Red ran across the white sheets of printer paper like blood soiling a crime scene. Lara exhaled a sigh and reached for her coffee amid the travesty. Her top followers pleaded for a book but she needed to complete the book before promising something she might not be able to deliver. Did that make her a coward? Probably. The thought of agreeing to produce some shocking nonfiction novel in the true crime genre was terrifying. What if she didn’t possess the chops to get the job done?
What if her baby turned out to be lacking in originality? Repetitive? Worse, pedestrian.
“I need more coffee.”
It was the life of a blogger—any writer really. Surviving the evenings was all about wine. Surviving the morning was wholly dependent on coffee.
Despite last night’s not particularly restful sleep, she had remembered this morning to clean up the broken glass on the porch. She’d ended up spending a good half hour watching the lake and enjoying the fresh air. But work had called to her.
In the kitchen she picked up the carafe and filled her cup. Cradling the mug in both hands, she stared out the window. She could do this all day—watch the water that stretched out like her own private little ocean. The pleasant stillness of the water soothed her as nothing else did. As much as she had adored the constant movement and endless inspiration of Manhattan, this place quieted her soul in a totally unexpected way. If she hadn’t moved back to Maple Ridge, she might never have been able to steady her focus enough to delve into the process of writing the book about the cases she’d explored. Or perhaps it was the loss of her mother that had prompted her to go for it.
Time would tell if her decision was the right one.
A rap on the front door pulled her gaze from the compelling view. It was still early. Too early for any of the delivery services. Her address was on the tail end of the local route for mail too.
She made her way to the living room. Thankfully last night’s toe injury was no big deal at all. She peeked beyond the blind over the window next to the door.
Male.
Tall.
Dark hair.
Nice coat. The brand made for colder weather than the Nashville area generally experienced.
Possibly a salesman though it wouldn’t be the norm. He stood with his back to her door, his gaze no doubt on that view she loved so much.
Just then he turned toward the door, and Lara startled. From her position at the window she stared in a sort of shock at his profile. He appeared to study the whitewashed door and the grapevine wreath adorned with dried autumn leaves she’d hung for fall. She hadn’t gotten around to Christmas décor just yet.
He couldn’t be…
He glanced at his wrist watch and then knocked again.
Her heart thumped against her ribs. It was him.
“What in the world?” she murmured.
Special Agent Nate Decker stood at her door? Part of her was certain she must be hallucinating. She blinked and looked again. Yep, there he was.
Lara drew away from the window. Somehow she managed to place her coffee mug on the table beneath the window, nudging it between two plants the names of which she did not know. She’d inherited dozens of houseplants from her mom. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to part with a single one, though she suspected at least two were on the verge of death from her lack of a green thumb.
Deep breath. Taking the time to change clothes wasn’t an option. He’d already knocked twice. She smoothed her hands over the navy colored sweatshirt she wore. Considered the yoga pants that were a completely different color blue on the spectrum and not one that complimented the shirt. This was her typical at home attire during the winter months.
The wooly gray socks on her feet made her groan.
This was not at all how she’d anticipated their first face to face meeting would be.
Squaring her shoulders, she moved to the door and reached for the lock. A third knock made her jump.
“Hold on,” she said as she released the deadbolt. Another deep breath. She drew the door open and smiled.
Did she say hello and invite him in as if she had been expecting him and he’d visited her dozens of times before? Pretend this wasn’t their first ever meeting in the flesh?
Instead, she stared at him, what she hoped was a welcoming smile frozen on her face. He was even more handsome in person. She blinked. Gave herself a mental kick.
He grinned and announced, “You look exactly like your photos.”
Only there were no publicly posted photos of her in well-worn workout clothes and wooly, possibly holey socks.
“Nate,” she said as if she’d only just realized it was him. “What on earth are you doing here?” Then she shook her head. “Come in. This is a truly unexpected pleasure.”
As she stepped back to allow him inside, she scrutinized the words she’d chosen. Unexpected pleasure? Maybe pleasant surprise would have been a better choice. Too late now. It wasn’t like she could edit. Only a writer who spent as much time alone as she did would wish for the ability to edit a real-time conversation.
She had visualized their first meeting endless times. Not once had she seen it playing out like this.
“The sign said friends should come around to the front.” The knowing smile that cut across his handsome face said she needn’t worry about whatever words she’d chosen or the circumstances of their first meeting. “It’s great to finally meet my favorite true crime blogger in person.”
She’d completely forgotten about the sign the former owner had posted on the back porch. Her driveway led from the road to the back of her cottage. The sign read: deliveries and strangers back door, family and friends front door. Because of the view, she supposed. The front of the house faced the lake. There was a good view from both sides of the cottage as well since the land where it sat sort of jutted into the water, the woods nestled up against the back of the property and the cottage. It was perfect for privacy yet allowed the spectacular view.
She laughed at his too kind comment and closed the door behind him. “It’s not like I’m some celebrity. Not like you.” She crossed her arms over her chest suddenly remembering she never wore bras around the house. Oh God. “What brings you this far south?”
A case? Some sort of FBI convention? Did the FBI even have conventions?
Again, she dissected her words. Offering him a seat would have been the proper thing to do at this point. Maybe coffee. Good grief! Her social skills were seriously rusty.
She shook her head only then imagining what a wild mess her hair must be. Her unruly mane of red locks was the bane of her existence. To that end, she typically kept her hair in a ponytail as she did now. Only she hadn’t bothered with a brush this morning. She’d just grabbed the scrunchie and tucked the tangled mass out of her way. Of all days to play lazy.
How she must look…
“There’s something I have to do first.” He reached toward her, gave her a quick hug.
Her breath caught but she somehow managed to hug him back.
This was crazy…he was really here.
When he drew back, he said, “I had an unexpected meeting in Nashville yesterday and I decided I couldn’t possibly go back to D.C. without dropping by to see you.” His ecstatic expression faded. “I should have called.”
“Please. Don’t be ridiculous.” Still feeling slightly stunned by his hug, she gestured to the sofa. “Sit. Would you like coffee?”