“Well, stop that. I don’t want you to worry or think there’s anything wrong with who you are because of them. You became an amazing woman who is definitely capable of love despite them, Liv. Be proud of that.”
I can hear her shaky breath.
“I hate that you’re feeling this way,” I go on. “And I hope the girls told you just how incredible you are.”
“They did.” She sniffles. “I honestly don’t know what set me off today, but I just sort of emotionally exploded all over them. I’m kind of embarrassed about it.”
“Don’t be. I think everyone had one of those moments on this trip. It wasn’t just you. At least you stayed put and worked through it.”
“True.”
“Tell me what I can do to make this better. I’m not really sure what else I can do or say.”
“You’re already doing it. I just…the sound of your voice is exactly what I needed. It helped me on the plane that day, and it’s still helping me. How wild is that?”
I chuckle because it really is wild and it’s always going to feel that way, but I’m so freaking thankful for it.
“Very,” I tell her. “But I’m glad I can help.”
“Mmm…me too. Okay, tell me about your day. How’s all the troubleshooting going?”
“Liv, please. You really don’t want to hear about that. It’s incredibly boring.”
“No! It’s not! This is what you do, and God knows you’ve listened to enough talk about this book that is never going to find a plot.”
“Still nothing, huh?”
“Nope. Although Vanessa had one earlier that I thought had potential, but it had me killing my dad, so…”
“Wait, what? Seriously?”
“Well, not me specifically. But the comparison was obvious. Trust me.”
I hate to admit that I’ve become mildly obsessed with coming up with the perfect plot for her or how many notes I’ve made on the subject. Still, I open my laptop and pull up the file.
“Okay, so no heroine that resembles you and no parents as the victims. Got it!” I tease. “But what about this: Fawn Sinclair is a beautiful but clumsy investigative journalist who has never solved a case in her life. When she stumbles upon a mysterious USB drive labeled Top Secret/Do Not Open, she immediately opens it and finds vague, nonsensical emails about an international conspiracy that somehow all lead back to the small town of Candlewood.”
“Does she have to be clumsy?”
“She does,” I assure her. “It opens the door for all kinds of hijinks later on in the story.”
“Hmm…okay. Go on.”
“Okay, so…determined to prove herself, Fawn starts digging—only to be immediately targeted by dangerous men in dark suits who always seem to just miss catching her.”
“Because of her clumsiness or theirs?”
“Liv, please…that’s for you to figure out. I’m just the ideas guy. I can’t write the story for you.”
After she giggles, she clears her throat. “You’re right. Sorry. Go on.”
“Enter Dorian Blackwood,” I say dramatically. “A former special ops agent turned brooding billionaire who has sworn off relationships ever since that one tragic incident he refuses to talk about. He saves Fawn from an extremely slow-moving car chase and, despite his gruff demeanor, agrees to help her for reasons even he doesn’t fully understand.”
“What are his reasons?” she asks, clearly intrigued.
“You’re the writer. That’s completely up to you!”
“Alright, I guess,” she mumbles. “Then what happens?”
