The Meltdown Match (A Romance Novella) (4 page)

“No, I’ll try somewhere new. I haven’t figured out where yet.”

“What do you mean?”

Courtney attempted to smile, but it probably looked as fake as it felt. “It’s sort of my thing. I start working on a story in Heimel then move to wherever I decide to set the book. I get to know the area, get a job, meet people, and work on my manuscript. When I finally submit the book, I come back home to start the process all over again. It sounds kind of intense, but it’s—”

“Exhausting?”

“I was going to say an adventure.”

Mitch leaned back in his chair and tossed his plastic cup in a garbage can. “So basically, you’re a commitment-phobic drifter.”

“And superstitious,” Courtney added.

A smile sprang to his lips, and a teasing glint appeared in his eyes. “Does that mean you really think there’s something to this meltdown match thing?”

Courtney’s face flushed. “I’m not
that
superstitious,” she said quickly, although the words sounded like a lie to her.

Mitch leaned closer, resting his elbow on the table. “You’re either superstitious or you’re not. Take your pick.”

Courtney forced herself to look him straight in the eye. “Not.”

He laughed—a deep, almost melodic sound that seemed to echo off the lake and surrounding mountains. She loved hearing him laugh, even if it was at her expense.

She pushed the bag of doughnuts away and changed the subject. “Now that you’ve gotten me up at an obscene hour, what’s on the schedule for the rest of the day? Hopefully a nap?”

“Together?”

“No.”

Mitch grinned. “First I’m going to take you home to change, and”—He leaned over and sniffed the air around her—“shower.”

She slugged his arm. “Not funny.”

“Then it’s a day jam-packed full of stuff to remind you why Alaska is the best place on earth to live.”

“I already know that.”

His eyebrow rose. “All evidence to the contrary, Miss Commitment-Phobic Drifter who’s planning to move away by the end of the summer.”

“Maybe I’ll surprise everyone and decide to stay this time.” Thanks to the sun, maybe she really would.

“That’s my goal.”

Courtney shot him a look, trying to read his expressions. Was this just fun banter to him, or something more? She couldn’t tell. “So in only one day, you think you can convince me to stay in Alaska for good?”

He shrugged. “I’ll start today, and we’ll see how long it takes.”

“What if it takes all summer?”

“Then it takes all summer.” Mitch pointed at the sun still peeking above the horizon. “According to that large round ball of fire, we’re meant to be together. How’s that going to work if you up and leave?”

Yet another comment Courtney had no idea how to take. Was he making fun of the legend or did he, like her, want to believe that it really could be? While part of her hoped that he did, another part—the doubting part—worried that by agreeing to this date, she’d set herself up for a whole lot of heartache.

Mitch bit back a smile at Courtney’s look of concentration as they floated in his small fishing boat in the middle of the lake. Fishing was supposed to be relaxing, but she appeared rigid and tense, as though everything hinged on whether she could get a fish to take the bait.

“This isn’t a competition,” Mitch reminded her.

Courtney offered a fake smile and went right back to furrowing her brows as she slowly reeled in her line. “Sorry, this just brings back memories of fishing with my dad. He used to get so frustrated with me because I was always tangling the line or catching the hook on something. It made me never want to—”

She gasped and lurched forward, nearly toppling out of the boat. If Mitch hadn’t been quick to grab her arm and pull her back, she probably would have.

“I caught one!” She turned the reel quicker, almost frantic. “I can’t believe I actually caught one! This has never happened to me before.” Her lips widened into a huge smile. “I totally get it now—why you like this. It’s actually fun when you catch something.”

Mitch couldn’t help his answering smile. If anything could be counted on in life, it was that Courtney would do or say something to surprise him. She was the most unpredictable person he’d ever met, which was probably what made her such a great writer.

When the fish finally broke the surface—a big, ugly catfish—she dropped her fishing and skittered backwards, rocking the boat. Mitch couldn’t hold back his laughter. The reel spun like crazy while the fish tried to make its getaway. He grabbed the pole and started bringing the fish back in.

“What was that thing?” Courtney said.

“Congratulations, you just caught one of the vermin of this lake. That was a catfish.”

“It had whiskers.”

“That’s probably why they call it a
cat-
fish.”

Courtney shot him a glare before shifting positions. She eyed the line with a nervous expression, squirming a little when the fish resurfaced. “What are you going to do with it?”

“I thought we’d fry it up for dinner instead of the salmon.”

“Very funny.”

He worked to loosen the hook then tossed the slimy, wriggling fish back in the water before holding out the fishing pole for Courtney to take.

She shook her head, refusing to accept it. “I don’t understand what you see in this sport. You could spend all day here and not catch anything—or worse, catch something like that.”

“What happened to all the talk about this being fun?”

“Call it temporary insanity.”

Mitch laughed again, something he didn’t usually do while fishing. Typically, this was his time to get away from life, to think and let nature rejuvenate him. But being here with Courtney made him feel lighter and happier than he’d felt in a long time. He liked having her along.

With a thunk, he set her pole on the floor of the boat and rested his elbows on his knees. “Okay, so I obviously didn’t sell you on fishing, but don’t give up on it just yet. Maybe you could even think of today as fodder for your next book and write a story about a fisherman who talks to fish or something.”

