“So, where're ya headin'?”

“Oh, nowhere in particular.” My current location didn't seem especially promising, I could say that much. Not judging by the store I'd stopped in, the surrounding area I'd seen on the way. There was nothing, nothing here. I'd only stopped in this town to begin with due to the exit sign declaring a traveller's store, one I had imagined would be as well-stocked as any other regardless of location. There were a few things I'd been running low on in the car, such as snacks, which always helped when you weren't sure if you had another five miles to go, or perhaps another two hundred. Still, while the store couldn't be better if it came right out and tried, I'd immediately decided this town wasn't what I'd set off looking for. “Just driving. I don't suppose you have any brochures laying about I could see?”

“No brochures.” The man behind the counter shook his head, scanning my last little bag of chips with a small bleep from the machine. Blasted annoying noise. He lifted a hand, one finger gesturing vaguely to the stand behind me. “Got a couple a' those, though. For sale, two bucks apiece. You ought to take one a' them.”

Ah, travel guides. Like I hadn't seen plenty of those since setting off from the southernmost parts of California. Still, I'd not yet glanced in any. Not since entering the state of Oregon. Might as well. I took a step back and tossed a copy of the Oregon: A Tourist's Complete Companion on the counter for him to scan. The cheap ones were always the best, or so that moron I'd spent the last year rooming with had told me. Maybe he did know one or two things. Time to test his theory out.

“That'll be twenty-five thirty-seven then.”

“Right.” I doled out a twenty and a ten to the man, waiting a little impatiently for my change. How the hell am I supposed to read this while I drive? Sighing, wondering how much time I would wind up wasting in this backwater little town, I glanced around for a clock. He must've been scanning all of this for ten minutes longer than anyone in a city could take. Christ. Oh, who am I kidding? How d'you waste time when you don't know where you're coming? Aloud, I said, “Now can you tell me a place for coffee or something?”

The man raised his eyebrows as me like I were some little kid. What? Got something to say? Some moron store worker didn't have any place giving me that look, not while he was surrounded by cheap magazines filled with worthless lying columns and what looked to be a million packs of cigarettes. Get yourself a damned decent job and then look at me like that.

“You just need all the advice in the world, don't ya'? Well, go straight down the road out here to yer' right, and there's a place at the second corner down. Usually pretty good.”

“Thanks.” The chances he caught the sarcasm were slim as hell.

I took my change and my bag and hurried back to my car. It was my beloved, most prized object, and always would be no matter how many people were shocked when they saw me driving it. I really didn't look like the type to be driving a flashy vehicle. Why not though, if I could? There wasn't a single feature of the yellow Camaro I didn't love, after all. I'd drive any car I pleased, expensive and ridiculously show-offy as it was. The bag was tossed in the passenger seat, the one which had become the gathering place for all of my useless junk on this never-ending road trip. It could be abandoned there for awhile, until I cared.

Down the street, I parked my car in the first open space in the simply-named Coffee Spot's lot. Noon must have been a popular time for people to be here on Saturdays. Hopefully there would be a table open once I got in. I pulled out my tourist's guide, checked that my credit cards were still in my wallet (until I found an ATM somewhere, cash was a commodity I couldn't afford to be lax with, after the purchases in that store), and locked the Camaro up tight. The odds of having a theft didn't seem high in a place like this, but I always felt safe beat out sorry.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“Uh...yeah. Table for one, if it's not too much to ask.” I nodded at the nondescript young waitress, mentally praising all the holy things I could think of right up to the annoying-to-reach stars always seen topping Christmas trees that she seemed to have a table for me. A-fucking-men. Now that I actually thought about it, I needed coffee. Hadn't had a good cup since I'd set off what felt like years ago.

Before bothering to order, no matter how expectant she looked, I flipped open the travel book to the table of contents after slipping myself into the booth. Not wanting to seem too rude, however, I looked up at her. “I'll just take a coffee, black please. Maybe a few pieces of toast.” Huh. Go figure waitresses and waiters were the only service industry employees I ordinarily bothered being mildly polite to.

