"I love you." He whispered softly, reaching out to brush a stray curl behind her ear.

She shivered at his touch, looking shyly up at him. "I love you, too. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

He looked down at his perfectly shined shoes. "I was afraid."

"You? You were afraid of my father?"

He laughed deep in his throat. "Not of your father, doll-baby. Of you."

"Me?" She pursed her red lips. "That's baloney. You're not afraid of me."

"I was afraid you'd tell me 'no." He touched her cheek gently.

She tilted her head so that his hand supported her cheek and reached up to smooth his dark pompadour. "I would never tell you 'no.'"

"Kiss me, Annie. Kiss me like one of the vamps in your stories would." He drew her in tightly, bringing their lips together...

"Annie...Miss O'Capella!" The bar-keep touched me on the shoulder.

I started, my eyes popping open. Where am I? I was leaning over the table and scribbling in my notebook, my lips pursed as if I were about to...kiss someone? I blinked. "Yes?"

"I gotta close up the joint. You'd better skip out." The barkeep jerked his thumb towards the door.

"Sorry." I closed my notebook, cheeks flushing as I headed for the door, half-turning at the threshold. "I'll be going now." I took a step and bumped into the doorframe. "Oops!" Flashing an apologetic grin at the barkeep, I finally made it out the door and into the streets of the Muffin District.

I pulled on my coat and buttoned the top button, my heels clicking on the cement. A yawn escaped my lips, and I blinked a few times to clear my head. I sniffed and was suddenly wide awake. I smelled...muffins? Wherever there were muffins there was also a story. Pulling out my pencil and notebook, I hurried along the street, following my nose.

A crowd of men and a few women was gathered near an alley, the colors of their coats making them seem like elongated boulders. I got in closer, but couldn't see over the heads of the watchers...even in my heels. "Excuse me," I murmured, trying to shoulder my way closer. It didn't work. Everyone wanted to see what was going on.

Suddenly the crowd dispersed as two policemen appeared. "All right, beat it!" Nobody wanted to cross a cop, so they began to peel away by twos and threes. Everyone except me.

"Excuse me," I said again, this time to the policemen. "Can you tell-"

One of them brushed me aside. "Beat it, Betty. We don't want any reporters. McCarty, got a light?" The other man held out a match, and he lit a cigarette.

Betty? I winced and watched the smoke float into the night, then focused on the men again. "I'm not a reporter, sir."

They both stared at me and I took a few seconds to look them over. One was a normal-looking copper who probably just wanted to go home. The other was younger, with a soft face and jawline, and a headful of dark hair that was slicked back into a pompadour.

"What are you, then, kitten?" The younger one asked, lighting a cigarette of his own.

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and lifted my chin. "I'm a writer."

"Didn't you hear what I said?" The older cop frowned. "I told you to beat it."

"I need to know what happened."

The older cop rolled his eyes and the end of his cigarette glowed as he drew in a long, weary breath. "No, you don't. Nosy broads," he mumbled under his breath.

"Aw, c'mon, Smith." McCarty shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat. "It's not like telling her will ball up the investigation."

Smith grunted. "You don't know that. Or," he continued, flicking a bit of cigarette ash at McCarty, "maybe you do. How many times have you leaked information?"

McCarty's lips tightened and the tip of his cigarette flared up for the fraction of a second. "Dry up, Smith. You know I'm on the level now."

I cleared my throat and they both looked at me again. I raised one eyebrow and waited, holding my breath. Smith groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Oh, horsefeathers. All right, but then you'd better scram." I nodded obediently, grinning eagerly. "We found a dead man, and part of a muffin right beside him."

I jotted down a note. Muffin man. "Anything else?"

"Nothing for sure, but we've got a hunch who it is. We think it's Shamus McGinty." I kept scribbling, ignoring that last bit of information. Names weren't that important; my inspiration was. Smith frowned at my notebook. "You sure you're not a reporter?"

I put my pencil away, straightened my spine and frowned back at Smith. "I'm not a reporter, Officer Smith. My name is Annie O'Capella and I'm a writer. Thank you for your time."

"Go on." Smith motioned me away, muttering, "High-hat dame." McCarty snickered, and I glanced at him sharply. Was he laughing at me or at Smith?

"Thank you for your time, too, Mr. McCarty." He didn't answer, but simply sent a cloud of smoke in my direction. I walked around both men, sticking my nose higher in the air than was necessary. All I did was ask a question!

I soon forgot about the policemen because my head was filled with ideas for a new story. She found him lying in the street, a soggy muffin sitting in a puddle by his hand...I grinned, already imagining the opening scene as I opened the door to my flat, stifling another yawn. Then it hit me. Shamus McGinty! The crime boss? I looked back down the street and considered going back to the crime scene. I decided against it. McCarty and "Beat it" Smith would be long gone by now, and I wasn't going to go chasing after them. I shut the door with a sigh. I'll write tomorrow.