Page 20 of Kissing the Wrong Mountain Man

"Huh?"

"When I saidthank you, you didn't sayyou're welcome."

"I see." His grin grows into a smile. "In that case, you'll never hear me sayyou're welcomeever again."

10

Brock

A few nights later, I'm still riding high, powered by Schapelle'sthank youkiss. It's hard to put into words, but I feel like I'm turning a corner. Something's shifting in me, like I'm waking up from a long, deep sleep. I'm starting to become the man I used to be. The man I want to be.

"Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap!"

I glance across to the dining table. Schapelle scrunches up another piece of paper and tosses it onto the table, along with all the others.

She's hit a block in her writing and hasnotbeen a happy little camper all day.

"Everything okay over there?" I call out from the safety of the living room.

Over dinner, she mentioned that we wouldn't be able to watch our show—er, I mean,hershow—because she needed to work. Even though I can't help out with character motivation or series continuity, I want her to know that I'm here for her, even if it's just to use as a sounding board.

"I've just finished plotting, and the beginning is always the hardest." She shakes her hair out, like she's trying to release some pent-up frustration. "I haven't even gotten to the midpoint which always drives me crazy. Oh, and don't even get me started on the ending."

"Have you ever thought about pursuing a different career?"

She frowns at me. "Why on earth would I do that? I love writing."

"Right." I swallow my grin. "What are you stuck on, specifically?"

"The heroine," she says, collapsing into the seat and scrubbing her hands down her face. "I still can't find her."

"Find her?"

"Yeah. I visualize all my characters. I need to see them in my mind. I can't even settle on a name for her. Nothing fits. Hey, which one do you like?" She sits up. "Maddie, Noni, Teegan?"

Uh…I have no idea how any of this works, but I'm pretty sure a character's name is a big deal. I don't want to say the wrong thing. "They're all great."

She grimaces, shakes her head, and sinks back into the seat. "Sorry. I shouldn't be putting this on you."

"I don't mind. I just don't want to steer you in the wrong direction and mess up your book."

"Don't worry, I'm doing a good job of that all on my own."

I hate seeing her like this. Glancing down at the pad I've been making notes in since dinner, I decide to give it a try. I'm nowhere ready yet, but I have to dosomething.

"Stay there," I say, getting up.

I fetch the guitar from my bedroom, pick up my notepad off the coffee table, then sit down next to her in the dining nook. My head bobs a few times as I work myself up to get ready. And then, reading my music notes, I begin to strum.

It doesn't take Schapelle long to recognize the melody, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see the moment she does. Her hand flies to her mouth. "Oh my goodness,Brock."

I keep playing, working my fingers over the strings, muscle memory infusing me with a subtle message to let go of the past to make room for my future.

I hit the part of the song I'm not sure of, stop, then try to restart, but it's a bit wonky. Schapelle shuffles closer to me and starts singing the words. I hear the melody and pick up where I left off, guided by her voice. Together, she sees me through to the end of the theme song toDawson's Creek.

"I was wondering what you were writing in your notepad."

"Still have some work to do, clearly," I say, resting my hand on the top of the guitar.

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