Stuck With You

o track down Hunter Graham, the famous author who vanished without a trace some months ago. My roommate and also my only

ou know," she says. I roll my eyes as

enna. But I have to do this." She pushes off t

ough with this crazy plan?

from a story?" She walks over and p

y you're doing

have to impress my boss. And tell me, what better way

rough who knows where. I'm sure that will impres

That I'm willing to go above and beyond f

one with common se

ormal story like everyone els

g. Something no one else will hav

Hunter Graham. Don't you see how perfectly this story writes it

on my bed with

eer. Besides, have you considered that Hunter Graham might have wanted to disappear? People go

of the right answ

need to be sure that solitude is the r

be at the bottom of a river somewhere. Do you want to end up like one of the cases we watch on those crime

appened and he became depressed? Then he decided to ju

to fa

nna. I need to know what has happened to him

t he doesn't want to be

want to be looked for? This isn't those novels you read Elsie. Real life isn't that simple. Do you think that it's

d sl

duet series. Fans were desperate for the release of the second book and then suddenly, nothing. No social media posts, phone c

es me a look of disbelief. I meet her gaze steadily. "The cops didn't have me, his biggest fan looking into it. I

er hands up in

mind. Now, you know more

, she runs a hand through

rational. This is

a point but I

ot when I'm done with my internship at Barbara's editorial firm, which is jus

r head almost

ides a hunch and your overactive imagination? I mean, this man could be anywhere in the world. For all we kn

it his haven. He said that he'll go live there when he retires and stops writing. He didn't give out this p

brows furrow

hat if he isn't there?. What if

lip, feeling a twin

I have. I'm just going to check this place out. If

s, her shoulders slumpin

ks a hint of resignation in her voice. I shake my he

na. I hope you can understand." She pulls me into a

ll find you another story. Don't go wandering around, looking for something that shouldn't be found.

ise. And I'll come home,

ds me a can of pepper spray. "For any creepy stalker

gain. Please be careful out there, okay?" She

e as soon as you can. I'll

p forming in

Jenna, I

into the driver's seat of my old Honda Civic and slide into the driver's seat. A

e out on me now," I plead

e with a loud coughing sound. I breathe a sigh of

d gi

s on Betty squeak as they frantically clear the growing layer of snow from the windshield. The weather is taking a turn for the worse as dark clouds roll in overhead. The news reports had warned that there was a massive blizzard on its way, set to dump several feet of snow in the next couple of days. I need to make it to Cleveland and back home before the storm hits. As the hours tick by, the scenery around becomes increasingly desolate. The small country roads are lined with abandoned buildings, their windows boarded up and their paint peeling. An eerie silence hangs in the air, broken only by the occasional flutter of a loose shutter or the crunch of Betty's tires on the freshly fallen snow. Finally, faded road signs signal my arrival to Cleveland. If you can even call it a town, it's a little more than a bend in the road with a post office and a scattering of run-down houses. The sun is low in the sky as I cruise slowly down a winding two-lane road, scanning for any sign of life. Who in their right

alk-in closet, but towering shelves are crammed floor to ceiling with canned goods, most bearing labels several decades o

t, my voice echoin

yone h

oman emerges, moving with care as if her joints ache with every step. Her silver hair is pulled back in a loose bun, a few strand

Reaching into my back pocket, I retrieve my phone and

seen this

screen through thin-framed lenses. For a long moment, she studies

very Wednesday.

eaps. An a

is past Wednesd

ases her brows as

got eggs, milk, br

s more skeptical,

ds carefully if I want to gain her trust and cooperation. Placing my hands

's just an interview. I promise I mean no harm. I just need to find him and talk to him. Plea

he counter for a long

then takes the right again. That's all I can say. But I'm sure the house isn't hard to find. It's the o

le wa

u so much

hicket of brambles and branches. My heart sinks as I twist the key in the ignition, silencing the engine with a cough of spent fuel. I'm alone in nowhere, stranded with no means of escape. Gravel crunch underfoot as I climb from the car, locking it instinctively though there's no one for miles to see. Taking a deep breath of the cold pine-scented air, I gaze down the long empty road stretched behind me. There's nothing to do but walk for shelter or a stranger who's willing to help. Time seems to drag on as I put one foot in front of the other down the gravel lane. Only the hushed rustlings of nocturnal creatures break the heavy silence pressing in from all sides. My footsteps echo dully, my only companion on the lonely trail. I have no idea how long I've been walking when the beam of my phone's flashlight flutters across something in the distance up ahead. Squinting, I focus my fading light and make out the faint outlines of a small wooden structure nestled in a clearing amidst the trees. Renewed energy surges through my tired legs as I quicken my pace, my breath coming fast in clouds before me in the chilly night air. I rush over to the front door, heart pounding hard, only to find the doors securely locked. I try peering in the windows, but the thick curtains block any view inside. Walking around the side, I discover the sliding glass door was also securely locked. It seems my only choice was to break in, which I don't want

hypnotic. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks as my eyes trace the contours of his back, admiring the way the muscles there flex and strain with each swing of the axe. I strain my neck, trying to catch a glimpse of his face but the angle is all wrong. All I can see is the strong line of his jaw and the scruff of his beard. I find myself wondering what his facial features look like; what color his eyes are, the shape of his lips. I'm almost aching to see more of him. He pauses to wipe the sweat from his brow. I

that's just incredibly appealing. The primal and compelling way he works with his hands to shape the wood, it's a side of masculinity that I don't often get to witness up close and I find myself utterly entranced. As he lines up the next log and raises the axe, I shift my weight again, trying to get a better view. Suddenly, the log in standing on lets out a loud crack, causing me to sway unsteadily. I freeze. Holding my breath, I pray the man didn't hear the sound. But to my dismay, he stops what he's doing and I see him turn his head slightly as if he's listening for the source of the sound. My heart pounds loudly as I watch, waiting with bated breath to see if he'll turn around. The seconds feel like an eternity as I stand