Anonymoosely Yours by Jacqueline Winters

Author:Jacqueline Winters
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jackie M. Wallick

Chapter Ten

Denver

Denver stared at the blinking cursor on his screen. Chapter twenty-two remained devoid of words, aside from a single sentence. Malcom paced his study, desperate to discover the connection between the three bodies.

He’d like to blame the new desk setup for this morning’s bout of writer’s block. His mountain view out the window was slightly off. He had too much space to spread out his notes and couldn’t seem to organize them properly or effectively. He was out of his favorite coffee and forced to drink his backup. Sherlock was snoozing on the couch instead of in his dog bed.

But all those reasons would be lies. Excuses to cover for the truth.

His mind hadn’t stopped racing since last night. He’d almost kissed her. There in his kitchen. In one heated moment, he almost ruined everything.

Another sip of bitter coffee sent him to his feet, right into the kitchen. He dumped the dark roast down the sink and chased it down the drain with water. He could run down to Black Bear Coffee and get another bag of his number one choice. Maybe pick Sophie up another secret admirer gift in the process.

Anything to procrastinate this complicated scene.

Poking his head into the living room, he meant to summon Sherlock for a ride. The dog lazily lifted his head just high enough to look at Denver. “She kept staring at my lips. You saw it, right?” The dog grumbled his response and dropped his head back to snooze delightfully in the sunlight.

Denver hadn’t spent a year getting to know Sophie, becoming a part of her life—and her daughter’s life—to throw it all away in a few minutes. No. He’d have to be more careful around her. But she was looking at your lips.

“You coming, Sherlock?”

The dog grumbled his response and stayed put on the couch, stretching longer in the process.

On Friday, Denver’s delivery schedule was typically light. Even lighter this morning with only two local stops. He’d been home by ten-thirty and staring at this nearly blank laptop screen ever since, too torn about last night to think straight.

He gave up on adding words before lunch and grabbed his truck keys off the kitchen counter. He passed the mirror his mom insisted belonged next to his staircase on his way out and stopped dead in his tracks. He looked like he’d been run over by a bus.

Sure, he spent most of the night tossing and turning. But this?

He stared at the keys in his hand, then back at his reflection. The hazard of being a writer trapped in a story was that days at a time could pass and he didn’t even realize it. He wished that were the case now. Malcom’s eighth mystery was due to his editor next week. But no, Malcom wasn’t the reason for the state of his appearance.

A trip into town looking like this, well, it could be excused with a looming book deadline. But it was all about Sophie Whitmore and that almost kiss.

He muttered under his breath all the way upstairs to his bathroom.

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