“I need to make a call,” I lie, “about my apartment in New York. I’ll be right back.”
“Now?” It’s late. Brooke isn’t stupid.
“I know. I just totally forgot to do it earlier.” I flash a smile to her and Tasha. “Be back in a minute.”
Outside, on the tiny deck behind the house, the late spring air feels nice. I’m not sure why I’m so on edge. I think it’s just the move and the raw feelings I get about my story. It’s been a piece of me for so long that there are times I get confused and I think parts of Maverick’s story are real—not just my imagination.
It’s dumb for me to think tonight would be a good time for a hookup with Ryan. I leave in two days. I lean against the railing and stare into the small grove of trees lining the back. If I’m honest with myself, that’s probably why I wanted to give it one last chance. No commitment or obligation. Other than my desire to write, it’s been a life-long struggle.
Plus, it could’ve been a good way to get rid of that pesky V-card.
A shadow moves in the trees, triggering the hair on the back of my neck. I lean over the deck railing for a better view but feel the hands of fantasy reaching for me.
…Maverick wanders through the forest. A fluffy, gray cat weaves between her feet, herding her in a specific direction. She looks up, trying to see the sunlight, but the leaves are so thick it’s nearly dark as night.
“What am I looking for?” she asks. The cat paws at her legs. She picks him up and he nuzzles against her chest. Even though he’s soft, he doesn’t make her feel warm. No, instead a chill races down Maverick’s spine. Her hand touches the charm. It’s hot against her neck and she wants to remove it.
He meows again.
Flapping from overhead gets her attention and her ravens come from above, landing one by one in the trees and on the ground. The cat hisses, clawing at her arms.
“Ouch!” she yells, and she tosses him in reaction. He lands on his feet, close to the biggest raven, back arching defensively. Another of her ravens grabs her by the hair and tugs, back in the direction she came, but not before she sees where the cat was leading her.
A small, shimmery door deep in the woods. The stone heats against her chest, blinking at an identical flash of color ahead…
“Morgan?”
I swing around and find Ryan standing on the deck. I feel the dewy grass on my feet and turn back, realizing I’m inches from the grove of trees.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, I uh,” I try to get my bearings. “I heard something in the trees. An animal or something.”
Even in the dark yard I can see that Ryan’s expression is apologetic. “Morgan, look, I was being an ass in there.”
“A little bit.”
“I know you’re talented. We’ve worked together. I’ve read your stuff. It’s great.”
I walk to the bottom of the steps and he meets me there. “You really think so?”
“Yeah, I really think so.” He takes my hand. “I just don’t think you know how immersed you get in that story, which is fine. I get being into your craft, but wow, Morgan, sometimes you go so deep I feel like I can’t reach you.”
I know what he means. I fight a glance back at the trees. How did I get out there? Sometimes, sitting at my laptop or driving in the car, I slip into the story and feel like I’m drowning. “That’s why it’s so important for me to write about it.”
His arm slips around my waist and I feel the warmth of his body. “You’re going to do great in New York.”
I press my forehead to his. “Thank you.”
“And yes, I’ll definitely come for a visit—if the offer still stands?”
I nod but there’s no time to reply. His mouth is on mine and I just feel relief to have something—someone—to hold on to.
Chapter 2
Morgan
Even though it’s only the first of June, the streets of New York are sticky with humidity. I haul my suitcase out of the back of the cab and drag it over the curb. The building number, 236, glints from brass numbers affixed to the front door. Craning my neck, I look up and see that the building is really a house, has gray stone, and is three stories high, with an attic.