Page 5 of The Opposite of Romance
I spendthree full days decorating my new office that overlooks the gorgeous backyard, as well as the pool, in hopes of it sparking my productivity.
No such luck.
Instead, I’m staring at the blush pink walls, covered in framed quotes from my books, my head fully empty.
Should I add some plants? Maybe that would help?
I’m running way behind on the third and last part of myHeartsseries. Even though I self-publish, my readers are expecting me to deliver. And ever since the mental breakdown that sparked my divorce, my creative juices have run dry.
I stare at my computer screen, hoping to get some words down, but nothing comes out. Series are typically easier to write. The first book might be harder, but after that it should be smooth sailing. After all, I’ve set everything up in my previous books. I know the general direction of the story and the main plot points. I know the characters and the settings. But it’s like I have no romance left to give. No more banter, chemistry, or even sexy scenes that used to be my favorite.
“URGH,” I groan, my face falling in my hands.
Writing romance was my getaway. It was how I escaped thelonely nights and polite conversations. And now, I don’t even have that.
A doorbell shocks me out of my slump, my knee hitting the edge of the desk.
“Motherfucker,” I cry out, limping my way to the front door.
The deck guy Liam set up is supposed to come today, which I completely forgot. Another groan escapes me as my gaze falls on my coffee-stained, oversized t-shirt and bare feet. My hair’s probably a bird’s nest, but it’s too late to do something about it now.
Hopefully, my breath’s ok,is the last thing that goes through my head before the very same breath is knocked out from me when I open the door.
In a worn, brown flannel, green baseball cap, and ripped (actually ripped, not fashionably ripped) jeans, the hunk of a man standing in front of me looks like I’ve stumbled onto a porn shoot and he’s about to ask me if I need my pipes laid. He even has smudges of dirt on his nose to make it look more convincing.
“Mrs. Summers?” His deep voice snaps me out.
“It’s Ms. Summers, actually.” I shake his hand, and he uses the other to turn the cap backwards, revealing a striking jawline but also his age. He must be a lot younger than me.
“I’m Logan. I spoke with Liam about doing some work in this house.”
“Yes, of course.” I smooth out my stained shirt. “Come in, it’s in the back.”
He follows me through the house, grabbing a notepad and a pencil from his back pocket.
“Wow, that’s some backyard,” he comments as we step out the patio doors.
“It will be, hopefully.” I shoot him a pleading look.
“What did you have in mind? And what is your timeline?”
“Umm, I would like to have a nice deck spanning from the house to the pool. A tanning area near the pool. A barbecuing area around here.” I point to the left side of the backyard. “Covered, if possible. And I kind of want it done by the summer.”
He coughs, choking on his own spit. “Summer? This summer?”
“Maybe not the whole thing. But at least enough that we can comfortably use it and make our way from the house to the pool.” I shrug in apology.
“That’s … a lot of work.” He looks around as if calculating how much. “And I’m usually booked months in advance.”
“Look.” My eyes snap up to his, not afraid to beg him. “I’ve just gotten divorced and moved my kids to a new house in a new town. As you can see,” I point to my disheveled look, “I’m barely keeping it together. Whatever you ask, I’ll pay. I just…” My voice breaks. “I need this damn deck so my kids can enjoy the pool. So I can sell them a story of how much better we are now in this cool house, even if our family is broken.” I sigh, willing myself to keep it together.
He stares at me for a moment before dipping his head. “I’ll be here on Monday to take the measurements and draw some sketches. We’ll know the price after that.”
I’m stunned speechless. “T-thank you,” I mutter out because I haven’t thought that would actually work. I was only venting, but I can’t believe it fucking worked.
He drives off in his black van markedChase Constructionsas I wave at him, and for the first time in months, put down some words in my manuscript. It’s not a lot, and it’s definitely notgood,but after the deck victory, I feel invincible enough to write the words down, even if they’re not perfect.
Olivia and Asherspend the weekend at their father’s. The silence of the house is easier to bear, now that my creative juices have started slowly dripping.
