“I’d love to have your input as I write. How many pages would you like to see at a time?”

  “Oh, whatever you’re comfortable with—seventy-five pages perhaps? Or one hundred?”

  “One hundred sounds great. That should give me time to lay down the premise and get the story off the ground.”

  “When can I expect to see the first pages? I know you’re on a tight deadline, and if I get it in my schedule, I’ll be able to provide quick feedback.”

  Sadie did some quick mental math. She’d have to write sixty-five pages a week, so she should be able to easily produce a hundred pages in less than two weeks. But the destination wedding fell during that time, and she wouldn’t get much writing done there. She should also work in a little wiggle room in case she struggled with the story. “How about July seventh? Will that work for you?”

  “That would be perfect. I’ll pencil you in. We’re so delighted you’re going this direction, Sadie, and I can’t wait to read your story.”

  Sadie beamed. “Thank you for all your in-house support, Erin. It means so much to me and I can’t wait to write this story.”

  After they said their goodbyes, Sadie let out a loud whoop, then looked up into the heavens. “Thank You, thank You, thank You!”

  Her gaze fell on her dog. “I can’t believe it!” Rio stopped sniffing the sea oats long enough to glance at Sadie. “They liked my proposal and now I’m going to write a romance novel and hopefully it’ll sell a bajillion copies, and I won’t have to pay back my advance. Woo-hoo!”

  Rio went back to sniffing.

  She had to tell Sam. She rushed toward his door and knocked, barely resisting the urge to barge inside. He must be home by now, but he was taking forever to answer. Come on, Sam. You’re killing me here.

  A moment later he slid open the door, seemingly fresh from his shower.

  Sadie flung herself into his arms. “They liked my proposal! I’m going to be a romance writer.”

  His welcoming embrace was like a warm bubble bath at the end of a difficult day. “Hey . . . that’s great, Sadie. I’m so happy for you.”

  “It’s going to be a whirlwind—I only have eight weeks to produce a whole novel, but I couldn’t be more excited even though I’m a little scared. What if I can’t do it? What if I get writer’s block? Oh my gosh, what have I done?”

  His husky chuckle stirred the hair at her temple—and her heart. “You can do it. I have no doubt.”

  She smiled against his chest. She could’ve stayed on the beach with Jared when the call came in—then she would’ve been able to share her news with him. She’d told him she was on the island to write, after all. But she hadn’t wanted to share this moment with Jared. She’d wanted to share it with Sam.

  Because he’d become such a good friend.

  Her friend’s heart thumped in her ear. Once again her celebratory hug seemed to have shifted into embrace territory. How did that keep happening?

  She had to be more careful. It wouldn’t do to fall for a man she could have no future with.

  Sadie slipped from his arms, meeting his gaze.

  His eyes crinkled and his dimple was out in full force.

  She fought against the magnetic pull. “Sorry. I seem to be beside myself with excitement and nerves right now. I guess I’m kind of a mess. I truly can’t wait to get started. I can’t believe I’m saying that about this novel—but I’m actually dying to get started.”

  “Go for it. Write when the inspiration strikes.”

  She stepped out his door. “You’re right. I’m off to work. Wish me luck.”

  “Have fun. And congratulations.”

  If he said anything else, she didn’t hear it. She was already beating a path for her apartment and the laptop she’d left sitting on the living room sofa.

  Twenty-Six

  A crucible is a plot device that causes tension by forcing your hero and heroine together. Increase the story’s tension by throwing your couple into a marriage of convenience or sending them off on a road trip.

  —Romance Writing 101

  Sadie squirmed under Sam’s pointed gaze. She’d just handed him a garment bag with her two wedding outfits, pushed an elephant-sized suitcase his way, then handed him a tote bag.

  “Snacks,” she said.

  He arched a brow and lifted the fifty-pound suitcase as though it were a clutch. “And all the rest of this?”

