“Yup. I haven’t convinced Zara yet to make some for me on a regular basis to stash in the freezer. Apparently, our friendship only goes so far.” He lifts his shoulders in aWhat-can-you-do?shrug.
I snort a laugh, which then shifts to a giggle.
Garrett hands me a bowl and a large glass of water. “I’ll give you a ride to work after lunch. Troy can pick up your bike and trailer once he’s finished at the worksite.”
I gulp some of the much-needed water. “You don’t have to do that.” I don’t want to be a bother; he has work to do.
Garrett sits on the other seat. “Don’t worry about it, Jess. I’m happy to give you and Bailey a ride. So, you’re back to writing your thriller? How’s the plotting going?”
“Um, good. Except…I haven’t actually started to write or plot anything. I only said I was writing a thriller because it seemed like a good explanation for why I moved to Maple Ridge when Delores asked me.”
“And now you’re writing one for real?”
“Yeah.” Close enough. Both the historical novels and Garrett’s political thrillers I’ve read have several things in common—the main one being the page-turning suspense. And both require research. Lots and lots of glorious research. Some of which I began with my sudden interest in World War II nonfiction books.
“Which thriller subgenre are you looking at writing?”
“I’m not sure what ones there are. I guess that’s the first thing I’ll need to do…read more in the subgenre I plan to write in.” I’ve been mostly reading historical fiction since I was released from Beckley, so I’m doing well with that requirement.
“Well, with subgenres, you have psychological, legal, and medical thrillers.” Garrett lists a bunch more. “And there’s romantic thrillers and romantic suspense.”
I dig my fork into the rice. “What’s the difference between a romantic thriller and romantic suspense?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“In romantic suspense, the danger or intrigue involves the protagonist or other central characters. With romantic thrillers, the danger or intrigue deals with something on a larger scope. Like stopping a serial killer who marries unsuspecting women and kills them.”
I huff out a laugh. “That sounds romantic. How do you even know that?”
“Writer conferences. And I know a few authors in those subgenres.”
If Garrett had mentioned these two subgenres five months ago, I would have laughed him off. Romance of any sort was not in my future. But Troy has changed that. And given that I’m writing about Iris’s time in occupied France, I need to get past my previous hang-up over reading romances. What Johann did for Iris has to be one of the most romantic things I’ve ever heard of. Talk about a grand gesture.
I mentally addRead a few forbidden romancesto my to-do list. Can’t get more forbidden than what happened between Angelique and Johann. “What other subgenres are there?”
“Spy thrillers, which can also fall under the category of romantic thrillers. And there are also historical thrillers. LikeTitanic.”
That gets my attention. What happened between Rose and Jack was definitely a wrong-side-of-the-tracks forbidden romance. “I might write historical. I’ll have to think about it. I have no interest in writing a romantic thriller, but there will be a romantic subplot.” I pop a forkful of chicken in my mouth and chew on it. “Do you usually write outside?” I ask, referring to his laptop being on the patio table when I arrived.
“It depends. When it’s nice out, I’ll write outside, but not necessarily here. I’ve been known to hike to one of my favorite spots and write there for a few hours.”
Oh, that sounds nice. Between Troy overextending himself with the festival, the Warriors weekends, and his day job, he hasn’t been able to take me hiking for the past few months. But if I were to try what Garrett does, by the time I made it to the top of the mountain, I’d be too tired to write. Plus, my healing ribs might be a little bitchy if I tried hiking right now.
“What about in public places like Picnic and Treats? I know some authors enjoy hanging out in coffee shops to write.”
Garrett picks up his water. “The only time I’ve done that was when I was there to people-watch for character ideas and mannerisms. I don’t do that now because people tend to recognize me and want to talk about whatever book I’m writing.”
“Or give you feedback on one of your novels,” I say, remembering what he told me when I first met him.
“Exactly. Nothing is more satisfying to a political thriller author than having someone come up and complain there’re not enough steamy scenes in your books.” Garrett rolls his eyes, and I laugh.
“Yes, I can imagine that would be annoying,” I reply, still chuckling. “Your books aren’t exactly known for the steamy parts.” Understatement of the year.
After we finish eating lunch, Garrett takes me into his office, which overlooks the backyard. The room makes me think of a gentlemen’s club from the turn of last century. The walls are hunter green and covered with dark-wood bookshelves with a few antique globes scattered throughout.
“This place looks like something from an old movie.” I run my fingers along the leather wingback chair near the window.
“Zara loves to make fun of it being my man cave. I don’t usually let women in.”
I flash him a grin. “I’m honored to be an exception to the rule.” I walk to the bookshelves. He has hardback copies of his books, but there are also plenty of hardback editions from other authors whose names I vaguely recognize.
