“Totally!” she says happily. “Once I get my laptop back and merge all of these files, I’ll be in decent shape, I think. Hilda would disagree, of course. She won’t be happy until she’s got a manuscript sitting in her inbox.” She tilts her head, her smile twisting into something less joyful. But quickly, she smiles again. “I can do it. I will do it.”

  Her affirmation is for herself, not me, but I nod along anyway, taking it to heart. Maybe I can do it all too—get Poppy’s laptop, do the job for Mr. Big, and not break Poppy’s heart in the process.

  Fantasy? Sure. But stranger things have happened, like someone like her accepting someone like me, just as I am.

  But no matter how good Poppy feels about her chances, I’m not feeling as good about mine.

  Chapter 17

  Poppy

  It’s past sunset by the time we get back to Diana Nichols’s apartment building, and the streetlights are on as Connor parks his truck on the street. I notice that he visibly hits the lock tab on his key fob when he gets out, making sure the double beep and flashing lights tell anyone who might be watching that the car’s locked.

  It’s that kind of neighborhood.

  But the same guy as yesterday is still sitting on the steps wearing a green T-shirt instead of yesterday’s black tank top. He’s also got a friend with him, or at least I assume they are by the way they’re talking.

  “You must be out of your got-damned mind! Ain’t no way in hell Lebron’s better than MJ!”

  “Look at the point totals, man. Lebron’s bigger, taller, more points, more rebounds—”

  “Championships! That’s all that matters!”

  As I get closer, the guy from yesterday nods to me and says, “Welcome back,” lifting his chin toward the door before going back to his conversation. “Man, you gonna run my blood pressure up trying to tell me MJ ain’t the greatest.”

  I’m not sure if he’s giving us permission to go inside or telling us that Diana is home, but Connor tries to shuffle me in with his hand on my lower back.

  “Wait,” I tell him, spinning out of his reach. I dig around in the bag of food I packed and turn back to the steps-guy to hold out a baggie of cookies. “I made these today. Thanks for your help.”

  He holds his palm toward me, shaking his hand in a warding off gesture. “Nah, I didn’t help with nothing.”

  The other guy interrupts to ask curiously, “Hey, those some sort of special cookies?”

  I smile at his interest. “Yes, my grandmother’s recipe.”

  “Your grandmama made special cookies?”

  “Of course! Doesn’t everyone’s grandma? These are chocolate chip, my favorite. I sprinkled in a little extra love and chocolate too,” I confide with a wink, rubbing my fingers through the air like I’m sprinkling magical fairy dust over the cookies.

  The two guys’ eyes light up. “Okay, okay,” he says, taking the bag of cookies. “One for you, one for me,” he tells his friend.

  They dig in, munching and moaning in delight as their eyes close. “Fuck, man, I gotta call my momma after this.”

  “Enjoy!” I tell them and then go back to Connor, whose lips are twitching like he’s trying not to laugh. At what, I don’t know.

  He guides me inside, and we go up the two flights of stairs to Diana Nichols’s floor. We find her apartment by following the info from the pawn shop, pausing outside the worn but solid looking door. Right before Connor knocks, I place a hand on his chest. “Wait. This time, let me handle this.”

  “Excuse me?” Connor asks, and I can see he wants to argue and to protect me.

  “You said to let you lead at the pawn shop,” I reply quietly, “but this is different. This calls for a gentler touch.”

  “You almost went berserk with a golf club at the pawn shop. Is that what you call a gentler touch?” he growls. “Besides, I can be gentle.”

  “Yes, you can, fair point. But she’s not going to open the door if she puts her eye to the peephole and sees you looking all tall, dark, and dangerous in her hallway. And it’ll be easier to get her to listen to us if you’re not looking like John Wick with better hair.” I point at his head with finger guns, firing them like pew-pew-pew to show how intimidating he appears to be, especially to a woman alone at home. “Let me do my thing, and if it doesn’t work . . . well, we won’t have to worry about it because it will.”

  I straighten out my ponytail and do my best to put on a friendly look to show him how it’s done.

