Oh hell, work.
She let out a cry as she saw the time. Holy shit. She should already be several thousand words deep by now. She jumped out of bed. He followed more slowly.
“Girl, come here.”
“I can’t! I’m late. I don’t even have time to eat.”
“You’re gonna eat,” he told her in a deep voice. “And you have time to come here. Two minutes won’t make any difference.”
She took a deep breath to calm herself. Of course it wouldn’t. She walked to him.
He tilted her face up with one hand. “I’m going to take care of you, Caley. I’ll show you that you can trust me. With all parts of yourself. That’s a promise.”
Then after laying that on her, he walked out.
Sheesh.
13
She stood, stretching. Her right hand was aching, and she knew she should take a break. She’d written a lot despite her late start.
The weather outside had calmed down a lot during the night. It was still pelting with rain, but at least the wind had stopped. Still, there were branches everywhere.
Clean-up. Yay.
Not exactly her strong suit.
A knock on her door had her turning. Doc pushed his head in.
“Ahh, good, you’ve stopped. Didn’t want to interrupt you in the middle of a scene. Lunch is nearly ready. Time to wrap it up now.”
“I think I should eat it in here. I have some more to write.”
“You’ll take a break and eat it out here.”
Bossy bastard. But the thought was an affectionate one.
When she walked out, she saw him stirring something on the stovetop.
“Yum, what’s that smell?”
“Found some ground beef in your freezer so I made meatballs. They’re not as good as my grandma’s but they’re better than another night of frozen meals. They’re for dinner, though. Grilled cheese for lunch.”
Her tummy took that moment to rumble.
“Ahh, Caley, what is your poison? I thought we could have aperitifs later on, before dinner.” Archer walked in from the back porch, carrying some bottles of spirits.
Isaac snorted. “Aperitif.”
Archer just rolled his eyes. “I found these earlier and you have some juice and soda. Thought I would experiment. Do you like cocktails?”
“Oh, I’m not much of a drinker but one would be nice before dinner.”
“How are your hands?” Doc asked her.
“Sore.” She looked down at her swollen hands. He stepped forward and gently took her hands in his.
“They don’t look good, Caley. They’re swollen. You need to start looking into dictation before they get really bad.”