“No problem, sir.”

Hardly a moment after she'd walked away, I heard a feminine squeal and had to look up again from where I hadn't quite read a full word on the table of contents. Damn. When I lifted my head I came face-to-face with a teenage girl, a year or two younger than myself. In her hands she squeezed a hardcover novel, a young man's face smiling brilliantly off the back at anyone who bothered to look. He appeared much-too familiar.

“Ohmigod, it's you!” The girl babbled excitedly. “Ashley Sears! Oh, please, can you autograph this?”

I gently took into my hands the thrust-in-my-face copy of the book. Right, maybe the guy on the back looked so familiar because he happened to be me. The only guy of the modern age whose mother thought naming her son Ashley could be a good idea, and whose editor considered it just as inspired. These days I didn't look especially different from the guy in the picture, unsurprising. It hadn't been so long. Sure, I'd had a sudden violent urge to cut my hair, so even though in the picture it surpassed my shoulders in all its golden-blonde glory, today it hit only a little beneath my ears. My eyes though, sea-ice blue, could never change, and I didn't see myself growing any taller than the not-quite-six-foot I'd been since the age of sixteen, two years before I even produced the book.

“Turning the Key.” The title came out of my mouth as something quite nearly a chuckle. “Sure, if you get me a pen and your name.”

“Yes!”

She left the copy of my novel at the table with me rather than ripping it from my hands as I'd half-expected her too. But Christ. She seemed like one of those fans who worship their authors like we were the gods themselves. Fucking more irritating than it was healthy. About as healthy as my swearing, or so my mother would probably say. The nag, much like many mothers, would have died of a heart attack had she heard some of the people I'd spent my time around.

More than likely she'd gone to her purse. I'd never get women and their purses. So in her absence, I sat there at my little table, flipping wistfully through the pages. This book had come out far from the way I wanted, though the general populace had been infatuated. The only thing remaining from my original image of the story, if I thought about it as I had so many times, was the title. Everything else...fell flat in my own eyes. I'd hardly looked at the thing since publication other than for the countless signings. No point looking at things I take no pride in, no matter if my name's on the cover. No matter because of it ninety percent of the people I meet seem to realise who I am. Yet it was the reason for my Camaro, so I couldn't hate it. There's a difference, a big one, between not respecting something and hating it.

The girl returned with a pen, causing me to open the novel to the front page. She was practically bouncing with glee. Yeah, definitely god-worship. “So, what's your name?”

“Sierra.” She brushed her hair behind her ear. “When are you going to write another one like this?”

Like this? Fuck if I know. “You know, my editor has been asking me the same question since about two weeks after Turning the Key was published. The day it topped the bestseller list for its first week.” I told her this in a good-natured tone, revealing nothing of the way I actually felt thanks to the stupid girl, scribbling something random in her book involving her name.

She moved away when I dismissed her with a hand, plagued by thoughts of my editor's increasingly frantic calls. She insisted that no matter how many copies of Turning the Key continued to fly from the shelves, if I didn't send out another novel, and do it soon, the publisher wouldn't back my next one if it ever came. A wasted million-dollar investment, or something like that. How do you write a bestseller, when trying to write at all reminds you you'll just have to completely change it?

“That's why I'm out here to begin with.” I reminded myself, relieved at the arrival of my coffee and toast. A-fucking-men to food playing in the elimination of plausible thought. Seriously.

Finally at peace, I returned to my travel guide. This time I chose to simply ignore the table of contents and flip straight through whatever I found. Day trip location, day trip location, day trip location...Anything else in this waste of two dollars? Useless book. Time to start heading east, maybe? This is- wait!

“Lakeside. Sounds interesting.” Glossy illustration. Everything had those. The description seemed like just the thing I'd been looking for though, pretty pictures aside. Time to finish my mini-meal and be on my way.

