Page 11 of Yours To Take
Oh, I wish he would.
“It was nice to meet you, Blake. If you need anything, I’m usually in the lobby.”
“It was nice to meet you, Gemma.” Blake smiles at me. It’s dazzling. It wouldn’t surprise me if I had sparks shooting out of my ears. “Horse shit and all.”
ChapterFive
BLAKE
Damn. This place is pretty incredible. The pictures Eric and I looked at didn’t do it justice.
Kicking my feet up on the railing, I rock back in the chair on the porch of my cabin. The mountains are spread out in front of me. Buds are popping up on the trees, signaling the start of spring.
The quiet of the cabins back here should be the perfect setting for me to start writing. Yet, nothing.
Not one single usable word. It’s like my brain has stalled out on how to write a scene that would translate to TV.
My cell vibrates in my pocket. Pulling it out, it’s not exactly the person I want to talk to right now. But, I know it’ll be worse if I don’t answer.
“Clint. How’s it going?”
“How are things out in Montana?” Clint asks by way of greeting.
“Idaho.”
“Does it matter? All some random place that isn’t LA.”
I laugh. It’s just like Clint to think that LA is the center of the universe.
“It’s going.”
“What does that mean?”
I scrub a hand over my forehead. “I’m not writing if that’s what you’re asking.”
Clint scoffs over the phone. “Do I need to come out there and force you to write? Too many distractions out there for you.”
“And you think this isn’t a distraction?” The more pressure Clint puts on me, the harder it’s going to be to get anything done.
“Do you really think you’re going to find inspiration wherever you are?” Clint’s voice is skeptical.
“Dixon, Clint. At least know where I am.”
A few guests wander back to their cabin next to me, talking excitedly about their day. Something about fishing.
“I’ll learn it if you start making me the big bucks from it.”
“Now you sound like my mother.”
“Hey, I have to think about the big picture. You just worry about putting pen to paper.”
An older woman, carrying a large dish, is now walking up the path. Straight to my cabin.
“Listen, Clint, I have to go.”
“Words. Give me words.”
I hang up the phone and stand. The older woman walks up the steps, a smile painted on her face.