  He sighs, knowing he can’t compete with my smile and giving in to the fact that he’s beat, hands down, with no need for a recount. “Fine. No golf clubs, though.”

  I crinkle my brow, giving him an airheaded ‘duh’ look. “Of course not. I left Gary at home.”

  “Gary?”

  “The golf club.”

  I think I hear him mutter something about crazy chicks under his breath as he steps off to the side, out of peephole view, to lean against the wall. But in a flash, he softens his features, unclenching his jaw and smoothing his brow. The difference is dramatic, turning him from intimidating to handsome. I’m not sure which look I prefer.

  I straighten my back and knock on Diana Nichols’s door.

  Nothing happens for a long minute.

  “I thought she’d be home.”

  “Maybe you look too intimidating?” Connor deadpans.

  I scowl his way but then fix a charming, friendly smile on my face as I knock again. A few seconds later, I hear footsteps, and then a tired, wary voice from the other side says, “What do you want?”

  “Hi, Ms. Nichols. My name is Poppy Woodstock. I’m here because—”

  There’s a harsh laugh from the other side of the peephole. “Woman, you aren’t Poppy Woodstock, so get to stepping away from my door.”

  “Uh . . .” I look at Connor, not for a rescue but because I wasn’t expecting her to tell me I’m not . . . me. “I assure you, I am Poppy Woodstock.” A light dings in my head. “I can prove it!”

  I dig in my purse, the tiny wallet clutch I carry, and pull out my driver’s license. “See, I’m . . . me.” I hold up the card to the peep hole and then move it down so she can see me.

  Smile. Look non-threatening, I remind myself.

  “Oh, my God,” I hear her hiss, and then I hear a thud, almost as if she bonked her head on the door. Before I can start to ask if I need to call for a paramedic, as ironic as that’d be, the locks begin to disengage. Still careful, she cracks the door. “Are you the Poppy Woodstock?”

  “Yeah?” I say as I slip my driver’s license back in my wallet, a little unsure why she asked it like that. “In the flesh.”

  “The author?” she clarifies.

  My eyes pop open in surprise. “Wait . . . you know my book?”

  “Love in Great Falls? Doesn’t everyone?” she gushes.

  “You’d be surprised,” I say wryly.

  “Oh, my God, I devoured it in like one quiet shift and then read it again the next to make sure I got it all. I can’t wait for book two!” She’s totally fangirling, eyes bright, smile wide, and hands clasped below her chin.

  “Funny story . . . but that’s actually why I’m here.” Just like in a book, I throw out the hook, hoping she wants more. “I need your help.”

  “What?” she asks, her brows dipping together. “My help? What, are you writing about a paramedic?”

  “It’s kind of a long story.” I tug, tug, tug on the fishing line carefully, hoping she’ll bite. “Can we come in for a second?”

  “We?”

  I tilt my head down the hall. “This is Connor, my fiancé.”

  I see his eyes narrow sharply at the label, but I know what I’m doing. If I introduce him as ‘the guy I’m with’, he’s threatening. As my fiancé, though . . .

  “Your fiancé!” Diana squeals.

  Connor pushes off the wall and steps forward. Diana’s eyes trace over him from head to toe, her jaw dropping open and her eyes getting wider and wider. I swear she measures the width of his shoulders at least three times. “Holy shit, Poppy. Now I see where you get your inspiration from.”

  She’s only complimenting Connor’s good looks, not flirting with him, but possessiveness shoots through me anyway. I cuddle into his side, placing my hand on his chest to flash my ruby ring.

  “Ooh, you lucky ducky,” Diana sings enthusiastically through a huge, happy grin. “Got yourself one of the good ones.”

  At first, I think she’s talking to me, but she’s looking directly at Connor. He seems to catch her meaning too and pulls me in tighter with his free hand. “Quack, quack,” he deadpans. “Hi.”

  I look at him in shock. “Did you just make a joke?”

  He doesn’t smile, but his eyes bore into mine before they flick to Diana. Oh, he’s playing a part . . . the part of the dutiful fiancé to apparently famous author Poppy Woodstock.

  Wait, when the hell did I become famous?