  “It’s not as if I’ll have to pay baggage fees.”

  “Did you pack everything you brought to the island?”

  “And then some. I can’t really know what I’ll need, so I’m bringing a little bit of everything.” Sadie situated Rio’s car seat on the cab’s small rear bench. She gave Sadie a wounded look. “I know, I know, Mommy’s so mean. But we have to keep you safe, sweetie.”

  Sam had only a garment bag and a toiletry case that wouldn’t even fit the shoes she’d brought. Men had it so easy.

  After buckling Rio in, Sadie climbed into the passenger seat and got settled. She had her laptop handy, just in case inspiration struck during the seven-hour drive. She wasn’t holding her breath.

  They would arrive on Anna Maria Island just in time to freshen up for the rehearsal dinner, which Sam was apparently invited to even though he wasn’t in the wedding party. She was looking forward to meeting the rest of Sam’s family and enjoying a party-like atmosphere for an entire weekend.

  When Sam was finished loading the truck, he got in and pulled from the drive. In the week and a half since her editor’s call, she’d only seen him in passing.

  Time had flown by. Sadie wrote every day, Monday through Saturday, and oftentimes ideas or bits of dialogue woke her in the middle of the night. The story had come pretty easily at first. She mostly kept the plot true to life, only changing details here and there. With a September first deadline, write what you know was her mantra. However, her hero was a genuine alpha, more like she’d assumed Sam to be in the beginning. But he maintained that rakish hair, sexy stubble, and delicious dimple. And if Sophie had been transformed into a leggy, blue-eyed blonde . . . well, who could blame her?

  Initially the writing had gone so well, she’d hoped to have those hundred pages to Erin before the wedding. But the past few days Sadie had struggled to fill even a page. She was getting deeper into the story where the romance must develop. And everything she wrote about the protagonist’s inner desire for the hero sounded so cliché. She hadn’t stood for poor writing in her westerns, and she wouldn’t stand for it in her romance novels. Her editor certainly wouldn’t, much less her three devoted readers.

  But what could she do when she didn’t know what falling in love actually felt like? It was certainly more than mere attraction. And how could she distinguish between the two when she only knew what one of those felt like?

  So the past few days her flowing fountain had slowed to a depressing dribble.

  Reading a hundred romance novels hadn’t prepared her for this. How could she describe in a fresh way a feeling she’d never before experienced? It was different than pulling off the emotions of a gunfight or a fall into a raging river. After all, she’d felt fear and exhilaration before. Who hadn’t?

  She’d felt love as well, of course, but romantic love was altogether different. Or at least she assumed it must be. Why else would there be a billion novels featuring the emotion?

  Maybe she just needed a short break from her story world—and she would be getting just that. Maybe a romantic wedding would be just the inspiration she needed. She was counting on it, because time was a luxury she didn’t have.

  * * *

  Following the GPS instructions, Sam turned onto the highway. They were well underway, but Sadie had been uncharacteristically quiet. She’d been so busy writing since she’d gotten the go-ahead from her publisher. Whenever he saw her working on the deck—and he did, often—he didn’t disturb her.

  Not even when he wanted to share something that had happened that day. Or when he just wanted to know how her story was going.

  He’d missed her.

  The revelation sent a shot of anxiety through his veins. He’d come to depend on her company. That was something he might feel for a friend, of course. But a friend wouldn’t notice the sway of her hips as she walked or the way her lips looked lush when she bit them in concentration.

  And now he was fixing to spend a long car trip—and a romantic wedding weekend—with her. Never mind that he’d have plenty of other distractions.

  He rolled his eyes. How ironic that he’d originally counted on Sadie to be a distraction from those things. He shook his head. “So how’s your story going? You’re sure putting in the hours.”

  “Well, it was practically writing itself until a few days ago. Now I can’t seem to write a decent page.”

  “I’m sure you’re just being too hard on yourself.”

