Fearless, Abby Brooks [leveled readers .txt] 📗

absent father and deserved to know she mattered. Peek in on my sister to make sure everything was moving smoothly on her end and she didn’t need anything. Then take Morgan for a walk on the beach, stopping to check on Ruth on our way home. She was a sweet woman, alone in the world save for a great niece she hadn’t seen since she was a child. Like my mother, Ruth deserved to know her existence mattered, and I did everything I could to bring that into focus.

The routine eroded my mornings, but something about being in my neighbor’s house inspired me. When I’d leave Sugar Maple Hill, my head overflowed with plot and prose, and I’d spend the rest of the day transferring it to the page. But this morning, as I’d stood just inside the front door, my eyes locked on Evie, the effect multiplied. My characters…the plot points, setting, and backstory…they all screamed at me in a way I’d almost declared dead and gone.

As a creature of habit, the run-in with my new neighbor should have derailed my day. Instead, I floated down her walk, mesmerized by the sunlight skittering over my feet. I felt her eyes on my back and sure enough, a glance over my shoulder showed her on the porch, in that ridiculous silk robe that hid nothing and highlighted everything.

And I mean everything.

I waved. She did too. Morgan huffed at a leaf with the audacity to fall to the ground in front of him and I practically clicked my heels together in happiness.

The weight of her eyes on my back faded and I risked a peek. Her door clicked shut as I crossed the invisible line that delineated Ruth’s yard from mine—well…this wasn’t Ruth’s yard anymore, really. It belonged to Eveline McAllister, owner of silk robes and pert nipples. Friend to neo-hippies and trespassing dogs. Blonde hair. Gray eyes. A mesmerizing smile and an aura of—

My phone rang, shattering my thoughts before they could go any further. I huffed a breath when I saw the name of the caller. “Good morning, Brighton,” I said to my agent while Morgan did his business and I stared at the world around me.

Fall treated Wildrose Landing like a pampered socialite, dressing the town in designer gowns and jewels. I’d tried for years to capture in words the reds and golds of the leaves, the long slant to the sun, the crisp air, fresh and alive off the ocean. I failed every damn time. It didn’t matter how many bestsellers lists I hit, I wouldn’t consider myself a successful writer until I finally crystallized the essence of autumn in New England.

“Is it a good morning, Alex?” Brighton’s snide voice broke through my thoughts. “Are you anywhere near a finished draft? If you aren’t, and let’s just say I’m pretty damn sure you aren’t, then this is not a good morning.” The woman had the aggression and tenacity of a pit fighter, something that worked in my favor, as long as I was on her good side.

“Now see. About that. I have a bit of a dilemma—”

“We have zero fucking time for dilemmas.” Brighton’s sharp tone made it clear I’d overstayed my welcome on her good side. “Grab your gear, sit your ass down in your dead neighbor’s house—”

I rolled my eyes. “At least pretend to be decent and have respect.”

Brighton loosed a long sigh. “Sorry. I’m…my nerves are frayed, Alex. I’ve asked for, and gotten might I add, three extensions on this project. We’re officially in danger of losing this contract. You’d have to return the advance. The scandal alone…” She sighed again and I imagined her leaning back in her office chair, pinching her nose and closing her eyes. “I know you’re busy doing the eccentric author thing, where you can only write in your deceased neighbor’s house, but you’ve officially found the end of everyone’s patience. Get your ass into that kitchen and get the words on the page.”

“That’s where the dilemma comes in. The house is no longer vacant, Bri. Something I discovered when I used my key this morning and scared the new owner half to death.”

And it was all worth it. My mind offered an image of Evie in her silk robe as proof. Yeah. Definitely worth it.

“Okay.” Brighton did not sound like she cared one bit about this problem. “Now what?”

“I don’t know. The words aren’t coming.” I shook my head as I turned my face toward the sky. How could I describe the frustration? The fear? How could I make her understand I was doing everything I could, and still got nowhere? “It’s like turning on an old TV and all you see is fuzz. I’m staring at fucking static all day long and trying to find the story in it. The one place my brain stopped glitching, even a little bit, was in my neighbor’s kitchen, and now someone lives there. What do you want me to do? Knock on a stranger’s door and ask if I can come over every day to finish a book?”

“I don’t care what you do. Use your key and write while she’s asleep if you have to.”

“I’m not breaking into my neighbor’s house while she’s asleep.”

“Then make friends with her. Shit. Date her if that helps. Just finish the book. I’ve done my part, and I’ll keep doing it. As soon as we end this call, I’ll reach out to your publisher and ask for another extension. But hear me, Alex. It’s time for you to stop messing around and do your job.”

The call ended, as did every ounce of inspiration I’d found.

A normal person would have been joking when they suggested I break into Evie’s house. Brighton most certainly was not. “I’m not that guy,” I said to Morgan, who cocked his head as if to question the statement. “I’m not. Who in their right mind would do something like that? I’m not gonna date her either.” We jogged up the