“So, tell me,” Brooks began as he leaned up against the island in the kitchen. He clutched his glass of whiskey and took a sip as he smirked at me. “How is it you’ve kept us out of your books?”
I looked at him, perplexed.
He smirked again.
“You’ve read my work?” I asked, surprised.
“Every word.”
“Every word?” I echoed as my words trailed off.
“I see we’re going to need a refill to solve this question.” He grinned as he snatched the bottle of whiskey and refilled our glasses. “So?”
“What makes you think I kept all those feelings out of my books?”
“Well, you mentioned nothing about us. Our relationship. Nothing. As a writer, aren’t you supposed to write what you know?”
“I write what I know,” I affirmed.
“And that is?”
I hesitated as I took my glass from him. “I write about devastation.”
“Devastation.”
“That’s what I know.”
“And you write it well. Rather, too well,” he added.
“Whoa, what does that mean? And I didn’t know you were a reader?”
“I’m not a reader. In fact, I hate reading. But for you, I make an exception.”
“Well, thank you.”
“I felt it was the only way I could feel closer to you. Like somehow, reading your words would bring me back to you for a little while. Even if the story was devastating. Somehow, I felt closer to you.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“Do you have any with a happy ending?”
“I’m afraid not,” I chuckled as I took another sip. “I don’t know what a happy ending feels like.”
“You divorced that scumbag. Isn’t that a happy ending?”
“Okay. Fair. That one was a happy ending. You are correct. But I’ll never write about him. I won’t ever give him that credit.”
“You keep in touch with him?”
I shook my head, and he grinned.
“So, back to the question that’s being evaded. How have you kept us out of your books?”
“I haven’t.”
He peered at me with lifted eyebrows.
“You’re... we’re in every book. Every single book.”
“How so? You think we were a devastation?”
I just winked at him. “Not even close.”
“Oh, I see. Writer’s secret. We all have secrets that we can’t tell the world. But you, you can tell your secrets and make them visible behind a veil...”
“Wow,” I laughed. “Whiskey makes you sound like you could write your own book. Listen to you!”
He grinned. “I love reading your books. I have every single one, and I believe I can say you’re my favorite author because I’ve read no other books. But you should have one with a happy ending. One where no one dies or is murdered.”
“I wish I could write one of those, but I can’t. Trust me, I’ve tried.”
“Well, if you need to write what you know, maybe, we can help you write that first book with a happy ending.”
I stared at him as he wandered around the island towards me. A tap interrupted us from the patio door. Both of us jolted and spun around.
“Who the...” Brooks said.
“Oh, geez,” I shrieked. “It’s just my neighbor. Easton. Oh, my heart stopped beating for a second there.”
“Uh, you and I both,” Brooks said as he followed me towards the patio door.
“C’mon in,” I said as I unlocked and slid the door open. “Are you insane? It’s blowing snow, dark, and sleeting out. What the heck are you doing out there?”
“I saw your light on and...” He glimpsed towards Brooks. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you had company. Hi,” he said to Brooks as he extended his hand. “I’m Easton. I live in that cabin over there. Well, right through the woods there. You can kind of see my place from here.”
“Brooks. Nice to meet you,” Brooks said as he nodded his head and shook Easton’s hand.
There was an unusual intensity of awkwardness.
“Well, I was just going to check in to see if you need anything. This storm is going to be a ruthless one.”
“I’m all set. I have everything I need. Enough to last me two weeks, maybe a little more.” I grinned. “I like to plan ahead.”
“Okay. Good. Well, if we fall into any issues, Gregory... the older guy who lives about four cabins away from us, he’s still here too. He suggested heading on over to his place if we need anything, or heaven forbid we have an emergency, but his door is open. So just wanted to let you know.”
“Oh, that’s so nice of him. Tell him thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Good. Okay, well, I’ll let you two get back to your evening. Nice to meet you, Brooks,” he added as he smiled and opened the patio door.
“Maybe we should shovel a path between our houses!” I hollered after him as he trudged through the growing snow drifts.
“A little too late for that!” he hollered back as he chuckled. “Have a great night, guys!”
I locked the patio door as Brooks put his hands on my shoulders and pulled me tight to him. He reached up and tugged the cord to shut the blinds. I didn’t want him to let go. Memories of us from the past filled my mind, and I leaned my head against his chest. This felt so perfect, but it was wrong. So wrong.
“So, who is he, really?” Brooks whispered in my ear.
“Who?” His question jarred me back to reality.
“Mr. Easton. Who is he?”
“Um, my neighbor?” I responded as a question.
“Your neighbor,” he reiterated after me.
“Yes, my neighbor.”
“Does he always come up here this late at night? It’s almost midnight.”
“Well, no.”
“So, just a neighbor?”
“Brooks.” I tried to turn around to face him, but he held me against him. I didn’t struggle to leave his grasp but leaned back harder against him, wishing he’d change his tone.
“I just want to know.”
“He’s just my neighbor.”
“What’s his last name?”
“I have no idea.” I shrugged.
“You don’t know his last name?”
“No, I don’t know his last name. Why would I?”
“Just asking.”
He continued to hold me tight against him as he took several deep breaths. “You smell so good,” he whispered. “Just like I remember.”
“I think we should go to bed,” I replied. “I can’t