  “No, seriously. It’s taken me three days to write one page. And the longer this goes on, the more anxious I feel, because I need to meet my daily goals if I’m going to finish this novel on time.”

  “Maybe the pressure’s just getting to you.”

  “Oh, no doubt. But that deadline is very real, so I can’t just block it out. Besides, it’s the content that I’m struggling with. The new genre. This has never happened to me before, and it wouldn’t be happening now if I were writing a western.”

  “Anything you want to run by me? I mean, I’m sure I won’t be much help, but we do have many traveling hours to pass, and sometimes just verbalizing the problem can help you solve it.”

  “Thanks for the offer but, uh, I don’t think that’ll be helpful in this case. I’m sure to find inspiration this weekend though.” Sadie peered out her window. “Have you heard anything about the ring from anyone you left a business card with? I’ve been too busy working to delve into it any further.”

  “Sadly, no. But I’m still hoping we hear from someone.”

  “Maybe after I turn in my first hundred pages I’ll do a little more searching.” She glanced at him. “In the meantime . . . after talking with your sister I have some juicy material that’ll keep us busy for quite a few miles.”

  He happened to know Hayley had called Sadie once or twice, presumably to talk wedding stuff. “Somehow I’m teetering between needing to know what she said and never wanting to hear it, ever.”

  “As if I’m going to give you a choice. But before I get started . . .”

  He groaned.

  “I just have to know . . . do you still use a night-light? Because I have an extra in my apartment I could loan you.”

  He sighed. It was general knowledge in his extended family that he’d slept with a night-light until he was twelve. “I watched horror flicks as a child. I couldn’t seem to stop myself even though they scared me silly.”

  “Your parents let you watch those?”

  He cut her a chagrined look. “They didn’t know.”

  “Okay, well, that clears that up. So on to the bed-wetting that continued till you were ten.”

  “Oh, jeez. How long have you been holding on to that one?”

  “Since the shopping spree.” She sipped from her water bottle. She’d brought along an entire case for the road. “Any explanations, or are you just going to let that one ride?”

  “I had a small bladder. I was short for my age, remember?” He scratched his neck. “Are we almost done here?”

  “Just getting started. You never told me, for instance, about that time on your very first date when you saved up your money for a month to take out the popular girl you were crushing on and ran smack into the glass door on your way out of the restaurant.”

  “It was very clean—and I was a little distracted.”

  She chuckled. “Hayley said you had a knot on your forehead for a week.”

  “She was only two at the time—my mom has a big mouth.”

  “Poor baby. Did you get another date with the girl?”

  “You kidding me, after that boneheaded move? She was five inches taller than I was, but apparently that didn’t stop her from using me as a tool to make her ex-boyfriend jealous. The good news is—it worked. They were back together the next week.”

  “Aw, that’s not cool. Did she break your heart, Sam?”

  The warmth in her tone stirred him. “Only a little.” Truthfully Lindsey had been a little boring. He was too blinded by her beauty to realize how superficial she was. A lesson well learned. “I guess I don’t have to worry about my family embarrassing me this weekend. My sister’s already given you my entire backstory—at least the humiliating parts.”

  “What are little sisters for?”

  “No fair—you don’t have any little sisters.”

  Her melodious laughter filled the cab. “Kind of great the way that worked out.”

  “For you,” he said, but he couldn’t keep from smiling. “So much for being fourteen when Hayley came along. Apparently my parents have ratted me out. If I ever get your parents all to myself, you’re in for it.”

  She gave a smug grin. “I guess I’ll just have to make sure that never happens. Did you really forget you were supposed to be babysitting Hayley when you were fifteen and leave the house?”

  He still winced at that one. “To my credit she’d fallen asleep under the end table while I was gaming, so I kind of forgot about her. My friend called and invited me to the movies. But I’m sure Hayley filled in every juicy detail.”

  “I’d rather hear your side of it. Your parents came home to find you gone?”

