“Chapter one.”
“You wrote the first chapter already? What are you complaining about? That’s great!”
“No, I only wrote the words ‘chapter' and ‘one.’ That’s it.” I hand her the tiny set of shears she’s been using to clip back dead leaves. “I was so sure the cabin was going to be the ultimate place to write—quiet, comfortable, beautiful view—but so far …” I shake my head in disgust. “Nada.”
“It’s only been three days,” she says. “I’m sure it takes a while to warm up.”
Lifting the watering can to give the fern a big drink, I tell her, “Back at the office, I’d get interrupted constantly. I always used to think that if I could only just sit somewhere quiet, I’d be able to get so much more done in a day. But now that I’ve got that, I can’t seem to focus.”
“Maybe it’stooquiet,” Harper suggests. “Maybe you’re the type of writer who needs to sit somewhere noisy.”
“I don’t think the middle of Main Street is even noisy here.”
“How about the diner?” Her eyebrows ascend in question.
She might be right. “Actually, the one time this week I did have an idea was when I was there. There was this nasty redhead who kept glaring at Moira. I made a bunch of notes about her for my villain.”
“Big hoop earrings and a low-cut top?” she asks.
“That’s the one. Who is she?”
“Just some girl Moira went to high school with. I gather she’s the jealous type and she takes her insecurities out on Moira. She’d make a great villain, for sure.” We cross the dining room and Harper sets her bucket of tools down in front of a tall palm.
“Do you think Moira would mind my taking up a table at the diner? I don’t want her to lose any business.”
“Why not rent it, then?” Harper says, misting the plant’s broad leaves. “You can ask her tonight.”
Tonight is Wyatt’s Little League game. Harper, Digger, and Jack will all be there, along with the kids. I’ve been finding myself looking forward to it a lot more than I should, and I’m starting to think it has less to do with baseball than one of the players’ mothers.
* * *
The sun shines brightly overhead as the baseball players warm up. It’s hot out, but there’s a nice breeze making its way to the field from the ocean nearby. I’m sitting in the stands next to Harper. Digger is on her other side, and his grandpa, Jack, is next to him. Ash, Colton, Liam, and Lily are seated on the bench in front of us. Moira is in the dugout, handing out bottled water to the team. I watch her for a minute, glad I’m wearing sunglasses so no one else will notice that I’m staring at her.
Moira Bishop intrigues me. It’s not only that she’s extraordinarily beautiful with her thick, shiny, dark brown hair and intense blue eyes. She’s strong and in charge; she’s nurturing and fearless. She’s the whole package, really. If I were interested in settling down, I’d definitely be asking her out.
Digger leans forward so he can see me. “So, Ethan, how’s your novel coming along?”
“Not great.” I tear my eyes away from his sister, who’s now climbing the metal bleacher steps toward us. “I’m having a little trouble getting started.”
“Getting started is probably the hardest part,” he says.
“Getting started on what?” Moira asks, settling down next to me.
“His novel,” Digger tells her.
Releasing a groan, she says, “I couldn’t write a book if my life depended on it. I’m impressed you’re even trying.”
“I appreciate that,” I tell her. “But I think we all have a book in us somewhere. I bet you could do it if you put your mind to it.”
She smirks. “Let me rephrase that. I have no desire to figure out if I could write a book. If I had that kind of time, I’d take up something more relaxing, like napping.”
A chuckle escapes me. “My biggest problem seems to be that my house is too quiet. Apparently, my brain needs more stimulation to be creative. Harper thinks I need to work in a place with a lot of background noise.” Then I drop the bomb. “You know, like the diner …”
She stares at me as her mouth opens and closes several times without any response. Before I can backpedal out of my suggestion, Harper interjects, “I suggested he rent a table from you.”
“You’d really want to rent a table in a noisy diner?” Moira asks.
“If it wouldn’t put you out too much.”