  I shake my head, falling back into character. The character of . . . me. “I swear I’ll explain everything if we can come in for a minute? Please?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Diana says, moving back from the door in welcome. “Excuse the mess. I came home from work and crashed.”

  I look to where she indicates, seeing the couch pillows arranged in a cozy corner of the couch, a blanket haphazardly thrown aside, and a very full glass of red wine on the table. At the foot of the couch is a pile of what looks like fresh but unfolded laundry, but other than that, I’ve seen a lot worse.

  I live in worse. At least her couch isn’t covered in Pomeranian hair.

  “Speaking of, I made you dinner.” I take the brown bag of goodies from Connor and hold it out to Diana. She takes it curiously, peering inside.

  “You made me dinner? Why?” Suspicion enters her tone.

  “We came by before, and the guy downstairs said you were working a long shift.” I shrug. “I know how that is, working so hard that you don’t stop to eat. I figured you’d be hungry.”

  “And that then you’d be more inclined to listen,” Connor adds, bringing us back to the point of our visit.

  “Listen to what?”

  I look around, spying a few casual looking chairs. “Can we sit?”

  “Uh, yeah. I guess,” Diana says slowly, but she takes several steps into the living room and we follow. She points toward the couch, and Connor and I sit after moving the blanket and the laundry. Diana sets the bag of food down in the kitchen before coming back in to pull one of her chairs over and sit down herself.

  This is it. I’m on.

  Weaving a story that makes my readers feel something, experience it viscerally as they read the words I’ve poured onto a page, is not only my job but my passion. But my words have never been more important than right now. And I’m not used to working on the fly like this. I prefer to put my words on paper so I can massage them until I find the right combination.

  But this is do or die. If Diana understands and I get my laptop back, I’ll be able to write book two in time to meet my deadline. If not, I don’t know what I’ll do.

  I’ve already resorted to breaking and entering and intimidation. How much further will I go? I hope I don’t have to find out.

  “Diana, you’re sort of right. I have been working like mad on book two.”

  Diana squirms in her seat, eager already. “What’s it called?”

  I’m not supposed to say. It’s in my contract with Bluebird Publishing. But that’s the least of my concerns on what I’m about to reveal. Still . . .

  “Can you keep a secret?”

  Diana’s eyes light up, and she makes a locking motion to her lips as she nods. Not only is she hearing about the story, but she’s getting insider information. Nothing could be more irresistible.

  “It’s called . . .” I take a breath, diving in with both feet and no safety net, “Trouble in Great Falls.”

  “Oh!” Diana’s mouth falls open a split second before she covers it with both hands. “No! Not Amber and Ryker! I thought they got their happily ever after.”

  “Well . . .” I twist my lips, not saying that’s not true but definitely implying it. Diana leans forward, definitely interested in hearing more. “Like I said, I’m working on it. But I ran into a bit of trouble.

  “With the book?”

  “You could say that.” I sigh dramatically. “My laptop was taken. With my book on it.”

  “No fucking way!”

  I nod sadly. “Yes, fucking way. And it’s been an adventure all its own, trying to track it down, here and there and everywhere. Seriously, I’ve been from one side of this city to the other. Over the past few days, it’s felt like a quest to get my heart back.” I place my hands on my chest for emphasis.

  “What does that have to do with me?” Diana asks, her face worried. “Why are you here?”

  Connor stares at her with dead eyes and raised brows, and even in her overtired state, she figures out the puzzle pieces without my having to give too many details.

  Diana’s eyes widen, and she gets it. “No way!”

  “Way,” I confirm. “Diana, it all sounds crazy. I know it does. And it’s been through several pairs of hands now, but the laptop you bought at the pawn shop is mine. It has the manuscript of Trouble in Great Falls on it. At least I hope it still does.”

  “The manuscript is on my laptop?” she echoes, then laughs at the ridiculousness of that statement even though it’s the truth. “You bullshittin’ me?”

  “Well, my laptop,” I correct carefully. “And no bullshit. If you bring it out, I can pull up the file myself, log in under the desktop, all that.”

