Splinters of You (Retired Sinners MC #1) - Anne Malcom Page 0,19
at least—readers liked to identify somewhat with an author. Find something of themselves within them, even if it was through the characters they wrote.
So yeah, the world didn’t quite know who I was, so I was everyone.
It worked commercially.
Not so much psychologically.
“Say, you wouldn’t consider doing a local signing here?” Charlie’s voice interrupted my thoughts and my head snapped up. “I know you don’t do them anymore, but since it’s your new hometown, and I can tell you that it will be a packed event and a good place to meet—”
I slammed the last book shut to silence him.
“Not interested,” I said, my voice ice cold.
His smile dimmed now. “It doesn’t have to be any big, fancy, affair. Something more casual. Quaint. A welcome to the town party.”
I didn’t smile to make him feel more at ease. Why would I?
“I don’t participate in signings, and I don’t need to be welcomed to the town. I just need to be left alone.”
With that, I wistfully glanced at the shadowy shelves and walked purposefully out the door.
Though I wanted to, I didn’t walk into the bar. Instead, I hopped in my car where I could go back to whatever passed for home and be alone.
Wasn’t that what I wanted?
Chapter 4
“I didn’t dispose of her body. Didn’t do that disservice. Would someone cover up a Van Gogh? No. That’s what I was. An artist. They would realize that one day.”
I was both happy and pissed off when I heard the knock at my door.
It was interrupting my very serious perusal of my favorite online shopping site.
But I was happy because after cleaning the cottage, after working out, after dissecting social media with a scalpel, after watching YouTube videos—yes, I resorted to that—and reading more King, this was pretty much all I had left of my procrastination.
The knock stopped me from having to do something unthinkable like…write.
I couldn’t do that.
Of course, I should do that. I had a bucketload of unread emails, missed calls and texts from my editor and agent respectively, looking for chapters I’d long promised and hadn’t written a word of.
As much as I hated, despised people who turned up at people’s houses who were not food delivery guys or from USPS, I didn’t hide and wait until this person was gone.
Instead, I did something very uncharacteristic. I opened the door.
A woman smiled at me, holding a basket of what looked like muffins. Some kind of welcoming committee, I guessed, even though she seemed like the absolute last person to be the head of any welcoming committee.
She was tall, masculine, wearing all black, with frizzy hair and not a lick of makeup, except a smear of bright red lipstick that somehow worked even though it totally shouldn’t. She was wearing so many layers and chunky necklaces she reminded me of my high school art teacher I didn’t know whether I liked or hated.
“I’m Margot,” she said by greeting. “I’m your second closest neighbor and I thought I’d bring you something to welcome you since your first closest neighbor is not likely to do so.”
I didn’t bother asking who my first closest neighbor was because I didn’t care who they were. I definitely didn’t care who my second closest neighbors were. I spent eight delightful years in New York never even speaking to a neighbor.
“I’m allergic,” I said, instead of offering my own name or letting her into my house.
She quirked her brow. “To neighbors?”
Definitely.
“Muffins,” I said, nodding to the basket.
“Who’s allergic to muffins?”
I shrugged. “I guess I am. Thank you for the thought and for being so kind. Make sure they go to someone that would enjoy them.”
Of course, I didn’t go so far as to slam the door in my face but I gave her that tight, dismissive smile polite people did to get themselves out of such situations. I wasn’t at all polite and in New York I definitely would’ve slammed the door in a stranger’s face. As much as I didn’t want people to like me here, I didn’t want them straight up hating me either.
I was also certain most people in this town would be much more polite than me.
“I assume you’re not allergic to wine because Nicole at the General Store told me you bought eight bottles of it yesterday and came back for another three today,” she replied, obviously not as polite as the rest of the town.