“But why him? He’s not even your type.”

  “I think that’s what I like about him. I always go for people who are a lot like me—safe and predictable. But that’s boring! Daniel is totally different than anyone I’ve ever been involved with, and it’s completely refreshing.”

  “What if your muse turns out to be a con man, or a gold digger?”

  I paused at a stoplight. All around me, San Francisco was slowly coming awake on this Saturday morning. “All I’m doing is spending a little time with him, not running off to Vegas to marry the guy. But I really don’t think he’s either of those things,” I told her. “He pitched the idea of spending two weeks together, while he has some time off. That’s it. A con man or a gold digger would be playing a longer game than that.”

  “Two weeks? Is that what he said?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  As the light turned green and I stepped off the curb, Ginny reminded me, “Your sister’s wedding is two weeks from today, Mal.”

  “And?”

  “Maybe that’s his angle, trying to use you to get into that wedding. We already know he’s someone who’ll crash high-society events, and your sister’s wedding is being called the social event of the season.”

  “He hasn’t said a word about it.”

  “Of course not, because he would know it was too soon to bring it up. But once he feels the timing is right, I wouldn’t be surprised if he started angling to be your date to that wedding.”

  I asked, “But what would he gain from that?”

  “It could be any number of things. Maybe he’s looking to land himself a husband who’s even more obscenely rich than you are. Or maybe he’s a social climber and wants to get in with the jet-set crowd. Your sister and her fiancé have invited socialites, movie stars, politicians…” She paused, and then she exclaimed, “Hold up! Are Barack and Michelle going to be there? What if he’s a nut job who’s using you to get close to them? You better not be putting Michelle in jeopardy!”

  That made me grin. Of course her main concern would be her idol. “First of all, Michelle could beat the crap out of Daniel if she wanted to.”

  “That’s true.”

  “And no, they’re not going to be there. My sister actually did invite them, but they declined. Apparently her high society hubby-to-be isn’t quite that well-connected.”

  “Okay, but a lot of other VIPs will be there. What if he wants to get close to one of them?”

  “To do what?”

  “How should I know?”

  I shifted the phone and thanked the hotel’s doorman as he held the door for me. Then I asked Ginny, “What if he just wanted to hook up with me, and that ‘two weeks’ comment was completely arbitrary?”

  “It’s possible, but something feels off. I’m going to do some digging and see what I can find out about this guy. How’s his last name spelled, with an O-N or an E-N?”

  “O-N, I guess. I think that’s the Swedish spelling, but I’m not sure.”

  “Which goes to show you really don’t know anything about this guy. Please be careful, Mal.”

  “I always am. I’m about to get on the elevator, so I need to go.”

  “Check in with me this afternoon,” she said, “and do something for me. Bring up the wedding and watch closely to see how he reacts.”

  “I’m hanging up now.”

  “Fine, but do what I said and report back.”

  “Goodbye, Ginny. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  I ended the call and stuck the phone in my pocket as I stepped onto the elevator. By the time I reached the suite, she’d already sent me a text: Do you know how many Daniel Larsons there are in the world? He might as well have told you his name is John Doe.

  So, she’d been serious about doing some digging, which was fine. Maybe it would help put her at ease.

  I left my phone on the table in the foyer and went to check on my guest. Daniel was right where I’d left him—sprawled out on the bed and snoring softly.

  Rather than wake him, I half-closed the door. Then I went into the living room and unpacked the shopping bag. After I made a tidy stack on the coffee table with the pen and notebooks, I glanced at the receipt. Okay, yes, that had been an exorbitant amount to spend on a pen, but it’d be worth it if it made him happy. I hid the receipt in a drawer and made sure all the price tags were removed from my purchases, because it seemed tacky to flaunt how much I’d spent. After that, I picked up the hotel phone and ordered breakfast for two from room service.

  The knock on the door sometime later finally woke Daniel. He joined me in the living room right after the server left. The big, fluffy duvet was completely wrapped around him like a cocoon, and he mumbled, “What time is it?”

