Page 12 of The Write Off

“Alright,” he says, moving around his desk and sitting back down in his leather chair. “Back to the elven unrest.” His brow furrows as he looks from his screen to me. “Just to clarify, dinosaur erotica isn’t really a thing, right?”

“You’ve got a lot to learn, Logan.”

Chapter 6

Rilla

“…make sure the back panel is all the way into the groove in the top shelf, then use a hammer (not included in kit) to nail in 4 small nails…”

Seriously, Ikea? You give me a little screwdriver thingy, but not a hammer?

I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by boards, small parts, and instructions written in Swedish. I’ve been in this position too long. My ass hurts from being on the hardwood and my legs are getting pins and needles.

How did I get to step five of six without realizing that I’m missing a key component? I hear my father’s voice in my head:

“If you haven’t read the instructions twice, you’re not ready to start the task.”

With a groan, I stand up, steadying myself on the couch since my legs are asleep. I will not be defeated by an affordable bookshelf of questionable quality. I’m resourceful. I don’t need a hammer, I just need something heavy.

Something heavy…something heavy. I walk on wobbly legs around the apartment trying to find something to use. I don’t have a lot of stuff. I left most of my things at my parents’ place when I moved. The apartment isn’t that big, so I’d really only packed my clothes and my books. I’m sure a few of my hardcover books could complete the job, but I would never risk damaging them. The thought alone is horrifying.

I spot my laptop where I abandoned it on the kitchen table earlier today. There were definitely times that I would rejoice in bashing it against something, but as much as editing frustrates me, I’m not going to create a two-thousand-dollar electronic hammer.

Lightning strikes in my brain and I enter the kitchen with purpose, opening the drawer next to the dishwasher and pulling out a very old cast iron skillet. Perfect. Heavy pan in hand, I walk back to the living room ready to finish construction. I find the tiny package of nails and take one out just as there’s a knock at the door.

“Come in,” I call, not looking up from the job that lies ahead of me.

“Hey!” Betty’s sweet voice comes from the entry. “We know you’re busy, but we wanted to make sure…”

When she doesn’t finish her sentence, I look up to see both her and my brother staring dumbstruck at me.

“Hey,” I say, refocusing on the task at hand. I’m holding the tiny nail in place on the large piece of furniture and another one between my lips. “How was brunch?”

They’re both clad casually in jeans and sweaters. From this angle, their height difference is easily notable, my brother towering over my friend. Their cheeks are still slightly pink from being outside, but they aren’t wearing their winter coats. I’m guessing they dropped those at their apartment next door before inviting themselves over.

“Um…brunch was good. How…how are things going here?”

She’s acting weird, I think to myself. “You’re acting weird,” I say, careful not to move my lips too much and lose the nail.

“Says the woman holding a frying pan while straddling a bookshelf,” Josh says, eyebrows raised. “Can I give you a hand?”

“Why? I’ve got the situation under control.”

“Clearly.” My big brother’s tone makes me doubt his sincerity. “Do you not own a hammer?”

“I’m a writer and a bartender, Josh. Why would I own a hammer?”

“I own two hammers,” he says smugly as he crosses his arms across his chest.

“I own one, too,” Betty admits, nervously eyeing the chaotic condition of my living room.

“Wow. A three hammer household? I mean, I knew you two were a power couple, but not to that extent.” The nail falls from my mouth and I set the skillet on the floor while I attempt to find it. “Did you two come here for a reason? Other than bragging about how many hammers you have?”

“We brought you bagels.” Betty holds up a paper bag like it’s a peace offering. “We thought you’d be hungry. I know you sometimes forget to eat when you’re,” she pauses once again, taking in the mess, “writing.”

I stand up and push the stray curls away from my face. “Thank you.” Feeling bad, I accept the bagels sheepishly. She was doing something nice and I bit her head off. “I appreciate you thinking of me. I’m sorry I snapped at you. I love you. You both deserve all the hammers in the world.”

I open the bag on my way to the kitchen, inhaling the heavenly scent and wondering to myself if they make fresh bread scented candles. I look back at Josh and Betty who’ve followed me and are pulling out chairs at the table. “Do either of you want one?”

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