Page 22 of The Write Stuff

“Right.” Talking to Lucy was like talking to a wall sometimes. “Well, I wish you and your loins luck. When do you think you’ll find out about a new placement?”

“It had better be in the next three days. That’s when my internship here ends, and my free housing runs out.”

I’d never heard of cowgirl internships — I was certain it was actually called something else — but now wasn’t the time to be pedantic. “Well, I wish you luck.”

“No, you don’t.” Lucy shook her head. “You’re worried I’m going to ask you for money for a plane ticket.”

I was worried about that. Whenever Lucy decided — always on a whim — to pull up stakes and move, either my mother or I had to foot the bill. She’d never met a dollar bill she didn’t want to immediately spend. That meant she never had any money set aside.

“Did you ask Mom?” I asked, already resigned to my fate.

“Yeah, she said I was on my own.” Lucy’s brown eyes narrowed on me. “I’m actually surprised that she didn’t call you to give you a heads-up that it was time for the tough love approach yet again.”

The last time we’d agreed to try the tough love approach, Lucy had hitchhiked from Maine to Ohio. It had driven my mother crazy. I was actually surprised that she was willing to go that route again.

“She tried to call last night,” I admitted. “I was at a reader event, though.”

“Oh, right.” Lucy bobbed her head. “You’re in your new place in Savannah, aren’t you? How is it going?”

“I’ve only been here for a day. It’s going okay so far.” Not really, but I didn’t want to worry my sister. “I’m in the middle of unpacking.”

“Show me the place.”

I spent the next five minutes — the apartment wasn’t big enough for it to go longer — carrying the tablet around and showing her my new digs. She whistled when I was finished.

“That’s a great place,” she enthused. “Show me the view.”

I did. There was a small park across the way and businesses up and down the street.

“Wow,” she said when I sat with a box to unpack it, propping the tablet on a different box so I could see her. “That’s a great apartment. How did you luck into that?”

“Bella James. She’s another author. She and her husband just moved into a new townhouse they purchased, so she was happy to sublet me this one.”

“That’s lucky.”

“It really was. I was anxious to move down here, so I would have taken almost anything, but this place is really nice.” I let out a happy sigh, then thought back to seeing Huxley the night before. I didn’t realize I was frowning until Lucy cleared her throat. “What?” I asked, forcing a smile.

“Where did your head just go?”

“Nowhere.” I was a terrible liar. The single-word reply came out far too quickly.

“Nowhere?” She cocked her head. “I don’t believe you. What happened? Were those other authors mean to you? I know you had an event last night. You told me last time we talked that your first reader event was the night you arrived and were worried that you would be tired.”

“Nobody was mean to me,” I assured her. That was mostly true.

“Do I have to put on my spurs and come kick some author ass?”

Ah, leave it to Lucy to take the most dramatic approach. That was always her way. “The other authors weren’t mean to me. It’s just …” I could have let it go, but I didn’t. I never just let it go.

“Wylie.” Lucy did her best impersonation of our mother.

On a sigh, I gave up. “I ran into Huxley Ambrose last night. He just moved here, too.”

“Get out!” Lucy’s mouth dropped open. She’d been young when our mother partnered with Eleanor Ambrose. All she remembered of that time was getting ice cream in bed at night from the nanny who traveled with us. She was never part of the actual event.

I nodded and shrugged. “I was just as surprised as you.”

“How did that go?”