Chapter 11

HANNAH

“Are you sure you’re okay to get home by yourself?” George asked as we stood on the pavement in front of Builders’ Arms. It was past 11 p.m., but it was still comfortably warm. One of the old-fashioned cast-iron lamp posts that lined Main Street let off a golden glow, gently lighting George’s face.

“I’ll be fine. It’s not very far away, and I distinctly remember someone telling me that Sapphire Springs isn’t exactly known for its crime rate.” I grinned.

George laughed. “True.”

“Thanks again for inviting me. I had a great time. Everyone is lovely.” And I meant it. I really meant it. The awkwardness over the date-like movie night had faded as the evening had worn on, possibly due to the number of drinks I’d consumed or how comfortable George just generally made me feel. I was slightly giddy, and whether it was due to the drinks or the great time I’d had, I wasn’t sure. For someone who’d been ready to embrace the life of a recluse, I was really enjoying hanging out with George and her friends. Jenny was outgoing and optimistic. Blake initially came across somewhat reserved but had a biting sense of humor and was clearly very close to George—they’d had an intense-looking heart-to-heart about something at the bar. Amanda was direct and hilarious, and Olivia, who I’d discovered was Blake’s sister, was very sweet.

And then there was George. George, looking stunning under the glow of the lamp posts, concern in her eyes. The more time I spent with her, the more I liked her. While she was warm and down-to-earth, she also had a playful side that had really shone through tonight.

Fueled either by drinks or the success of the evening, I impulsively stepped forward and gave George a hug. For a moment, I savored the heat of her body, the firmness of her upper back, the curve of her chest pressed against mine, and her smell—a faint woody scent. My body relaxed as I leaned into the hug and closed my eyes. Then, I remembered who I was hugging. My hot boss. Who had no idea I was H. M. Stuart. What the hell are you doing, Hannah?

My pulse racing, I detached myself, stepping back. Heat shot over my cheeks. “Well, I’d better be going. See you tomorrow!”

I managed an awkward wave and turned, walking quickly away from George.

The heat in my cheeks dissipated as I headed down Main Street. There wasn’t a law against giving your boss a friendly hug. Well, at least I didn’t think there was. It was fine. Some people were just huggers, and that would be totally normal for them. While I wasn’t usually a hugger, at least George didn’t know that.

I turned off Main Street, my mind still focused on George. I smiled as I remembered her praise for my writing, the fact that she liked the way I turned classic fantasy tropes on their heads and my strong female characters. If only I could recreate that for the book I was meant to be working on, the book I’d made absolutely no progress on. The bounce in my stride diminished. I tried to shake off the sinking feeling that thinking about the book brought on.

I also hadn’t gotten any closer to telling George that I was H. M. Stuart tonight. I’d put off telling her at the start of the evening, worried I’d ruin the night, and by the time the movie was over, I felt too tipsy to handle the conversation. Shit. My stomach sank even further. Don’t start worrying about it tonight, Hannah. It’s too late to do anything now and worrying won’t achieve anything.

Taking my therapist’s advice, I focused on being mindful of my surroundings instead, taking in the smell of the rose bushes, the glow of the moon behind a smattering of light clouds, the soft breeze on my face.

And then it struck me. Strong female characters. That was one of the things George liked about my novels, and what I was missing from the outline I’d submitted to my publisher months ago. In the plot I’d sketched out, my main character, Esmae, was too passive, too lacking in agency. She needed to take charge of her own destiny, meet challenges head on, just like she had in earlier books, instead of the plot revolving around her being rescued by the two competing love interests. Perhaps my own feelings of helplessness have rubbed off on her. My pulse increased, my mind whirring at a million miles a second as I reimagined the plot with a new and improved kick-ass Esmae taking the lead. Fuck yes!

I picked up my pace, itching to get home and start typing. I hadn’t felt this way about writing for a long time. When I reached my cottage, I flung open the front gate and jogged to the front door, my hands trembling as I turned the key. I dropped my bag in the hallway, raced into the living room, grabbed my laptop, and plonked myself down in the armchair.

As the words flowed out of me, my body relaxed. Finally, for the first time in months, I was in the zone.

And damn, did it feel amazing.