1. Celina

ONE

CELINA

The cursor on the screen flashed over and over again, mocking me, blinking like some sadistic spirit, reveling in my misery. With a glance at my clock, I realized I'd been sitting in front of my laptop for over an hour. One whole hour, and not a single word written. What the hell was wrong with me? I'd never had writer's block before. Since I started writing as a kid, the words always seemed to flow out of me. In fact, I'd always had a hard time keeping the words in.

Pushing away from my desk, I stood and paced around the room, glancing at my computer every few seconds. I kept trying to come up with an idea, a hook, a twist—a freaking sentence. It had been going on for days, and it was frustrating me to no end. My deadline was looming, and I was worried I wouldn't finish the book in time. I'd never missed a deadline in my entire career. Usually, I turned in a manuscript weeks before the final date. So, to say that was weird and disappointing was an understatement.

My outline was good, and my mind had only been on this story for the past month. Now, I couldn't even get a single word onto the page. The manuscript was waiting for me, but my head seemed to be somewhere else. Where that place was, I didn't know.

Almost as though she could read my mind and sense my disquiet, my agent Tiffany called. Standing there, I stared at my phone on the table as it rang and contemplated not answering. The problem was that Tiffany knew me too well. I was kind of a recluse. Well…I guess I was a recluse. A twenty-eight-year-old spinster cat-lady without any cats. I was almost always home working, and Tiffany knew that. If I didn't answer, she'd probably think I had a damned stroke or something. She'd call an ambulance, it would be a whole deal, and I'd be mortified. Shit.

I picked the phone up and answered. "This is Celina."

"Hey, chick. How's the book coming? I wanted to do my weekly check-in," Tiffany said, almost too cheerily.

I sighed and glanced out the window at the brown leaves blowing across the yard. November was in full effect. "It's…well…not great, actually."

There was a long pause before Tiffany spoke again. "You've got writer's block? You?"

I rolled my eyes to the ceiling. Great, even Tiffany thought it was weird. Even though we were on the phone, my cheeks blazed red. I hated discussing personal things—even with friends. Years of bouncing through foster homes had given me plenty of baggage, and this was just another piece of baggage.

"Yeah. I can't get past this one section. I even tried moving ahead and writing a later scene, but I couldn't come up with anything. It's kinda crazy, actually. I don't know what's up," I explained.

"Listen, I know how it is. Most of my other clients have dealt with it in the past. You are the exception to the rule. It was bound to happen at some point. Don't get too much in your head about it. Honestly, you've been prolific. You've written twice as much as any other author. Don't sweat it."

"Okay, well, tell me what your other clients did to get over the hump, or through the forest, or whatever cliché works best in this situation."

Tiffany laughed. "You aren't gonna like it. Almost all of them have said the same thing."

My stomach dropped. I took a breath and asked, "What's their secret?"

"They all got away for a while. Closed their laptop, stepped away from the typewriter as if they were really old school, and took a week or two away. Cleared their head. Cancun, Bahamas, Paris. Mountain retreat, beach vacay, Las Vegas debauchery. Whatever the heart needs to get the head back on track."

The thought filled me with trepidation. I wasn't a traveler by nature. The thought of going to any of the places Tiffany mentioned didn't really appeal to me. Beaches meant people, lots of people. The same for Paris or Vegas. If I did go somewhere, I liked the idea of quiet. Someplace where I could, maybe, get my act together and get back to work.

Tiffany went on. "Listen, Celina, I'll call the publisher. We'll get the deadline pushed back a few months. You've busted your ass for them for years. They can give you a little leeway on this one. Figure out where you want to go for your getaway and let me know. A month? Maybe even two? You are way past due for a vacation."

"Vacation?" I laughed. "What's that?"

"For real? Girl, you need to get out there and live. When's the last time you had a nice, hot one-night stand?"

My face went red again, and this time my ears burned. I quickly changed the subject. "You're right. It's time to get away. I'll let you know what I decide."

