Garrett

Rain splattered against the window, the drops merging and forming silver rivulets on the glass. The lights of the city at night, usually sharp and bright like stars, grew hazy through the drizzle and low clouds creeping over rooftops. Every so often thunder rumbled softly, temporarily muting the sounds of the city below.

These were the nights I loved the most. When the city faded into the mist and I could almost pretend I was at the cabin. I would light the fireplace, turn on music, and drink a glass of scotch while watching the storm roll through.

But tonight, I barely noticed any of it. A single lamp was lit inside my apartment, its warm white bulb casting a small pool of light around my armchair while I stared outside, my thoughts consumed by the small book sitting on the end table. It had been in my possession for less than a day, but it looked like one of my mother's favorite novels. The ones she kept for years, reading again and again, dog-earing favorite pages and writing notes in the white spaces.

My phone rang. I intended to ignore it, but out of habit, I glanced at the screen to see who was calling. Heart pounding, I snatched it up and swiped to answer.

"Mom. Do you have it?"

"Well, hello son. So nice to talk to you, too."

Rolling my eyes—something I wouldn't dare do if she could see me—I replied, "Hi, Mom. I'm glad you called."

"That's better."

"Mom!"

Through the phone, I could hear her shifting in her chair. She always grew fidgety when she was excited.

"I don't know why you don't just ask Ivy. As Iris' sister, she should certainly know the titles of her sister's books."

My head fell back against the chair, and I pinched the bridge of my nose. I'd purposely not told her the truth about Iris because I'd rather she think our relationship had run its natural course than to find out she'd been lied to in her place of refuge. But reading this book had only solidified what I'd slowly been coming to realize while I was in therapy. Keeping secrets from my mother to protect her wasn't that much different from what Iris had done to protect her sister.

"About that..."

My mother didn't say a word as I explained what happened. When I told her about the attack, she gasped, and I suspected she would have a lot to say about it later. For now, she chose to ignore it and focus on the bigger issue.

"Garrett, how have you made such a mess of things?"

"Me? You think I made a mess of things? She lied to me."

"She told you she loved you, right?"

"And then put our most intimate moments in a book. So not only did she lie to me, but she used me. How am I supposed to trust anything she says?"

"Wait." My mother burst into laughter. Every time I thought she had herself together, she fell into a fit of giggles. "I'm sorry. I'll stop."

"Better?"

"Mm-hmm. Which book are you referring to, honey? The one she just put out?"

I picked up the book Iris had given me today. Titled A Work in Progress, the cover was one of the popular cartoon styles that belied the extent of the spice inside the book. A generic brunette couple walked through an apple orchard together. She must have changed the title from The Office Affair to cover up the allusions to our relationship.

My jaw clenched, and my traitorous cock twitched as the image reminded me of what happened in the book after the walk in the orchard. How the male lead, Grant, had led Daisy into the woods and away from prying eyes. He pushed her against a tree, dropped to his knees, and made her come on his tongue. Afterward, he'd taken a bite of an apple and told her it didn't compare to how good she tasted.

I mentally jotted that line down to remember for later even as I found the similarities between what had happened between Iris and I in the woods. They were there, but I finally had to admit there was nothing there that would give away where she'd drawn her inspiration from. I'd been a fool to think there would be.

The book fell open to the pages I'd reread the most, and my mouth went dry. It was the moment the main characters were intimate for the first time. When I reached that part in the book, I'd nearly stopped. Terrified and desperate all at once to see if Iris had really put herself into those pages. To see if she would reveal the truth of that moment between us, and I had still not recovered from what I read.

"Garrett!"

"Shit, Mom." I jumped so hard I threw the book on the floor.

"I've only said your name half a dozen times."

"Sorry. Yes, the book she just put out. A Work in Progress. The book I have is missing the last chapter."

"That's not the book she just released. No, the book she just released is called A Cowboy for Christmas. Not only is it her first cowboy romance, but it's her first spicy novel. And oh my—" I heard what sounded like my mother fanning herself. "It is one of the raunchiest books I've ever read, and if that's what she's bringing to the bedroom, then you are a lucky man."

"For fu—sh—good grief, Mom." I buried my face in my palm.

"I love that you're worried about watching your language when I now know what you do in the bedroom. That's what had me so tickled. There's an entire scene involving a roping dummy and spurs and—"

"I absolutely don't need to hear anything else, and that is definitely not inspired by me." A fiery spike of jealousy went through me. Had someone else inspired that? "You're sure that's the last book she came out with, and you don't have one called A Work in Progress?"

"I have every single one of her books, and there isn't one with that title. And the cowboy book came out last Tuesday. Just in time for the holidays."

Realization dawned on me. "Thanks, Mom. You've been a big help."

"Okay, but what about the missing chapter?"

I grabbed the book and my coat. "I think she needs a little help writing it."