Page 7 of The Write Track
By design, rental properties were almost always worse than those you bought for yourself. My new rental in downtown Savannah, however, bucked that trend. The condo was pristine and gorgeous. And my view? Absolutely nothing could beat my view.
When I’d left Salem two years ago, unsure I’d be able to make it on my own but determined to do so, I never thought I would end up in such a similar town. Bella Oakley was an East Coast girl. My brief trip to the West Coast in the wake of my breakup had only reaffirmed that, but despite all the similarities with that area, Savannah felt more like home than Salem did now.
Sure, both cities based their tourism on the paranormal. Salem had witches, and Savannah had ghosts. They both had classic architecture and a specific vibe. They both had great food and themed cocktails. But there was just something about Savannah that told me I was home.
The city was not cheap, though, so I was renting for now. My first book, a paranormal romance featuring a witch who reminded me a lot of myself—even though I didn’t have powers—had sold well. Enough for me to be able to breathe. My second book had done even better.
What I had going for me with those books was that I’d written them in college. I’d gone back to tweak them after leaving Preston in the dust—not that he went quietly into the night or anything—but they were pretty good. His quiet digs had dampened my enthusiasm for writing, so I’d stopped doing it. I hadn’t, however, thrown away all my hard work, so I had several manuscripts to float to agents when starting out fresh.
To my surprise, a new one had loved what she’d read—she’d called it “raw and in need of just a smidge of polishing”—and I was off to the races. Her “smidge” of polishing had turned into big rewrites, but I wasn’t sorry. The process had taught me a lot. The manuscript I was working on was already much better than the two I’d already published. I was well on my way.
But that didn’t mean I could live high on the hog. My rental, with its great view, could only be sustained for a year. After that, I was either going to have to buy a house—something I was saving for—or move to one of the suburbs, where things wouldn’t be as costly. I didn’t like that idea because the culture of Savannah was delightful. All I wanted was to constantly wander the downtown area. I had a year to figure things out, though. For now, I was just basking in what I’d managed to accomplish so far.
A knock on my door gave me a jolt, and I forced myself to take a calming breath. I was expecting a visitor. This was nothing to get worked up about. Still, Preston’s face briefly popped into my mind. I ruthlessly pushed away the thought of him.
I would not give that man the opportunity to ruin my life from afar. He’d taken enough from me.
With that in mind, I pasted a bright smile on my face as I opened the door to Rose McGovern, my agent. She’d jumped ona plane from New York to ease me into what would be one of the biggest events of my life.
Or maybe I was building it up too much in my head. Anything was possible.
“Hey.” I breathed out a sigh of relief that I hoped Rose wouldn’t recognize as anxiety and went in for a hug. “I’m so glad to see you.”
It had been months since we’d last sat down together in New York to map out my life plan. She was always gung-ho for all of my ideas. When I’d told her my idea about moving to Savannah because I wanted to embrace the romantasy I was currently writing while also seeking ideas for future horror books, which I really wanted to write, she was all for it.
She knew about my past with Preston. She understood that the months of harassment I’d suffered in the wake of our breakup—how dare I embarrass him by taking off the way I did?—had made me somewhat fearful. The only thing to do had been to get away from the area. New York City was too close to Salem. That made it too easy for Preston to find my phone number and start the harassment up all over again. I had to go south, and there were only a few options I liked in that direction.
The second I’d landed in Savannah after a six-month stint in Tampa and New Orleans, I knew this city would be the winner. It reminded me of home but was different enough that I could breathe again. Sure, I didn’t know anybody in town and was pretty much a monk in solitude, but that’s why Rose was here now.
“The place is nice,” she said, giving the condo an appraising look. “I really like the view.” She moseyed over to the window. “You just seem to fit the vibe here.”
I smiled. “I thought so too.”
She forced her gaze from the window and looked me up and down. “You look pretty healthy. You’ve filled out a bit.”
I looked down at my cute leggings and oversized top. “I look fat?”
“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “You were too skinny last time I saw you.”
Ah, when I’d been in the middle of another call barrage from Preston. He’d killed my appetite. “Yeah. It’s been eight months.” I held up my crossed fingers. “Hopefully he’s gotten the hint that I can’t be bullied back into a relationship with him.”
“I still wish you would let me file a police report.” She looked furious. “That would for sure get him to back off.”
“He wasn’t abusive.”
Her eyes sharpened. “He harassed you. Just because he never hit you or issued overt threats, that doesn’t mean what he did wasn’t abusive.”
Deep down, I knew she was right. I didn’t want to deal with it, though. “Preston hasn’t contacted me in eight months.”
“That you know of.”
“I think he’s gotten the hint,” I insisted. “He’s probably already dating somebody new.”
“We could find out.”
I frowned. “How?”
“I could hire a private investigator. Nothing invasive,” she added quickly. “We can just get a report on what he’s up to. Just to be on the safe side.”