Courtney drew her lower lip into her mouth, as if seriously considering his suggestion. “A fisherman with a sixth sense who happens to know right where to fish every time. That’s actually not a bad idea.”

Mitch raised an eyebrow. “Really? A guy who can talk to fish?” It sounded pretty lame to him.

“Not talk,” Courtney said. “Feel.”

He shrugged, still not seeing it. “Let me guess, he’ll fall in love with a mermaid.”

Courtney shook her head. “I write magical realism, not fantasy. So no. She’ll be a journalist or a photographer—someone who’s heard stories about a guy that has never had a bad day of fishing. She’ll want to investigate.”

Mitch still wasn’t sure about the idea. “Just promise me you’ll throw in some pirates or something.”

Her lips twitched. “Like
Swiss Family Robinson
?”

“No, like
Pirates of the Caribbean
.”

“I told you. I don’t write fantasy.”

“What about a shark attack then?” Mitch said. “Or maybe the guy could get swallowed by a whale and have to talk his way out of it. That would be cool.”

Courtney laughed. “Remind me to never come to you for plot ideas. They’re terrible.”

“Hey, who suggested the fisherman idea?”

“As a
joke
.” She smiled then leaned over the edge of the boat and ran her fingers through the water, probably working through plot ideas. Mitch took the opportunity to watch her and the way her nose turned up a tiny bit at the end. A breeze whipped her hair behind her, and with the lake and mountains in the background, the picture she made could easily work on a cover of
Outdoor Life.
Only Courtney didn’t need heavy makeup. She was a natural beauty.

Mitch wanted to see that smile every day, make her laugh, and listen to whatever it was she had to say. He wanted to run his fingers through her silky hair, hold her close, and taste her lips. He wanted her in his life for longer than a few months out of the year.

But ever since high school, her MO had always been come and go, come and go—something that had a bipolar effect on him. Whenever she showed up, Heimel became vibrant and exciting, like three-dimensional renderings of a construction design. When she left, it flattened back to a dull, lifeless two-dimensional line drawing.

If only he could convince her to stick around.

Courtney looked his way and caught him staring, and Mitch quickly moved to secure the hooks on both fishing poles. Then he started the small engine and steered the boat toward the small dock. It was time to do something else—something he knew she’d like.

Courtney accepted the helmet with a grin and put it on. She climbed on the back of the 4-wheeler, scooted close to Mitch, and wrapped her arms around his muscular waist, resisting the impulse to bury her face in his back and breath in the intoxicating outdoor scent that was all him. Hopefully this would be a long ride.

“You good?” Mitch called as he started the engine.

“Perfect.” She held on a little tighter just because she could.

They spent the next several hours climbing trails, racing through meadows and pointing out moose, elk, eagles, and even a bear. Courtney hadn’t felt this content in a long time.

When Mitch drove them to a peak that overlooked Heimel and killed the engine, Courtney reluctantly let go of her hold on him and climbed off to admire the spectacular view. The valley stretched out below them in a lush blanket of greens and browns. Birds chirped, and that raw, earthy scent she loved filled her senses.

“Coming?” Mitch said.

Courtney turned around to find him sitting on a blanket, patting the ground next to him. She smiled and sank down beside him, wishing she could snuggle up and rest her head against his shoulder. Instead, she accepted the sandwich he held out.

“Thank you,” she said, turning her face toward the sun. “This place really is beautiful.”

“You’re only now noticing that?”

She smiled. “No, I’ve always noticed. But there’s something different about leaving and coming home. It sort of feels like a dormant part of me suddenly comes alive. I love that feeling.”

He shifted positions to look at her. “I don’t get it. If you love it so much here, why not move back for good? You can write anywhere.”

Courtney took a small bite of her sandwich and munched it slowly. “I need to do research, and I like seeing new places.”

When she said nothing more, he shook his head. “Sorry, not buying it. You can always put down roots and still travel to your heart’s content.”

She let out a breath and bit her lip. Did she dare tell him the real reason? Would he laugh? File it away as something else he could tease her about? Probably.

And yet she wanted him to know, to understand. “Remember how I told you I’m superstitious?”

“Yeah.”

“I wasn’t joking.” She paused, plucking the leaves off a nearby bush. “From the time I was little, I’ve always known I wanted to be a writer. In high school, I started submitting my work to agents, but they all shot me down. So I stayed here and went to college for a year in Anchorage, took every creative writing class I could, and went to every writing conference anyone offered. Then I applied what I learned and wrote my first magical realism novel. I thought it was great, but still, no bites. Out of desperation, I took the plunge and transferred to NYU the following year, where I wrote another novel, again with no luck.”

The bush was beginning to look sparse. Courtney seemed to realize it too because she stopped plucking and began tearing the leaves instead. “Then something amazing happened. I came back here for the summer and felt that feeling I just told you about. It was like my mind woke up. I wrote a rough draft quicker than I’d ever written one, but when I went back to revise, it was like my mind decided to go dormant again. So I transferred my records to Texas—the place where the book was set—and immersed myself in the culture. The fine-tuning came easier there, and I was able to finish my revisions. Then I sent it out and about died when ten agents requested it—five of whom offered to represent me. Two months later, I signed my first publishing contract.”