Page 53 of First Love, Second Draft

“Make it quick. I promised my agent I’d send her my final revisions today, and I still need to rewrite the whole ending.”

“How did you manage to write that entire baseball series years ago when you were nowhere near any special writing desks or special dining rooms?”

“That series wasn’t my best writing. Now please move the desk.”

That baseball series was definitely her best writing. But sure. If moving the desk from room to room kept her distracted for the rest of the afternoon, fine. He’d move it out to the front porch if that’s what she wanted. Anything to buy him enough time to hear back from his agent and hopefully put his big plan into play.

“I’ll move it. But for the record, I think you’re nuts.”

“Noted. Now try not to scratch up the floors.”

Noah finagled the heavy oak desk down the hallway and into the dining room next to the westward-facing set of windows because they were apparently morespecialthan the southward-facing windows. But he got it there. That should count for something. Even if he did scratch up the floors.

After spinning a chair from the dining room table to face the desk, he massaged his left shoulder. “Anything else?”

“Think I’m all set now. Thank you.” She settled her laptop on the desk, then slid into the chair, tugging her long sweater out from where it’d gotten trapped beneath her thighs when she sat.

Midway through October now, the temperatures hovered in the low fifties most days, dipping to the thirties at night. Gracie was wearing thick socks, a pair of sweatpants, and a long gray open sweater over a white T-shirt.

Noah never thought he’d say this, but he missed the coffee-stained robe. She looked way too capable wearing real clothes again. Like she didn’t need him at all. If it weren’t for her deadline and her crazy-desk-moving-panic this morning, she probably wouldn’t.

As if reading his mind, she said, “By the way, when were you thinking of leaving the cottage? I appreciate all the help you’ve given me this past week. Really, I do. But Wombat has a cousin movingto the area next month. He gave her my number and she’s already reached out to see if the cabin would be available to rent. Probably time for you to head back to Seattle, don’t you think?”

That was actually the complete opposite of what he thought. And the reason he needed to make his big move.

He dug his phone from his pocket, hoping to see a message or missed call from Scotty. The screen stared back at him, not a single notification.

Had his agent died? Scotty couldn’t even go to the bathroom without his phone. Why hadn’t he called back yet?

“Uh, not sure when I’ll be ready to head back to Seattle. Soon maybe.”Hopefully never.“There’s a couple of things I still need to take care of here first.”

“What sort of things?”

“Important things.”Like convincing you to forget about every other likable guy in the world except me.“Haven’t visited the apple orchard yet.”

She quirked a brow. “Apple cider donuts are your definition of important?”

“They’re everybody’s definition of important. No way I can leave town without getting half a dozen. Figured while I was there I’d grab enough apples to whip up an apple pie for dessert later today.” Gracie loved apple pie.

“Since when do you know how to whip up anything that involves using an oven?”

Since about five minutes from now, when he planned to googleeasy apple pie recipes for beginners who don’t know how to whip up anything that involves using an oven, that’s when.

“Don’t you think you’ll deserve special pie for meeting your special deadline?”

That did the trick. She stopped her terrible line of questioning and swiveled to her computer. “Deadline. Right.”

“Right. I’ll leave you to it.”

She was already waving him off and digging out a pair of reading glasses from one of the desk drawers.

“Good luck with the ending,” he said over his shoulder, making his way to the front door. “Try to work in some sort of passionate reconciliation between her and that horse, will ya?”

“Too obvious,” she called back to him. “I need a surprise ending that will send my readers into a tizzy.”

“Nothing like a good tizzy,” he said, closing the door behind him. And he was about to be in one if Scotty didn’t call him back soon.

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