Married One Night. Amber Leigh Williams
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wasn’t dodging. Just waiting for the right moment.”
“To tell me what—that the book isn’t finished? Tell me something I don’t know.”
“How do you know the book isn’t already done?” Gerald ventured.
“Because this is the first book in eight years you haven’t turned in two months ahead of schedule,” Dwight told him. “And when the writing’s going well, you’re not afraid to call and chat about it. Usually, I can’t get you to shut up. You haven’t so much as shot me an email in a month’s time in this case, which tells me you’re cowering in a hole somewhere hoping I’ve forgotten about you.”
Gerald pursed his lips and scuffed the bottom of his shoe against a dry patch of earth. “You know I was in Las Vegas dealing with film negotiations.”
“Yeah, and before that you visited your family in Yorkshire. Before that, you were, what, betting on the ponies in Jersey?”
“Are you spying on me now, Dwight?” Gerald asked.
“When you’re a well-known author, people notice when you go places you shouldn’t. Like Belmont.”
“For the record,” Gerald explained, “I was not betting on the ponies. A friend of mine breeds horses. He named one of the Thoroughbreds after Rex. I was simply making an appearance. And that could technically be lumped into the working category, you know...”
“Fine, but then your sister wrote to tell me what a good time you’d had together and thanked me for letting you fly off to England when you had a book due. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I knew nothing about the trip.”
“It was my niece’s birthday,” Gerald reasoned.
“Vegas might be forgivable at least,” Dwight went on. “But let me ask you this, my friend, where are you now?”
Gerald gazed across the water toward Mobile. “I can’t claim to be at the writing desk....”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Gerald—”
“Hear me out, mate,” Gerald said. “I won’t deny I’ve been blocked. I won’t lie to you and say I’ve not struggled with this one. In truth, piecing this story together has been like trying to carve a diamond. But that’s all about to change.”
“Oh, yeah? Enlighten me.”
“I’ve found inspiration,” Gerald said. “The characters are talking to me again, and I’m starting to see the pictures, the easy flow of scenes. I’ve also found a quiet place, one where the rush and bustle of business and city life is far enough away that I’m no longer bound to it. The words will come. And when they do, they’ll come fast and hard. You’ll have the book on schedule, Dwight. You can count on it.”
“You’re giving me your word?” Dwight asked, surprised. He knew as well as anyone that when Gerald pledged something, he meant it wholeheartedly and would rather see his soul shattered than his word broken.
“Consider it a promise,” Gerald said, glancing back toward the tavern and the woman he knew dwelled within. “You won’t be disappointed, my friend.”
“I rarely am.” Dwight sighed. “All right. If you’re so sure...I’ll expect the completed manuscript in three weeks.”
Gerald grinned. “Give it two. Goodbye, Dwight.”
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