CURMUDGEON (2018 Watty Wildcard Winner)

Chapter Ten - Finn

Finn rolled onto his back and stretched, a starfish in the center of a king-size beach, covered in Egyptian cotton. The sunlight, filtered through the heavy golden curtains, lent the room a soft, mystical air. The clock next to the bed told him it was almost ten in the morning. He'd been asleep for twelve hours. Had he ever in his life slept for twelve hours? If so, he couldn't remember it. How bizarre, then that, after all that rest, his body still felt spent, his mind clouded and slow.

He threw back the covers and headed for the bathroom. In the shower, he breathed deeply of the steam, letting it soothe his abused lungs, while he thought about the past few days.

Friday, he'd ended up spending the entire day with the Sara. Sara who was just as much a mystery to him now as she had been when he'd first seen her perched on the hood of his car like a mischievous little bird.

They'd played tourist again, this time in Bisbee, eaten too much greasy food, and spent the evening playing pool at Morgan's and avoiding questions from Bruce. The bartenders in Tombstone were more gossipy than a bunch of old women at church. Except Joe. Joe could be trusted.

There wasn't a doubt in his mind that Sara would have joined him in bed if he'd given the slightest invitation, but he'd been exceedingly careful not to. Pressed for a reason, he'd never be able to give one. Every time he looked at her he was caught in an adolescent fever of desire.

She's a scary little witch. An adorable, tiny terror. Like a gremlin who's been fed after midnight.

There. He admitted it. She scared him.

He had never thought being an author could bring him the kind of fame that would inspire a stalker, but what else do you call a girl who shows up uninvited and knows all about you but who won't tell you where she came from or anything about her past? He'd seen Misery. He knew there was a good chance she was a total psycho.

Still, she was undeniably beautiful.

And he did have fun with her. He used to be a fun guy. He was the kind of man who lived every day to the fullest, who seized the moment, and consequences be damned. Somewhere along the way, that all changed. The last time he had fun was probably shortly after the last time he slept for twelve hours straight.

Friday night he told her he really did need to work on Saturday, so he wouldn't be able to see her again.

She'd shown up at dawn with a bag of donuts and two enormous cups of coffee. "You won't know I'm here, Finn. I'll keep you fed and stay in the shadows and never ever say a single word."

"I told you I have to work. I'm supposed to drive up to a big conference in Phoenix today. I'm the keynote speaker."

"Tell them you don't feel well," she said.

Feeling utterly spineless, he opened the door and let her pass. The idea of calling in sick to the conference appealed to him. His agent would be mortified, but she wasn't going to drop her most profitable client. He wanted to stay home. He'd finally gotten some momentum on his new book. Stopping now would be a nightmare.

To his delight and surprise, she really did disappear into the shadows, and he really did work. Or, at least, it seemed he must have. He distinctly remembered looking at the clock around four in the afternoon and being ferociously hungry. He'd written nearly ten thousand words!

Like she'd sensed his need, Sara appeared with a bowl of spaghetti and meatballs and a glass of Coke. He devoured it in minutes.

"Has it been a good day, Finn?"

The twin specters of dread and desire woke up, twisting his insides into an uncomfortable knot.

"It must have been a very boring day for you, Sara. Why are you hanging around here, anyway?"

She giggled. "It was a good day, right?"

He stood and stretched his fingers toward the ceiling. His spine crackled and popped. "Yes, actually. It was a great day. Very productive. I wrote more than I have in a long time."

"I'm glad I inspired you."

Had she inspired him? He thought of the character he'd centered his story on--a young woman rising to power by manipulating the men around her. "It was good progress," he said.

"Want to go out?"

"I'm exhausted. My eyes feel like I washed them with bleach." As he said the words, he realized he was telling the truth. He was so tired he could hardly think straight.

"Aw, Finn. Are you blowing me off? Do you want me to go away and leave you alone?"

"No!" The word flew out of his mouth, practically of its own volition. He rubbed a hand over the day's growth of beard. "No. I'm sorry. I'm just tired, OK?"

"That's what happens when you work too hard."

"Yeah, right. Look..." what did he want to say? Did he want her to go away? What if she left and took her inspiration with her? What if, after she was gone, the words dried up again? No. He definitely didn't want her to go away. "I'm just a little worn out, OK? Why don't we plan on lunch tomorrow? Top of the Hill? At noon?"

She hesitated for a long moment and a feeling of panic rose in him. What if he'd blown it with her? Finally, she answered, "Sure, Finn. Lunch sounds great."

"Deal," he agreed. As soon as he said it he shivered. Don't be stupid. He needed a beer.

Sure enough, a drink or four later he was calm as could be laying on the sofa with his head on her leg. Not long after that he drifted off to sleep and dreamed about all the things he hadn't dared to do in real life. Somehow, he'd made it to the bed, but he couldn't quite remember that part. Nor was he sure whether or not he was alone.

Sunday morning, showered and shaven, he found himself hoping she'd spent the night in his house. The dreams had been all good, and the after-effects lingered in his mind.

He found her waiting for him at the kitchen table. She beamed in greeting. "Good morning, sleepyhead. Still up for lunch?

He slid his hands into his pockets and offered up the charming smile in return. "I'm famished. Also, I'm glad you're here."

"Why, Finn? Do you enjoy being with me?" Her blue eyes were wide and sincere.

"I'm a hermit and I like it that way. I must be twenty years older than you and there's something... you're not the usual Tombstone bar girl. But, yes, Sara. I do enjoy being with you. More than I probably should."

"I'll take that a compliment."

Finn let her wrap her arms around his neck and draw him close for a kiss before leading him out to the car.

Walking into the restaurant he smothered an enormous yawn. How was it possible to feel tired after so much sleep?

"Coffee?" The waitress asked.

"Yes, please," he answered.

Across the table, Sara grinned at him looking as young and fresh as a spring flower.