‘We’re going to be late.’
* * *
Owen lookedup and saw Lexie frowning at him. So, the argument continues, he thought, and saying something about just one more line, he continued typing.
‘Hurry!’
He ignored her. This was a crucial part of the chapter – the bit where the judge was about to confront intruders in her home. He’d thought all along it was too flat. Now he had to get it right. Build the tension. Make the reader turn the page.
‘You haven’t even put on your shoes yet,’ Lexie’s voice intruded into the judge’s moment. ‘And that shirt needs ironing.’
‘Shit!’ Owen jumped up and slammed down the laptop lid. The moment was lost. He had no idea now what his bloody judge would say or do when she found George the psycho in her living room. He strode across the room, pushed past Lexie into the bedroom and dug his second-best leather shoes from his still packed bag. Maybe there’d been a reason he hadn’t finished unpacking. Perhaps this living together wouldn’t work out after all.
