Page 10 of Write on Time

All except for Alanis who’s on the way to the corner of the lot where she’s parked.

I step out after her and smile when I see her holding her keys in her hand. It’s obvious she’s smart. She knows how to keep herself safe.

But that doesn’t mean that I’ll walk away and leave her here alone. I’m not an idiot. And men are men all over.

As if she hears my thoughts she turns to face me as she reaches her car. “Oh, Drake. What are you still doing here?” Her soft green eyes dart around the lot. “Where’s your car?”

“I walked from the bed and breakfast.”

Her eyes widen. “That’s a long walk and it’s late. Can I give you a ride home?”

A slow smile tilts my lips. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

CHAPTER 8

Alanis

Ican’t believe that I’m driving the person who writes the stories I love home. And then there’s the fact that she’s a he. I mean, I’m not mad anymore, really. But I’m still not sure how I feel about it.

It’s a strange thing trying to rethink the person that you thought you knew.

“Did you grow up here, Alanis?”

Shaking my head, I dart a look over at him. “No, not really. I came here during the summer to stay with my grandmother. She was my safe space.”

He glances over at me. “What does that mean, exactly?”

I sigh. “My parents were not the best couple in the world. They were usually too busy fighting to even remember me, let alone take care of me. So during the school year I stayed at the school as long as I could, talking to teachers and hiding out in the library pretending to study. Anything to keep from going home.”

“Was it because you were scared?”

Shaking my head, I sigh. “No. I just wanted to feel like I was somebody. Like I mattered. My parents barely knew that I existed.”

“I’m so sorry, Alanis. That’s terrible. A parent should always think of their kids first.”

I glance over at him, the faint light from the dashboard on his face. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What were your parents like?”

“Well, my dad left to go have a beer with a buddy and just never came home. And when my mom talked to the friend, he never had that beer with my dad. It was all a lie for him to just take off in the middle of the night and ditch us.”

“I’m so sorry,” I gasp, stunned. “What happened with your mom?”

There’s a slight smile on his face. “She was amazing. She took care of me by herself for years. Worked as a nurse for the longest time and our next door neighbor watched me when she wasn’t home and I was off school.”

I smile at him, happy that he had that support. “What happened to her? Did she move into your big house when you got famous? Does she like your books?”

“She actually never got to read them. She got sick when I was in high school and basically wasted away from cancer for years. She fought it but it kept coming back. Until a couple of days after I left for college and they called to tell me she passed away in her sleep.”

Tears sting my eyes. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “That must have been awful. Did you drop out of college?”

“No. It was her wish for me to go. I had a scholarship and she was so proud of me for getting that. It’s the only thing that kept me going sometimes. And then I started writing romances. Do you know why?”

Shaking my head, I glance over, stunned at the smile on his face when talking about such a terrible time in his life.

“My mother. When she was at her sickest, the chemo just dragging at her, she could barely lift her head and she loved to read. So I started reading her romances to her. I skipped the naughty parts.”

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