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actually made him feel excited about this series for the first time since it had been handed to him? She hated Scallop Shores. She’d probably just decided there were limits to what she’d do to earn enough money to get to New York City.
    Burke brought his coffee mug up to his lips and swore when nothing came out. Now he was angry with Cady, angry with his editor, angry with himself for running out of coffee. The list was getting longer as the morning went on. He shoved the cup aside and went back to constructing notes about possible town landmarks to visit.
    He scratched off the last two he’d added, ripping the entire page from the notebook for good measure. Wadding it in a ball, he tossed it toward the garbage can in the corner. It bounced off the rim and landed on the floor. Of course.
    A fresh page stared back at him, the promise of something new and exciting. Burke resisted the urge to lean down and take a whiff. Something about a new notebook, new writing supplies of any kind, really. He knew he’d probably been the only kid in school who looked forward to back-to-school shopping. His nanny had always taken him. His own parents couldn’t be bothered with the actual raising of their son.
    Burke took a cleansing breath and let his mind wander. He had loved Maria like a mother. She was old enough to have been his grandmother, looking back, but Burke hadn’t been looking for a grandmother-figure. He’d needed a mom. So it was Maria he had gone to with his first juvenile stories. It was Maria who had encouraged him to write. It was Maria he’d told when he first got the job with the magazine. She’d been so proud but also a tad disappointed.
    “I am happy for you, sweetheart, if you are happy. But promise me something. Do not abandon your stories. Keep writing from your heart. Someday, when the time is right, let go of your fear and just write.”
    He was supposed to be working on his article. His editor would be expecting the first in the series next week. But that empty notebook called out to him, enticing him to write something far more interesting. Something dark and creepy. Burke started to smell damp leaves, to feel a chill wind pass through his bones. It would take place in October. It was dark, the dead of night. The trees were newly bare but that didn’t stop them from pressing in on the hero. He was lost. He knew someone or something was watching him, following him.
    A loud rapping sounded on the front door. Burke pushed his rickety wooden chair back with a screech. His heart mimicked the knocking on the door, even louder if that were possible. He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. Blinking hard, he stole a look at the clock on the bedside table. It wasn’t even nine a.m. Who bothered their neighbors this early?
    Shaking his head to get back into the here and now, Burke plodded down the hall and into the kitchen. This had better be good. He’d been working. Well, he was supposed to have been working. He wrenched open the door harder than was necessary.
    “You might want to nuke that latte for a bit. Someone took his time getting to the door.” Cady winked.
    She handed him a large paper cup and breezed inside, apparently seeing the open door as the only invitation she needed. Heading for the counter, she set down a large basket and immediately began to unload it. Burke threw a gaze heavenward before closing the door and folding his arms across his chest. He tried to ignore the enticing aromas that just compounded, the more items Cady withdrew from the basket.
    “So most of these are desserts, because who doesn’t love desserts, right?” She tossed the question over her shoulder, seeming to prefer keeping her back to him.
    “And what if I told you I was diabetic?” He raised an eyebrow in challenge.
    Cady whirled around, her mouth open.
    “Are you? Diabetic, that is?”
    She looked horrified at the idea her baking could possibly bring harm to someone. Burke felt a twinge of guilt for