  “Not only that, but they didn’t see Hayley at first either. It was terrible. They were frantic when they called me during the middle of the movie. And then, while I was rushing from the theater, they found her under the table. They were furious. I was grounded for months.”

  “Well, I’d hope so. I’ll bet they never asked you to babysit again.”

  “I’ll admit they made sure I’d grown up a little before putting me in charge of her again. Does that conclude the humiliation portion of this trip?”

  “As it happens I’ve run out of stories—for now. I hope to glean more from your other relatives though.”

  He groaned. “Come on, you have to give me something in return. Tell me at least one embarrassing story from your childhood. You owe it to me.”

  “I guess it’s only fair. Let’s see, which one shall it be? There were plenty, I assure you.”

  “It has to be legitimately embarrassing—something you wouldn’t ordinarily tell anyone.”

  She thought a minute.

  He glanced over and caught a grimace. “Tell me that one. The one you’re thinking about right now.”

  “Aw, jeez. Not that one.”

  “Let’s recap: bed-wetting, night-light, dating mortification, babysitting fiasco . . . It can’t be worse than mine, at least not collectively.”

  She appeared to waffle. “You make a good point. All right, fine. But you can’t tell anyone.”

  “I’d make you promise the same, but my family already knows all my dirty secrets. But yes, I promise. Lay it on me.”

  She heaved a sigh. “Well, let me start by saying I sleepwalked as a child. A lot when I was younger, but I started growing out of it as I got older. When I was thirteen I went to a friend’s house for a sleepover. I was new to the school and Mackenzie was my first friend. That night I sleepwalked and was apparently trying to find the bathroom because I wandered into her baby sister’s room instead and I”—she covered her face—“I peed in her stroller.”

  Laughter bubbled up inside. “I’m sorry, what was that? I thought you said—”

  “Yes, yes, I peed in her stroller. Are you happy now? I can’t believe you made me tell you that.”

  “Oh man,” he said through a chuckle.

  “Of course, I didn’t remember it at all. But the next morning Mackenzie’s mom discovered the stinking, wet stroller, and my mom had ever so helpfully notified the woman that I occasionally sleepwalked. The entire family was present at breakfast when they put it all together.”

  “You’re right, that is pretty bad.”

  “Actually, it’s even worse than you’re thinking because Mackenzie had this hot older brother on whom I had a huge crush, and of course he was present to witness my humiliation.”

  He winced through the laughter. “Okay, you win. That’s awful.”

  “She never invited me over again.”

  “Go figure.”

  She smacked him in the arm. “I was sleepwalking. I couldn’t help it and it was a very traumatic event.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll stop laughing now.”

  “And a change of subject would be just great, thank you.”

  “I’m not the one who brought up humiliating childhood moments.”

  “I’ll accept full responsibility if you’ll allow me to shift topics and promise to never bring it up again.”

  “Scout’s honor. I’ll even throw you a bone and change the subject with a confession of my own.”

  “I’m learning a lot about you recently.”

  “That’s true, but this isn’t about me so much . . . I read your books.”

  Her eyes widened. “You did?”

  “Don’t tell anyone, but I’d never read a western before. I was impressed, Sadie. You’re a really good writer.” A quick glance betrayed a sweet flush on her cheeks.

  “Well, thank you. I can’t believe you read them. I have all kinds of questions. Like which one did you like best, and who was your favorite character? Ooh, and how did you feel about the ending of Sundown at Lonesome Ridge? Was it too much?”

  “Slow down there, pardner. One question at a time.”

  Over the next thirty minutes he answered all her questions, and they chatted at length about the books. He hadn’t been exaggerating. She really was a good writer—he hadn’t been able to put the books down.

  When they finally exhausted the topic, she brought up the wedding weekend ahead. “So who will I be meeting this weekend? Is there a drunk uncle who hits on inappropriately young girls or a matronly aunt who’ll ask us when we’re getting married?”