"Okay, I'll call the publisher and let them know. Don't worry about that. I'll punch 'em in the balls if they give me any lip about it."

Smiling, I ended the call. Then, exactly as Tiffany said, I closed my laptop. The sound of it clicking closed was, surprisingly, cathartic. I sank onto the couch to try and figure out where I wanted to go. The usual vacation spots were out. I really just wanted somewhere I could relax. Somewhere quiet and calm. Twenty minutes of surfing the web on my phone for vacation sites and vacation rentals didn't help. Finally, I got up and went to the large, detailed map of the United States on my wall. I used it when I was plotting out a new book to make sure which state was where and what city was in what part of the state—stuff like that.

I closed my eyes and put my finger out. Even though I was alone, I was still embarrassed, but I followed through. I turned in two circles, then walked toward the map while moving my arm in a circle. After three short steps, my finger came to a rest on the map. Opening my eyes, I raised an eyebrow in surprise. Colorado? Not exactly what I'd been thinking, but…something about it seemed right.

After five minutes of digging through an old box in my closet, I found an old road atlas and opened it to the state of Colorado. It took up two big pages and seemed to have every single city and town on it. I stared at it, trying to figure out where would be the best place to clear my head. Then I decided to do the blind-man's-bluff trick again. I closed my eyes and slammed my finger on the map.

The moment my finger touched the paper, my lips spread into a grin. It was difficult to explain the feeling I got, but it was a sort of rightness. I lifted my finger, and looked at the town it had landed on. Lilly Valley, Colorado. Goosebumps prickled up my arms, and warmth seeped through my stomach and chest. I'd never heard of the place before, but…it called to me. This was the place. One hundred percent. This. Was. The. Place.

Another quick internet search brought up available rentals in the small town. Small was accurate. There weren't many places available, but I managed to find a fully furnished apartment. Without a second thought, I called the lister and rented the apartment, immediately paying the security deposit and two months' rent.

Once I put the phone down, I clasped my hands in front of my chest. I must have looked like a little girl who'd just walked into the living room to see what Santa brought, but I didn't care—no one was here to see me. Nothing had made me this excited in a long time. I picked up the phone again and called Tiffany to give her the good news.

"Colorado?" she asked incredulously. "Like Denver or Aspen?"

"No, Lilly Valley. It's this cute little hamlet. Oh my gosh, it looks amazing."

"Uh…okay. It's your vacation and your dime. It sounds a little dull to me, but you do you," Tiffany said.

"I leave at the end of the week. I paid for two months, but I'll probably only stay a few weeks. I'm so excited, Tiffany."

"Girl, I don't think I've ever heard you this worked up over something. Not even when your books sell like hotcakes. Sounds like this is exactly what you need. As long as you touch base with me when you get there, I'll be fine with it."

The next several days went by agonizingly slow. I made no progress on my book because every extra moment I had was spent looking up pictures of Lilly Valley. Then I researched restaurants in the area, book stores, and movie theaters—all the things an introvert like me loved. By the end of the week, I was practically vibrating with excitement.

The flight on Friday was blessedly quick. I wasn't a huge fan of airplanes, more due to motion sickness than an actual fear of flying. I picked up my rental car for the trip and headed to Lilly Valley. I spent the drive listening to an audiobook and was able to pretty much zone out. But then I crested the hill that revealed the town. As soon as I saw it, the pull became stronger. I smiled as I took it all in.

The leasing office was right on the outskirts of the town. After I pulled into the parking lot and got out of the car, I noticed how fresh the air smelled. Everything about this place was clean and beautiful, and from the way every building seemed to fit the aesthetic of the town, I was certain there was some bylaw that decided the architectural design. It was even better than I thought.

I entered the office and found a lady at the counter. I smiled, but she wasn't actually looking at me. In fact, she seemed a little frazzled. Pulling my lip between my teeth and chewing nervously, I waited for her to notice me.

