Broken Read Free Page A

soaking wet, but it didn’t seem to bother the guy as he roughhoused with the dog in the sand, his husky laughter traveling on the breeze and making me laugh too.
    I studied the guy as he eventually sat on the sand, with Max practically in his lap. There was such warmth about him, and I could see from watching their play that he loved Max dearly. Allowing my eyes to roam over his face, I took in each feature as best as I could from this distance, and noted it down on my pad. His dark hair was on the longish side, maybe not quite long enough to pull back into a hair tie, but almost. A short neat beard wrapped around a strong-looking jaw. I was too far away to see the color of his eyes, but they seemed kind, and his laugh was easy and carefree. He looked to be around six feet tall but with all the layers of clothing, it was impossible to see his physique. Still, he had been running and chasing Max for a good twenty minutes, so I assumed he was in reasonable shape.
    He must have felt my stare because he swung around quickly, his brow furrowed in curiosity. Our eyes locked and I sucked in a quick breath, but couldn’t tear my gaze away. His head tilted to one side, studying this stranger who had invaded his privacy by so blatantly gaping at him. A slow, lopsided grin graced his perfectly featured face, and he gave me a courteous nod. I didn’t know where to look, so I looked away, straight out to sea where the horizon met the water. Even with the cold air circling around me, my cheeks grew hot, my body warming from the embarrassment of being caught. Finally summoning up the courage, I turned to face him again. But he had gone, his figure jogging along the water’s edge in the distance, Max in tow.
      
    I couldn’t get Max’s owner out of my mind. Every time I tried to write a character outline for my blond, male hero, he somehow morphed into “Beard Guy.”
    “Great job, Evie,” I muttered under my breath, holding down the Backspace key and deleting the paragraph I’d just written. “At this rate it’ll take you eight months instead of eight weeks to write the dang novel.”
    It was getting late, and I had yet to write an outline that was more than garbled bullet points. Placing my glasses on the table beside the laptop, I ran my hands over my face. I was already beginning to stress, and it had only been two days. Needing to relax, I decided to soak in the tub in the hope that not thinking about the book would help me come up with some ideas.
    The water was scorching as I climbed in, the bubbles rising until a few tipped over the edge and spilled onto the tiles. Ah, this was better. Already I could feel the heat from the water and heady floral scent of the bubble bath carrying all my troubles away.
    As I lay in the tub with my eyes closed, a scene came to mind, playing out like a movie behind my eyelids. It was a fireman, strong and brave, rescuing a pretty young girl from a burning house. Okay, this was good, because it was the first time that my characters were talking to me, telling me what they wanted to be.
    “Mac,” I said out loud. “Mac, the fireman.” Sure, his face still wasn’t clear as I fought the urge to sketch in a beard, but at least I had a concept to build on.
    Climbing out of the tub an hour later, I wrapped a towel around my body and trotted into the bedroom to find my pajamas. Even if I didn’t write anything down tonight, I felt lighter just knowing the basis of my story. It was now dark outside, but with the light from the bathroom and living room shining through their respective doorways, the bedroom was illuminated enough to see clearly.
    There was movement out of the corner of my eye and I jumped, clutching the towel over my bare chest. Looking around quickly, I realized it was Max and Beard Guy again, back outside on the sand, one house up from mine. Behind them was a small bonfire, its flames dancing in the darkness, the embers drifting up before being extinguished by the cold night