Which was very weird and unlike me. Normally I couldn’t resist a challenge. But it was like my danger instinct was telling me to chill out with her.

Still, I liked her. Which was why this be her friend thing was the best idea I’d had in a while. Even if my dick wanted different things.

“If you like onion rings, they’re really good here,” I said.

“I do like onion rings.”

The server came over and we placed our orders—cheeseburgers with a side of onion rings for both of us.

“What made you want to become a writer?” I asked after the server left.

“I’ve been writing stories since I was a kid. It’s just something I love to do. Although I guess when I was a kid, I wasn’t writing about serial killers.”

“Your parents might have worried if you were.”

She smiled. She was so pretty when she did that. “Yeah, they would have. What about you? Did you always want to be a firefighter?”

“Oh yeah, since I was little. I debated between this and the Coast Guard, but being a firefighter meant I could stay in Tilikum, so firefighter it is. What made you start writing about serial killers?”

“I guess it started as a way to cope with my fears. I’m a pretty anxious person, but writing lets me create worlds where I can face scary things in a safe way.”

“Why? What are you afraid of?”

She shrugged. “Everything?”

“Come on, you’re not really afraid of everything.”

“No, I guess not. I’m not even afraid of specific things, necessarily. I just get anxious a lot.”

“So you’re not afraid of something like heights?”

“No, I’m terrified of heights.”

“That’s a specific thing.”

“True. But being afraid of heights doesn’t impact my life very much. It’s easy to avoid.”

“Then what are you scared of that’s hard to avoid?”

“Why are you so interested in my fears?”

I shrugged. “Because I’m interested in you.”

Her dark eyes held mine for a moment. Made my heart beat a little harder. She was so intense. Like there was a lot more going on in her head than she let other people see.

“People make me nervous, especially if I don’t know them. I never know what to say and I worry about what they’re thinking and whether I look stupid or they think I’m crazy or weird. I get anxious when I go somewhere new. I worry about getting lost or something unexpected happening and being unprepared or not knowing what to do. I don’t like feeling uncertain.” She glanced away again. “What are you afraid of?”

“Nothing.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “Everyone’s afraid of something.”

“Maybe I am and I just haven’t found it yet. But so far, nope. I don’t get scared.”

“Ever?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You’re a firefighter. Haven’t you ever been in a situation that scared you?”

“No. I’ve been in dangerous situations plenty of times, but I wasn’t afraid. I get amped up on adrenaline a lot, but I don’t think that’s the same as fear. It doesn’t make me want to run away. It makes me want to dive in head first.”

“Into a fire?”

I smiled. “Not if I can help it. But if I have to, I will.”

“Without fear.”

“Yeah. When shit hits the fan, my instincts are sharp. Things get very clear. It’s almost like I know what’s going to happen, so I know I don’t have to worry.”

“You didn’t know you were going to get hit by a car.” Her mouth twitched in a smile.

“No, that one caught me by surprise. I can’t claim I never get myself into trouble, or never get hurt. I’ve probably broken more bones than all my brothers combined.”

“Well, fear does serve a purpose. It keeps us out of danger.”

“Sometimes. And sometimes it just gets in the way.”

“I’m afraid I’ll never write another book.” She clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes widening. Taking a deep breath, she lowered her hand. “I don’t know why I just told you that.”

“Why are you afraid you won’t write another book?”

“Because I haven’t written much of anything in months. Nothing usable. I keep going from idea to idea, starting new things and never getting anywhere with them.”

“Why?”

“That’s the problem, I don’t know. I’ve never been so blocked before. Writing was always challenging work, it wasn’t like it was effortless and suddenly it got hard and I can’t handle it. But I sit down to write and there’s just… nothing.”

“Is that why you moved out here? To see if it would help you write?”

She hesitated for a moment. “Mostly, yes. But I’m afraid that maybe this is permanent.”

“It’s definitely not permanent.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it doesn’t make sense that it would be. You don’t just forget how to write books when you’ve already done it… how many times?”

“Twelve.”

“You’ve written twelve entire novels?”

She smiled again, and man, I really liked making her do that.

“Yes. But my last book didn’t sell as well as the publisher wanted, so they dropped me. I don’t even have anyone to publish another book if I actually manage to write one.”

“Is that why you’re blocked? Because your publisher dropped you?”

“You’d think so, but no. It started before that happened.”

“That sucks.”

“I know, that would at least be an answer.”

Our food came and the conversation turned to other things while we ate. I asked her about growing up in Spokane and where she’d gone to college. And I told her some stories about working with her dad. She was so easy to talk to, it felt like we’d known each other forever.

After we finished, I hopped my way outside, back to the mobility scooter. This thing sure had come in handy. It was kind of a pain to drive, but it was better than walking all over town on one leg.

I tried to turn it on, but nothing happened.

“Uh oh.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I think the battery died.”

Well this was inconvenient. We were all the way across town from Nature’s Basket. I couldn’t walk very far without my crutches, and I’d left those there.

“Do you want me to walk to my car and come get you? Or go get your crutches? Or go get help?”

“I don’t want to make you do that. I can call someone to pick us up.”

Evan had a truck. He could run into town, pick us up, and help me get the scooter back to the grocery store. I pulled up Evan’s number and hit send.

“What do you want, Gav?”

“Hey, how’s it going?”

“I’m working.”

“Cool, then you probably need a break.”

“No.”

“You sure about that? You work a lot.”

He didn’t reply.

“Look, I just need a ride.”