Page 29 of Fighting Words

I stand, and the dog follows me over to the sink while I wash my coffee cup. Through the window, I see Nate outside in the shed, moving rocks. MOVING ROCKS! Good grief, we’re back in the Stone Age, literally. Sir, you have legions of fans desperate for you to churn out written words—a book, your grocery list, anything—and you’re making a rock stack?!

I need a distraction.

How is it only 9:15 a.m.? It’s going to be alongday.

I wish I had other work to do, something to busy myself with. This is my only assignment, my sole job, and now that I’m actually trying to do it, I understand why InkWell didn’t overload my plate with anything else. They’re in a desperate position. They need Nate to come around. They need that third book.

I wish I could write the damn book for him. I love to write, but his readers would notice the difference. Nate’s voice is so unique, colloquial and fun, even when it comes to the esoteric science aspects of his books. I’d botch it, and that would somehow be worse than this. I would go down in history as the woman who ruined theCosmostrilogy. There’d be no coming back from that.

I just wish he would open up to me a little more, but I don’t see that happening anytime soon. Not if he’s going to leave the second we start discussing what really matters.

On the bright side, the sun is shining and a lot of the snow that’s been coating the ground the last two days has melted off. I think it’ll be a warm day by North England standards, so I’m going out on a walk. If I make it to town, great. If I get lost, oh well. Anything is better than staying in this cottage cooped up with Nate’s anger stifling the place.

I invite the dog and the cat to come with me. The dog plops down in front of the fire, and the cat doesn’t even look at me. I’m on my own.

I tuck my laptop and my phone in a small bag, that way if I make it to town, I can touch base with my family and check in with the rest of the world.

If Nate sees me leave, he doesn’t call out to me. I loop around the front of the cottage and head toward town with a confident raised chin and no-nonsense pace. It’s a long walk, especially without music or an audiobook to keep me company. Alone with my thoughts? No thank you!

Immediately, my mind jumps back to the haircut: Nate’s scent…his blue gaze following my every move…his clenched jaw.

Enough of that!I tell myself. I’m exploring the English countryside! I’m going on an adventure!

Never mind that it’s slightly colder than I first anticipated and this godforsaken puffer jacket is the worst article of clothing I’ve ever purchased. It’s fine though. I only have nearly fifty minutes to go. Nate said it’s an hour’s walk into town, right?

What else can I think about aside from Nate’s fantastic body?

Oh right! My future with Andrew. There’s a safe space to dwell in. I can picture exactly what he’s up to today—or will be up to once the sun rises in New York. He’ll brew his morning cup and start mainlining it before he showers. He’ll pick from an array of button-down shirts hanging in his closet and choose the least outlandish one, all white or one with subtle blue stripes. He’ll be the first one in the office and he’ll be the last one to leave. He’ll order takeout for dinner, maybe that Italian place around the corner from his apartment or, if he’s willing to go slightly out of his way, Thai Fresh.

The question of whether or not I miss him has a complicated answer. I miss the fact that when I sat down at a table with him, he didn’t put me on a ten-minute timer then up and leave when the conversation turned to a topic he didn’t like. Andrew is dependable and respectful, and I decide I’m going to give him a call when I get into town (hopefully sometime this century).

This walk is taking forever. I’m beginning to worry I’m on a hero’s quest in which there is no town. Sedbergh never existed and I will have to continue walking until my soles wear out and my knees buckle.

This horrible thought has fully taken hold when,finally, I see a little sign off the side of the road:Sedbergh - 1 kilometer. I have no idea how kilometers translate to miles because I was absent that day in elementary school, but one of anything can’t be that bad. Surely, I can do one.

Then I see it! Buildings on the horizon line, houses sprinkled through the countryside. Rolling hills, melting snow, and grazing sheep give way to the tiny town I’ve been hunting for since the start of my trek. The accomplishment of the walk washes over me. I’ve done a thing! I walked here on my own and now the sky’s the limit. Well, sort of. I do need a restroom. I downed that coffee back at the cottage and now my bladder is at max capacity. I considered peeing behind a yew tree back there, but a herd of dairy cows lingered nearby, judging me.

Salvation comes in the form of Main Street Books, the first shop I find with its lights on. A paper sign hanging in the window readsOpen, and I don’t even think twice before I open the door and ding the bell overhead as I enter.

The smell. Oh god, it’s good—the musk of old books. My heart flutters as I look around the small shop and its neat layout. Against the wall, there are shelves brimming with books arranged by genre. In the center, round tables are topped with merchandise and special selections. Near the back, there are rare books displayed in locked glass cases.

I’m studying them when, from a doorway in the back, I hear a voice call out. “Morning! Sorry, we just opened.” Then Alice walks out in black corduroy overalls layered over a chunky knit sweater, a cup of coffee in her hand. She sees me, and I can tell it takes her a moment to piece together who I am. “Oh.Hi.”

I knew this was Alice’s shop, but I wasn’t sure she would be the person to greet me. Then again, she might be the only person working here. I can’t imagine it turns a big enough profit to accommodate a large staff.

“Morning.” I wave shyly, trying to force my bladder into compliance. It’s like it can sense that I’m near a toilet and now it screams at me to FIND IT! NOW!HURRY!

“I would love to shop, but I’ve been on a walk and…” I cut to the chase. “Do you happen to have a restroom I could use?”

Realization dawns and she laughs and steps aside, making way for the door behind her. “Yes, straight through here. Ignore the clutter. My office is a total mess.”

I barely register her office on my way in, but after I’ve used the restroom, I sneak a peek. She wasn’t exaggerating; it is messy, but in a well-loved way. There’s an oversized wooden desk housing an ancient desktop computer.Oh my god, I bet that thing runs Windows 95.Beside it there are stacks of papers, pens, and an old coffee cup. Boxes are tucked in the corner beside her desk. A gift-wrap station doubles as a spot to catalog inventory. Near the door that leads out, there’s a row of framed photos hanging on the wall. One is of a small girl standing beside an older woman. They’re hand in hand, standing in front of Main Street Books.

When I walk back out into the shop, I find Alice at the checkout counter, boxing up an order. The book is already wrapped in tissue paper and tied with a red velvet ribbon.

“You have a beautiful store,” I tell her, a bit envious of her setup. “Your grandmother opened it, you said?”

She looks up and smiles. “Yeah, almost thirty years ago.”

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