  “Almost eleven.” He grunted and curled up at one end of the couch. All I could see was one squinty eye. “I guess you’re not a morning person.”

  “No. Mornings bad.”

  I chuckled at that. “Well, good news, Young Frankenstein. We have coffee.”

  He reached out through a gap in the blanket, and I filled a cup and stuck it in his hand. The cup disappeared into the cocoon, and a moment later he muttered, “Fuck, that’s good.”

  It was a few more minutes before he finally stuck his head out of the blanket. His nose was wrinkled, as if he found this whole morning business completely distasteful, and his hair was a spiky mess. I decided to keep my observation that he looked like an angry kitten to myself. Instead, I told him, “If you’re hungry, I got us some breakfast.”

  He slid out of his cocoon and sat on the floor, and I raised a cloche to reveal a stack of pancakes. Because nothing he did was ever predictable, he picked up one of them with both hands and started nibbling the edge. I pointed to a carafe on the tray. “There’s syrup if you want it.”

  All he said to that was, “Not a fan,” and went on eating the pancake like a squirrel. A few moments later, he frowned and asked, “Why aren’t you eating?”

  “What you’re doing is so entertaining that I forgot about my breakfast.”

  I moved to the other side of the coffee table and sat cross-legged on the area rug. Then I pulled my serving dish closer and removed the lid, which prompted Daniel to whisper, “My god, why?”

  “Oatmeal is good for you.”

  When I dumped a packet of raisins onto it, he muttered, “Now it’s a crime scene.”

  “I’m glad I guessed correctly and got you pancakes.”

  As I added some milk, he guessed, “Soy?”

  “Oat, actually.”

  “That sounds like some kind of freaky experiment, recombining the oats with their…wait, how the hell do they get milk from an oat?”

  “It’s a miracle of modern science.” He was still frowning at the bowl, so I said, “Just wait until you’re over forty. You, too, will realize fiber is your friend.”

  He glanced at me and grinned. “Do you feel like you’re a hundred and fifty years old, after saying that?”

  “I really do.”

  “Thought so.”

  After he squirreled his way through all three pancakes, he refilled both of our coffee cups and leaned back against the couch. I asked, “Now that you’re fed and caffeinated, are you feeling motivated to write?”

  “So, you’re actually sticking with that plan?”

  “Absolutely. I even went out and got you some supplies.”

  “You’ve already been out to run an errand?” I nodded, and he muttered, “I’ve never understood morning people.”

  “I’m really not a morning person. I went out a little before ten, which isn’t all that early.”

  “Oh, it’s early.” He took a sip of coffee and asked, “So, when you say supplies, are we talking coffee and chocolate? Or are we going the Hemingway route with scotch?”

  “While those are all excellent ideas, I actually got you some notebooks and a pen.” I gestured at the stack on the coffee table and explained, “There are five of them because they all looked nice and I couldn’t decide. Maybe you can use each one for a different project or something.”

  He tilted his head and read the brand name embossed into the top of the pen case. Then he frowned and said, “That’s some kind of practical joke, right? There’s no way you bought me a Montblanc. So, what’s inside the box, a plastic cockroach? A gag pen that’ll squirt me with ink when I try to write with it?”

  “Who am I, one of the Marx Brothers? It’s exactly what it says it is.”

  For some reason, he started to look alarmed. “It can’t be. I know what those pens cost, because I always wanted one. I told myself I’d buy one when I got published, because to me, they’re a mark of success. You wouldn’t randomly buy me something like that.”

  “But I did.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I thought you’d like it, and because I believe every writer should have a nice pen.”

  He shook his head. “That’s way, way too nice. You need to return it and get your money back.”

  “I’m not going to do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I want you to have it.” I moved around the table and sat down beside him, and then I took the pen out of its box. “I thought you might like this particular pen, since you have a suit in this color.”

