too tempting to go online and get distracted, and besides, the electricity out here is limited only to what a small generator can provide.

So, I’m doing it old school. Just pens and paper. I pick up the pen and smooth out the first empty page, and then take a deep breath.

What now?

I search for the first word, but nothing seems to be coming. I strain to remember some of the tips that I looked up before I came out here, advice on what to do to get your creative juices flowing. One was to write about what you see around you, to use your setting or the people nearby as inspiration – even if you’re just sitting in a coffee shop and writing about strangers, imagining what they might be like.

Okay, I think. I can do that.

I’m here with a stranger, after all, and a remote cabin seems to be the kind of setting that would be brimming with possibilities. I’ll start with a couple of light exercises just taking these characters and setting and putting them somewhere new, somewhere closer to what I want to write.

What I want to write is romance, so I should start there. I turn the pen over and over in my hand, tapping it against my lip, until finally I lower it to the page and start to write.

The man was tall, dark, and handsome.

No, that’s too much of a cliché – I cross it out and start again.

She’d never seen anyone who looked like him. Not in the flesh. He was like a movie star – someone who couldn’t possibly be real.

Alright, that’s a little better. I start to relax into the words, to let them flow through me. This is just practice, and it doesn’t matter if it’s good or bad. I let the words come, letting them take over without even thinking about it anymore, going wherever it seems right for the story to go.

They had only known each other a short while, but the chemistry was undeniable. The second time they met, at a bar with two groups of friends who happened to intersect, they naturally gravitated towards each other. Before their friends had even noticed, before last orders, before anyone realized it was their turn to buy a round, they had evaporated into the dark outside: her hand looped through his elbow, coat collars turned up high as they sought a cab to take them through the rain-lashed streets of the city.

“This is me,” she said, turning to him as the cab stopped outside a high-rise apartment building. He glanced up into the night sky, rain falling on his eyelids as they departed the car. It sped away and left them, not wondering about whether this was the right thing or they ought to turn back, only swept up in the headiness of their escape.

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