She glanced up after putting the phone down and waved me over. "Okay, come on up. Sorry, busy day. What can I do for you? I have an apartment showing in thirty minutes."

"Uh…" Her brusque nature made me uncomfortable. "I rented an apartment for a couple of months."

She wrinkled her brow in confusion. "An apartment for two months? We don't rent by the month. Six-month leases only. You must have the wrong place."

Without another word, she went back to shuffling papers and looked like she was getting ready to leave. My heart skipped a beat, and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead. Mustering every ounce of courage I had, I cleared my throat. "No, this is the right place. I have a confirmation email."

She glanced back at me with such irritation that my skin flushed hot. Any type of confrontation always sent me into a spiral of anxiety, fear, and exhaustion. It was why I usually stayed home all the time. It wasn't agoraphobia exactly, but it was probably only a couple of steps away from it.

The woman put her hands on her hips and cocked an eyebrow at me. "Ma'am, we've never done month-to-month leases. I don't know what information you have, but that is not something we do."

"Karen? What was that?" called a voice from the back office.

An older woman who looked a little worried walked up to the counter. The woman I'd been dealing with looked at her and gestured toward me. "Yeah, Becky, this lady says she rented an apartment from us for just two months. I keep telling her that's not something we do."

I wanted to shrink into the floor, disappear, melt away. They were talking about me like I wasn't there. It was disrespectful, but I was too timid to do anything or interject. That fact made me even more irritated at myself. I wished, at that moment, that I had the courage of all the heroes and heroines in my books.

"She does have a month-to-month lease, Karen," Becky said; the lilt of her voice was obviously trying to get some unspoken message across. Karen seemed unable to get the subtlety of the exchange. Instead of agreeing with Becky, she furrowed her brow again and shook her head.

"No, we don't. Since when?"

Becky gave me a pained smile before turning back to Karen. "If you'd read the email I sent out a month ago, you'd know. We have two units that are booked for long-term leases next year. They can't move in until March, and we didn't have a six-month block of time for the rental. I listed them as short terms about two weeks ago." To reinforce the matter, she again added, "This was all in the email I sent out."

Karen threw her hands up in disgust. "Well, I'm sorry, I never saw it. I'll let you deal with this." She waved at me dismissively. "I have a showing in fifteen minutes. I need to go, or I'll be late."

Karen slung a bag over her shoulder and stomped out without another word or an apology to me. Not wanting to instigate another argument, I kept my eyes downturned as she left. When I finally had the courage to look up, the woman named Becky rubbed her temples and gritted her teeth. As soon as she noticed me looking at her, she plastered a smile on her face.

"I'm sorry about that." She glanced over her shoulder conspiratorially. "She's the owner's sister. I'm sure you understand."

I nodded sheepishly, but I didn't really understand. I was an only child, and the only siblings I'd had were of the foster variety. I was a writer, though, so I got the gist. "Yeah, it's fine."

"It's not, but we'll try to fix it. Are you Miss Santos? Celina?"

"Yes, that's me. I only got into town ten minutes ago."

"Oof, I'm sorry Karen was your first experience with Lilly Valley. Trust me, it gets a lot better. Anyway, all I need is your ID, a credit card on file for the auto-withdrawal lease you set up, and your license plate number to register your car with the parking spot that comes with the apartment."

I went through the registration process in a daze. I was fully drained by the interaction with Karen and took the keys with little fanfare. Becky walked me to the door and stepped into the parking lot with me. She pointed down the street. "Right there is your new place. It's close, so that's good. Top floor. If you have any questions, we're here Monday to Friday, regular business hours."

"Thanks," I mumbled.

I went to my car and drove the three blocks to the apartment building. Grabbing my small suitcase, I walked up the stairs to the top floor, found my door, unlocked it, and went in. Without paying any attention to the space that would be my home for the next two months, I walked straight to the bathroom and went inside. The door closed behind me, leaving me in darkness. I leaned back against the wall and slid down to the floor. Thankfully, no tears came, just a bone-deep weariness. The altercation with the woman at the rental office had leached my energy.

