Читать книгу Christmas At Cupid's Hideaway - Connie Lane - Страница 10

“Mr. Morrison?”

Somehow, the voice penetrated the fog in Gabe’s brain. Or maybe the voice calling his name wasn’t real at all. Maybe it was just an illusion. Like the taunting will-o’-the-wisp of an idea that had made him believe his writer’s-block days were over.

“Mr. Morrison?”

Hard to deny the voice was real when it was followed by a light rapping at the door of Love Me Tender.

Gabe shook himself out of the daze that had enveloped him. He was sitting on the piano bench, engaged in a stare-down with the piece of paper where earlier, he’d written those two tantalizing words. The words that had made him believe he was on the verge of a breakthrough.

“Dancing hamburgers,” he grumbled, and the sigh that followed sent the paper fluttering to the floor. It joined more than a dozen others—all of them covered with nothing but doodles—that littered the room like over-sized yellow confetti.

Did he say tantalizing?

Apparently, even dancing hamburgers weren’t tantalizing enough.

He hadn’t written another word—hadn’t had another idea—since.

“Mr. Morrison?”

When the door snapped open, Gabe spun around on the bench.

“Oh!” Her cheeks bright with embarrassment, Maisie stood where the elaborately patterned Oriental rug of the hallway met the green shag monstrosity that carpeted the room from wall to wall. “I’m sorry,” she said, taking a step back. “When you didn’t answer, I thought you’d gone out. I was just going to leave…” She gestured with the tiny box of expensive candy she held in one hand. “You know, as a welcoming gift.”

“Thank you.” The words came automatically, though how he managed even that, Gabe didn’t know. Putting two coherent words together was becoming more and more far-fetched by the moment.

“Mr. Morrison, has there been some sort of…” Maisie’s bright-blue gaze surveyed the wreckage, and though she was too good a hostess to come right out and ask what the hell was going on, it was more than obvious that she was a little concerned. She came further into the room. “Has there been an accident?” she asked. “Would you like me to call one of our housekeepers and—”

“No. No accident.” Because Gabe couldn’t stand the thought of Maisie’s discomfort, he pulled himself off the piano bench and picked up the discarded pieces of paper. One by one, they joined the stack until it was complete, the paper he’d written on at the top.

“Dancing hamburgers, huh?” The look Maisie aimed at the top paper was as innocent as Easter bunnies. And as curious as any Gabe had ever seen. When she saw that he was watching her, she grinned. “Maybe you need a break. Ready for dinner?”

“Dinner?” Still clutching the papers, Gabe stretched, working the stiffness out of his back. At the same time, he glanced over at the stained-glass window. It was lit from behind by a blaze of sunlight. Just as it had been the afternoon he’d checked in.