  When I held it out to him, he recoiled and shook his head. “I can’t touch it. I have pancake hands.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “They won’t take it back if it’s all smudged.”

  “Like I said, I’m not returning it.”

  He grabbed me in a hug and whispered, “You’re incredibly kind, and that’s the most thoughtful gift anyone’s ever given me—not because it cost a lot, but because you understood what something like that would mean to an aspiring writer. I appreciate it so much, Malcolm. More than you know. But there’s no way I can accept it.” He kissed my cheek and mumbled, “Be right back,” before getting up and hurrying from the room. He’d been trying to hide it, but I was pretty sure there were tears in his eyes.

  I watched him leave, and then I placed the pen in its box and put it in a drawer. I really wasn’t going to return it, but it was obviously too much too soon. Once we knew each other better, maybe he’d accept it. I hoped he would, especially now that I knew what it meant to him.

  And one thing was perfectly clear now—he wasn’t interested in me for my money, which was actually pretty rare. Since I’d come from a wealthy family, a lot of the people I dated seemed to think the most attractive thing about me was my bank account. That had never been a great feeling.

  Daniel returned from the bathroom looking like his usual, upbeat self. He’d put on one of my sweatshirts and was holding a pen with the name of the hotel on it. “I hope you don’t mind, but I borrowed this hoodie,” he said. “I was going to put on my suit jacket because I’d like to write on the balcony, but I couldn’t find it.”

  “I sent your suit to be cleaned and pressed after I repaired the seam. It’ll be back this afternoon. And I’m glad you grabbed a sweatshirt. That’s exactly what I was going to suggest.”

  “When did you fix my suit?”

  “First thing this morning.”

  “Thanks for doing that. Also, you’re a morning person in denial. Face it.” He grinned at me before picking up one of the notebooks. After he looked it over, he announced, “This is far too nice to write in.” He picked up the next one in the stack and shook his head. “This, too.”

  I rolled my eyes, and then I got up and plucked the notebook and the pen from his hands. After I scrawled a message on the first page, I handed them back to him. “There. Now it’s messed up, so you can go ahead and write in it.” He chuckled at the message, which said: Write in the fucking notebook, Daniel. “Come on, let’s get to work.” He hurried after me as I headed for the balcony.

  The next few hours were surprisingly productive. We spent some time bouncing ideas off each other, and then we began making some notes. I still had that fragment of a melody drifting around in my head, and I started bringing it together with some lyrics that had been doing the same thing. By dinnertime, the first draft of a new song was mostly fleshed out.

  I got up to use the bathroom, and on the way back, I retrieved my phone from the foyer. Ginny had texted several times. Since I hadn’t replied, her most recent message said: Okay, seriously? You’re going to leave me hanging? I’m worried about you, and you’re not even checking your damn messages?

  Ginny had taken on the role of my protector at the very start of our relationship. I was forever getting bullied in junior high, since I was a shy, skinny nerd with glasses, and she’d stepped in to defend me. Thirty-five years later, she was still doing it. I wasn’t sure if it even registered that I was a grown man now, and not that scrawny thirteen-year-old. But I knew it came from a place of love, so I didn’t complain much.

  I sent a text letting her know everything was fine, and that Daniel and I were both writing. She replied: I’m happy you’re finding your mojo again. Have you mentioned the wedding yet to see how he reacts? I promised I would and stuck the phone in my pocket before returning to the balcony.

  As was often the case, mid-October in San Francisco was clear and sunny, but it wasn’t all that warm. Daniel’s solution had been to gather up every spare blanket he could find, and he’d used them to build himself a big, round nest on one of the lounge chairs. He’d also wrapped the scarf I’d given him around his head and tied it just above his forehead, so it looked like he had floppy bunny ears.

  He was writing at a quick pace as I closed the balcony door behind me and returned to my seat. After a minute, he looked up at me and smiled. “It seems to be going well,” I said.