After nearly thirty minutes, my vitality levels went back to normal. This was how I'd always re-centered myself when I was younger. Years of living in shitty foster homes had given me loads of deep-seated issues and weird coping mechanisms. It still rankled me that my childhood was so ingrained in me.

Standing, I flipped the light switch on and squinted through the sudden brightness. The room was actually fairly large. There was a pedestal sink with a mirrored cabinet above it, a toilet, and a pretty big shower. To say I was surprised was an understatement. I'd assumed I would be getting a tiny starter apartment for the price. The pictures online looked pretty and apparently hadn't been camera tricks.

Out in the living area, I found a fairly decent open-plan living room, dining room, and kitchen. Everything was clean and well taken care of. The bedroom was just off the living room, and the king-sized bed took up most of the space, but that was fine by me. The closet was small, but I had no plans of increasing my wardrobe while I was here.

My stomach grumbled, and I glanced at the refrigerator. Groceries were the first necessity. I found a welcome packet for new renters on the little kitchen island, which blessedly had a grocery circular with coupons. The address was on the back, so I tucked it into my pocket and rushed back to my car, not paying attention to the rest of the complex.

The grocery store was small, but oh my gosh, it was gorgeous—small and quaint but still well-stocked. It even carried some specialty items that were usually hard to find in larger cities. Shopping there was a pleasant experience and almost a Zen moment. After picking up the necessities, I was in a much better mood and decided to make a bigger run later.

Back at the apartment, I lugged the three grocery bags up to the top floor before going back for the rest of my bags. I stopped halfway up on my second trip to catch my breath. It would have been nice if this place had an elevator. During this last trip, I noticed there was only one other apartment on the top floor, which I found strange. Layouts like this were usually reserved for penthouses in the city. My place was nice, but it was definitely not a penthouse.

Once back inside, I pulled up the rental agreement and saw that it was, indeed, called penthouse-style. I chuckled to myself. Strange way of phrasing it, but it was basically right. This could be a good thing or a bad thing. What if the person who lived across the hall liked to play drums at two in the morning? Maybe it was for the best, though. I wouldn't have to have awkward interactions with a bunch of neighbors or make small talk. The mere thought of that stressed me out.

After getting most of my things situated and putting a frozen pizza into the oven to bake, I went back to my front door. A little window at eye level allowed me to look across the hall at my neighbor's door. I wondered what they were like. My writer's mind did what it always did: it built a fantasy.

He was a gorgeous, sexy, special agent, only in town to complete a mission. The mission was to watch out for and protect me. Someone rich and powerful had it out for me, and this guy had taken the apartment across from me to make sure I was safe. Bad guys would be around every corner, and he'd swoop in to save me, and we'd go on an adventure at the last minute.

Biting my lip, I sank deeper into the fantasy, my eyes glazing over. We'd run across the country, encountering problem after problem. The rich guy would be on our heels because he wanted me for some nefarious reason. Death was around every corner, and we'd always manage to escape by the slimmest margins. Then one night, the sexy special would confess that he was in love with me. He'd pull me close and kiss me like I'd never been kissed in my life. His hands would roam across my body, slipping under my shirt and?—

I blinked and gently slapped my cheek. Jesus, why did I always do that? It was like when I was a kid and lived most of my life in daydreams. It was also a bit infuriating that I was going down the rabbit hole of a fantasy even though I couldn't get one damned word out on paper.

"Pull it together, Celina," I muttered as I pulled the pizza from the oven.

I spent the rest of the afternoon eating my frat-boy dinner, finishing unpacking, and calling to get my internet set up. Even after the awful interaction at the rental place, the day turned out to be pretty nice. Once all my needed items had been taken care of, I did what I came to do. I plopped down on the couch to take a nap and relax. As my eyes drifted closed, I thought all of this was exactly what I needed.