  Diana’s expression goes from confusion to wonder to ‘oh, no, you didn’t’ in rapid succession. “Wait, you think I—”

  Connor leans forward, his elbows on his knees and his expression serious. “We’re sure you didn’t know, Diana. You just went to a pawn shop to get a new computer.”

  “Damn right, I did,” Diana says, sounding defensive.

  “But it’s still possession of stolen goods,” Connor adds flatly.

  Diana sighs heavily, flopping back in the chair. “Go to the pawn shop, Diana. They’ll give you a good deal.” Her voice is high-pitched and bitter, mimicking whoever told her that. To us, she says, “I start a nurse practitioner course tomorrow. I have to have a laptop to log in.”

  “Where is it?” Connor demands, and I can see Diana’s hackles rising.

  “Wait!” I interject, trying to soften things because I don’t think Connor meant that to sound so ominous. Or well, maybe he did, but it’s not getting the response we need. “Look, Diana. I need the laptop back. I’ll even buy it back from you. I know you bought it with hard-earned money, and I respect that. I’ll pay you back what you spent and buy you a new laptop . . . but I gotta have my data. Tonight. If not . . . well, let’s just say the next time my editor gives me a call, you’ll be responding to my house for a murder scene. Mine.”

  “Poppy—” Connor says, but I hold up my hand. Because it’s true. I’d love to have my laptop back. Those keys practically contour to my fingertips at this point, and it’s sentimental because I wrote my first bestseller on it.

  But I can get by with my replacement . . . if I have all my data.

  “I don’t know . . .” Diana says slowly.

  “Name your price,” Connor simply instructs her. “Or if you really need a computer, wait here with Poppy. I’ll get you one tonight so you’re ready for classes in the morning.”

  “Please,” I plead with her. “Please, Diana. I know it’s asking a lot, but . . . I need it.”

  “Poppy Woodstock . . . Great Falls . . . book two . . . on my laptop . . .” Diana seems to be in shock, muttering to herself as her eyes glaze over, unseeingly staring at me. She shakes her head and sighs. “Out of all the laptops out there, I got this one?”

  “May I see it?” I ask, and after a moment’s hesitation, Diana gets up and disappears down the hallway. As she’s going, I look over at Connor, who holds up a finger, his eyes saying everything I need to know. Stay calm . . . it’s not over yet.

  She comes back with a laptop, my laptop, and I can’t help but squirm in my seat a little. I’ll give her virtually anything she wants to get my baby back in my hands.

  “Okay, here’s what I want,” she says, hugging my laptop.

  I guess she had some time to wrap her head around this shitshow on the walk to her bedroom and back, I think wryly.

  “I want to read the book as soon as I can. Please.”

  Oh, well that’s easy. “Promise, I’ll send you an early signed copy.”

  “Okay. And, in this book or the next, I want a paramedic character named after me.”

  Connor gives her a dark look. “I mean, it is Trouble in Great Falls. I’m sure you could come to an unfortunate end somehow.”

  I’m not entirely sure if he’s talking about a character or the real Diana. Probably an imaginary one. Mostly.

  “Uh-uh,” Diana tells me, ignoring Connor. “Don’t make me the token red shirt who dies five minutes after being introduced. No sending me to investigate creepy noises or hanging out looking for a Dr. Feelgood husband at the hospital. I’m too smart for that.” She taps her temple. “You don’t need to make me a main character, and I don’t need a dose of Prince Charming dick. But I want a few lines, I want to live, and I don’t want to be a villain or a stereotype.”

  “Deal.”

  “And a dedication?”

  “Sure.”

  Diana takes a deep breath, smiling at how well her negotiation is going. “Last thing. I’m serious about my studies. I need a replacement, not money, and I don’t have the time to buy another one.”

  I glance at Connor, expecting him to argue. But instead, he just whips out his phone and starts tapping. About ten seconds later, he looks up, nodding. “Done. It’ll be here at eight a.m. You’ll have to take the delivery.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” I argue even though I’m glad he is. I could get Diana a new laptop for classes, but I don’t have connections that’ll get one here by the morning. Maybe by ten P.M. if I pay for rush delivery.