  “It is. I mean, it’s probably total crap, but it feels good to be writing again. I’d actually forgotten how much I love it.”

  “Are you ready for a dinner break, or do you prefer to keep going?”

  “I’m at a good stopping point, and I’m actually really hungry.”

  “We don’t have to do room service for the third time today if you don’t want to. Your suit was delivered, so we could go out to dinner if you feel like a change of scenery.” We’d ordered sandwiches for lunch and nibbled at them while we were working.

  “I’d rather stay in, if that’s alright with you.”

  “That’s always my preference.”

  While I got up to bring him the room service menu, he held up his open notebook to show me only a few pages remained. “I can’t believe I’ve almost filled this. The last time writing made me this happy and flowed so easily was when I was in high school.”

  “Really? That long?”

  “Pretty much. In college, it became about trying to give my professors what they wanted so I’d get good grades. After that, it was all about trying to write a manuscript that would sell. That was guaranteed to suck the joy out of it.”

  “You’re right.”

  Daniel set aside the notebook and took the menu when I offered it to him. After we decided on dinner and I placed the order, he asked, “Would it be okay if I came back tomorrow and we did this again?” He quickly added, “It’s fine to say no. I’m sure you’re busy, and—”

  “I’d love to do this again, and tomorrow’s wide open. So’s most of next week, aside from an appointment here and there. Until Friday, anyway. That’s when I’m flying to Vancouver, a week ahead of my sister’s wedding.”

  I took Ginny’s advice and watched for a reaction, mostly so I could prove her wrong. But at the mention of the wedding, Daniel looked startled, and for a moment it seemed like he wasn’t sure what to say or do. Then he tried—and failed—to pull up a neutral expression as he said, “Oh, your sister is getting married?”

  Was Ginny actually right? Did Daniel have some kind of agenda, and did it have something to do with that wedding?

  I kept watching his reactions as I told him, “She is. It’s actually her third marriage, but they’ve turned it into a complete spectacle. They rented out an entire upscale lodge on a private island off the coast of British Columbia. His family is old money, so it’s all very snobby and high society.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “It sounds like torture, and if it was anyone but my little sister, I’d definitely blow it off.”

  “Why are you going a week early?”

  “I rented a cabin for a few days to give me a quiet place to work. I’d hoped the change of scenery might inspire me and help with my burnout. But also, my sister and her wedding planner can’t fly out until two days before the wedding, and they wanted someone close by, in case there are any last-minute issues with the venue or any of the vendors.”

  Daniel’s wheels were definitely turning. He chewed his lower lip for a moment, and then he said, “A cabin sounds amazing. Actually, all of it does. I can’t even imagine such a thing, a high society wedding on a private island.”

  “It’s going to be a train wreck, with a lot of very spoiled people in a semi-rustic setting.”

  “Why did the couple pick that location?”

  “The groom’s grandparents are from Vancouver, and I guess he spent summers at this lodge as a kid, so it’s sentimental to him. Since my sister’s trying to make nice with her new in-laws, she decided to hold the wedding there. His family is rich and powerful enough that a lot of spoiled city dwellers are willing to make the trek out into the wilderness, rather than miss the social event of the season.”

  Daniel was chewing his lip again. After a moment, he ventured, “So, I suppose you already have a date for the wedding.”

  “I don’t, actually. Ginny was supposed to be my plus-one, but it turns out she has a big client flying in from Japan that weekend to look at properties. She’s in commercial real estate, and this client wants to open the first international branch of his restaurant chain. He has all of these really specific requests, so what he should do is build a place from the ground up to suit his needs. But that’s challenging in San Francisco. Real estate is way too expensive to do a complete tear-down, so what most people end up doing is retrofitting existing spaces.”

  It was funny to watch the concern on Daniel’s face as I steered the conversation further and further from the topic of the wedding. The more I rambled, the more agitated he became. I barely even knew what I was talking about, but I kept going, just to see what he’d do.

 

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