Crazy Girl(34)

“We’re a bit early,” Wren announced. “You wanna walk down to the water with me?”

He didn’t wait for my response, he simply grabbed my hand and led me through the cast iron gate into the backyard and down the unleveled stone path leading to the water. A long pier, maybe one hundred feet, led out into the water where a boat lift was set at the end. As we meandered down the wooden planks, a million memories cascaded over me; the pitter-patter of bare feet as my brother and I raced each other to the end of the dock to jump in the lake, night time fishing with country music playing softly on the radio, throwing sticks out for our dog Polly to swim after. She’d only passed away a few months before we lost the house. We’d had a beautiful home—a beautiful life once upon a time. I swallowed back the lump in my throat as the weight of the past and the heaviness of my current situation settled on my shoulders.

“Does that grim look on your face mean you don’t like it?” Wren asked as we reached the end of the pier. He took a seat on the wooden bench while I stood with my back to him, drinking in the amazing view. The property was on a cove, which offered seclusion. It was definitely a plus.

Blinking a few times to clear any emotion from my eyes, I halfway twisted around to semi face him. “Does it really matter what I think?” I asked with a smirk. I knew it didn’t. I was a woman he’d known for, like, five seconds. But I did appreciate that he wanted to hear my thoughts.

And then he smiled. Stretching his large arms out and resting them on the back of the bench, he quirked his mouth a little higher on one side. “Might be a nice place, for say, a writer to write, don’t you think?”

I snorted. Loudly. Was he giving me a line or what? It was such a…futuristic statement for only a third date. And though I knew he was probably just trying to mess with me, my hackles went up at the thought that he meant it. Did he think this amazing place and view would just soak my panties? That implying we had a future together, and that I would be a part of this amazing place, would just have me crawling into bed with him? The idea he thought I was some idiot that could be swayed by falsities and bought with hints of forever and impressive property was insulting. As I shook my head, he asked, “What?”

I decided not to give in to the last thought. Even if he had thought that, which I told myself he couldn’t have—that I was reading too much into it like everything—I still decided it wasn’t worth addressing. Instead I curled my lip and rolled my eyes, letting him know I thought he was ridiculous, and laughed it off.

“Oh yeah,” I played along. “I can’t wait to see what the bedrooms look like. I want my office to have a view.”

He grinned and held his hand out. Taking it, he pulled me in his lap and squeezed me, rubbing his face against my shoulder, his beard scratchy on my skin. “It’ll be your next big novel,” he went on.

I grimaced with his words. He couldn’t have known the slump I was in career wise, or just how much depended on my next novel being a success.

“I looked you up,” he mentioned casually. “From the reviews I’ve read, it seems you’re a damned good writer.”

Something curled in my belly, an uneasiness. I was touched he’d taken the time to look me up and read reviews, since we hadn’t really discussed my writing much, which thinking about it, I didn’t mind. At the moment it happened to be the hovering black cloud of doom over my head. It wasn’t my favorite subject. He was complimenting me, and these days I took those about as well as an insult. Given my current foothold in life—my suffering career, my financial chaos, and my failed marriage—I felt as far from “good” at anything as we were from the moon. Courtney had scolded me for this way of thinking many times. She said I was self-deprecating. I considered myself humble. Still she loved feeding me pushes of confidence.

“Accept a compliment. Do not talk them out of telling you how awesome you are,” she’d said.

“I’ve been lucky,” I replied to Wren. “Still have many things I have to work on. I’m not a New York Times best seller or anything.”

“Yet,” he stated.

Looking down at him, my stare fixed on his dark gaze. “What?”

“You’re not on the New York Times yet.”

“Hey there,” a woman called, effectively causing us to jerk our eyes from each other. I hopped off Wren, a little winded by not only his last words to me but by the sudden interruption, and backed up so he could stand.

“Hey, Linda,” he called after an awkward clearing of his throat as he went to her and they shook hands. Still a little blown away, I made my way over and shook hands with Linda, the realtor, as Wren introduced us. He gave no details. Didn’t call me a date, though that was better than being called practically a stranger. He simply introduced us by name, which was good enough for everyone. As we all made our way to the house to view the inside, I tried to shake Wren’s words from before getting interrupted. He hadn’t said anything wrong or shitty. He’d said something simple, but it had spoken volumes to me. He’d poked at my mind-set. He’d pointed out a chink in my armor. I was being pessimistic. I was noting I’d rejected his compliment just as Courtney had told me not to, instead of being positive and optimistic. Instead of saying I’m going to do this, I’d focused on what I hadn’t done. In just a few short words he’d afforded me a clarity somehow. It was as if a fog had lifted, and I could see what was before me. And I didn’t like it. Okay. Fine. So I was negative and predictable. Courtney knew I’d react this way, and I had. Like everything else I knew I needed to accomplish, it was miles out of reach, over a mountain I’d have to climb. Just because he made me see what I was doing, didn’t mean I could change it overnight. Changing your mind-set takes time and diligence. Was acknowledging it my first step? Could I not write again, or write well, until I changed the way I viewed myself?