19
JESSICA
August, Present Day
Maple Ridge
The dayafter my visit with Anne, I leave the office for lunch and go for a bike ride. Soon, I’m on the outskirts of town…and before I know it, I arrive at Garrett’s house.
I didn’t intend to come here, but ever since last night, when I decided to write a novel, I haven’t been able to think of much else.
“Sit,” I instruct Bailey. She parks her butt on Garrett’s front stoop, and I reward her with a treat. The metal loop on the back of herService Dog in Trainingvest, where the leash is attached, glints in the sunlight.
The house is nothing like I would expect for a multipleNew York Timesbestselling author. It’s smaller than I imagined, but the bungalow is also larger than my home and more spread out.
And secluded…but that’s mostly due to the size of his property. There’s a considerable amount of space between his house and the neighbor’s. The tall hedges and trees, the shrubbery and blossoming rock gardens, the brick path leading to the backyard, all of it fills the sizable front yard and adds to the secluded ambience.
I have no idea if Garrett is home. I’m hoping he is. I biked all this way and he doesn’t exactly live close to the main part of Maple Ridge. As it is, I won’t have much time before Bailey and I have to return to work.
I probably should have phoned first.
I press Garrett’s doorbell and wait for him to answer, but there’s no sound from inside.
I really should have phoned first.
Troy and Zara have mentioned that Garrett is a morning person. He gets up at five thirty so he can get in a heavy word count before lunch. If that’s true, he’s been writing for over five hours.
The front door is flung open, and a series of emotions flickers in Garrett’s expression, ending with a smile that unfurls across his face. “Hey, Jess. Bailey.” He looks behind me. “What are you doing here? Where’s Troy?”
“At a worksite. I’m on my lunch break and wanted to talk to you about what books you recommend for writing a novel.” I figure that shouldn’t take too long.
I could have waited a few more days to ask him, but I’m dying to start work on the novel.
“You biked here?” The widening of Garrett’s eyes tells me he recognizes that wasn’t easy for me, especially in the growing heat of the day. But if this were San Diego, it would be a helluva lot hotter than this. Of course, the terrain would have been flatter, so there’s always that.
“I did.”
He opens the door wider. “C’mon in. Does Troy know you’re here?”
“No. Not that it’s a secret,” I rush out, even though in a way it is. I told Troy last night—while we were lying in bed, happily sated after several orgasms—that I had decided to resume writing my novel. He was supportive of the idea, which came as no surprise. But what I’m planning to write is a secret—even from Garrett.
He leads me through his house—that screams bachelor with its masculine interior—and onto the back porch.
“Wow, you did all of this?” I wave my hand at the lush garden. There’s not much by the way of a lawn. Brick pathways meander around various flowerbeds, bushes, and trees. The place makes me think of the enchanted woods in a fairy tale.
“Yup. This garden has gotten me through many a rough time while writing.”
God, if my garden looked like this, I would never leave it.
An image flickers in my head of Amelia playing hide-and-seek here and giggling while trying to stay hidden from me.
I push the image away. First things first. I still need to convince Grace and Craig to let me be part of her life once again.
“Have a seat.” Garrett points to the small wrought-iron table and chairs on his patio. A laptop sits on the glass tabletop. “I’ll be right back.”
He closes the laptop and takes it into the house. When he returns, he’s carrying a tray with drinks and two bowls ofkuku pakaand rice.
I grin, biting on my lip to keep from laughing. “You bought your lunch from Picnic and Treats?” I recognize the delicious food and the equally delicious smell.
