Fearless, Abby Brooks [leveled readers .txt] 📗

if we were friends as he tried to escape to the parking lot.

At the time, I’d been proud of myself for my bravery. For taking the initiative to talk to someone I admired. But as he lowered himself into his car and drove away, I realized I’d word-vomited a conversation at a guy who outclassed me times a million. He was so much better than me we weren’t even playing the same game, and I’d gone on and on about writing as if my opinion mattered in the slightest.

That day, the angel of self-doubt landed on my shoulder and squawked in my ear. You’re the crazy girl who stalked Alexander Prescott to his car, Evie. You will be the story he tells his friends when he talks about weird interactions with fans.

Everything Drew said after he betrayed me had welcomed that whispering voice right back. The angel had been perched on my shoulder for months now and the litany of self-doubt was paralyzing.

Alex smiled weakly as Morgan flopped to the floor at his feet. He shifted his bag and eyed the still-open door, desperate to leave now that I’d recognized him—or maybe he’d recognized me. “That’s me. The Alexander Prescott.”

“He’s a writer,” I explained to Amelia. “A damn good one.”

And he was hot as hell. And I stalked him to his car six years ago. And I almost killed him last night. And now, apparently, he was my neighbor. Holy shitcakes. If it wasn’t impossible to die of embarrassment, I’d have called the morgue to request a pickup.

“Evie’s a writer.” Amelia elbowed me. “A damn good one.”

Well, look at that. Death by embarrassment looked more and more possible.

I held up my hands, waving off her compliment as I met Alex’s eyes. “As my best friend, she’s required to say that. I think it’s a law or something. I’m…well…I’m not even employed anymore so I guess that means I’m not a writer at all.”

Amelia rolled her eyes. “I keep telling her to care less about those details, but she’s determined to lock herself in this hierarchical box of success. Being published does not magically validate your skill, you know?” She nodded like he’d agreed, then hurried on, standing as she waved her hands through the air. “I’ll leave you two to get to know each other. Coffee calls!” With a pat on Morgan’s massive noggin and a less-than-secret wink my way, she disappeared into the kitchen.

“She’s right, you know. Many writers more talented than me will never get a book deal.”

He was being nice and somehow that made it worse. I smiled, waiting for him to recognize me as the crazy woman who stalked him to his car then sighed when he didn’t. Maybe he was being polite by not bringing it up. Or maybe one of the most embarrassing moments of my life didn’t even rate as memorable in his.

Alex leaned against the wall near the door. “So, Evie McAllister, inquiring minds. What job did you lose that rescinded your status as a writer?”

“I was a junior editor for a newspaper in a small city. With the economy and everything…” I shrugged and hoped he’d let his imagination fill in the blanks as to why I’d been let go. There was no way I’d tell this man I’d been called safe, bland, and boring.

Alex rapid fired questions my way.

College? Brown.

Accolades? A few.

Years of experience? Five.

“What is this? A job interview?”

Alex laughed. “Just curious.” He tapped his temple. “A writer’s brain is filled with questions and character details.”

“My dad used to threaten to tape my lips together if I asked one more question.”

“There you go, then. You know what I’m talking about.” Alex pressed off the wall and I did everything I could not to drool. How could a man look that good so early in the morning? “I should let you get your day started,” he said. “It was a pleasure to meet you. Sorry we basically broke in. Come on, Morgan.” The dog raised his head, then begrudgingly lifted himself from the floor.

“I’ll consider it payback for almost killing you last night.” I frowned as I rewrapped my robe around me. “How’d you get in anyway? I could have sworn I locked the door.”

Alex stared for a long minute. “You do know this house is supposed to be haunted, right? Maybe the ghost has a key.”

I laughed, then shrugged. “Or maybe I forgot to use mine. It was a bit of an eventful arrival.”

We said our goodbyes and I watched him amble down the walk, Morgan prancing at his side as autumn leaves fluttered from the trees. Dappled sunlight traced lines of rippling gold along Alex’s head and shoulders. He turned and caught me staring, then lifted a hand.

As I raised my own in return, Amelia appeared beside me. “When your life implodes, it does it in the best way possible. I mean, your Karma must be amazing.” She bumped her shoulder to mine. “This house is gorgeous. That man is gorgeous. That dog?”

“Gorgeous?” My gaze returned to Alex as he crossed my yard into his.

Amelia leaned her head against my shoulder. “Pretty much.”

For the first time, I didn’t need tequila to wonder if she was right.

Chapter Five

Alex

The moment I stepped into my neighbor’s house, my writer’s block dissipated, the thick clouds obscuring my creativity parted, and I could see.

It was sublime and had been like that from day one.

Toward the end of her life, Ruth told me that after she passed, Sugar Maple Hill would go to a family member she hadn’t seen in decades. The possibility of the house sitting vacant weighed on her, so she asked me to look after the place until the new owner arrived. I’d promised to take care of her home like it was my own, made a copy of the key, then checked in on the woman several days a week.

My days fell into a predictable pattern. Wake. Shower. Visit Mom, who’d spent a lonely life married to my mostly