Several hours, six exits, one more cup of coffee for a shot of caffeine, and half-a-bag of pretzel sticks later, I'd arrived in the town of Lakeside. From the parts of it I'd driven through so far it seemed a nice enough place. Not too big, not small enough to be missing any of the good old city amenities like a movie theatre (if the sign I'd seen was to be believed), plenty of openings between trees which appeared to be nature trails. Peaceful, quiet, more children and teenagers running around than adults, no lack of senior citizens. Best of all, the tourist's guide had presented to me the fact that the place had cottages for rent. Hadn't said much about them, but the town of Lakeside hadn't shown me a negative side on the main street and I wasn't in the mood to be picky.

The one thing the guide book didn't tell me that I did in fact need to know was an address for the rental building. Who the hell had the bright idea to not write in the important bits? Moron. At least it offered a phone number. Keeping an eye on the road as much as I could, I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and dialled. Thankfully not many people seemed to be driving today, and the speed limit was low, no upcoming traffic lights or stop signs, and as of the moment, no kids running into the street.

“Hello, you've reached Lakeside Rental. My name is Christine, how may I assist you?”

Cliché and overused response when answering a business phone? Hell yes. Better than a monotone recording tell me to press any combination of three numbers to reach a live assistant. Having something like that in a town like this would be terribly odd though.

“Yes, I have a travel guide here that gives me the phone number for your business yet is dumb enough to not give me the address of the actual establishment. If you could just tell me a street address, it'd help.”

“Not a problem, sir. Lakeside Rental can be found on Main Street-” Okay, I'm already on Main Street. I pulled over to the side of the road, not wanting to risk driving by before I had a building number. Hopefully I hadn't done so already. “-at 18-A. We'll be the first in the building. Don't park beyond the disturbingly pink pick-up either, or we'll have Brett ripping our heads off because you aren't offering him business from his quarter of the lot. Other than that, no worries.”

Christ, she had a personality even on a business call. Rare. Maybe not here. “Thanks.”

“Of course. Bye then, sir.”

Still added the polite sir. Plus or minus, depending on who you are. Really don't give a shit, myself. I glanced at the number on the building to my right. Thirty-one. Up ahead was twenty-nine. Numbers must have started on the other end of the street. Definitely a positive. I steered the Camaro back into the lack of traffic, surprised that only one or two cars had gone by and no one had honked at me for pulling over here, and continued on.

The building was one of those little places containing more than one business from front-to-back and like Christine had said, the sign on the very front declared it Lakeside Rental. Not too shabby. In fact, it looked well-taken care of, despite its obvious age. I wondered how long the place had been standing just like this without any remodelling. Also like the woman had said- there was in fact a disturbingly pink pick-up. Brett, she said. Don't tell me a man owns that thing? Christ, even I wouldn't drive a pink truck.

My eyes quickly scanned the contents of the passenger seat in the Camaro, double-checking I hadn't left anything sitting there I may need. Like my I.D.- wouldn't be the first time I'd forgotten the damn thing. A large percent of the time it didn't matter to the people like me who weren't of age to drink with or without one. I locked the door, less concerned about theft here than I'd been wherever I'd stopped earlier in the day, but still not willing to risk anything inside the vehicle.

Inside the building it appeared generally unassuming. Just one room for the major business matters, the wall most likely dividing things into an employees-only area, without any sign to assure me of the conclusion. A desk set up on either far wall, each with its own assortment of scattered paperwork and picture frames, sticks of gum on one as opposed to the calico kitten laying on the other. Okay, that one's new, I'll give it that. Kitten on the desk. The back of the room had a counter, one side with a section able to be lifted, letting people out when they needed to be out here. Each wall had a framed picture or two, several in black-and-white and others seemingly more recent. Family-run business, then.

“Hi!” A twiggy blonde girl waved at me from behind the counter. She had a book flopped open on the surface before her, a pen stuck behind her ear, and a ponytail holder on each wrist, one black and the other neon green. Her dishwater blonde hair was held by yet another hairpiece in a low braid with curls dropping on either side. Interesting hairstyle. “You the guy I just talked to on the phone?”

“Assuming you're Christine.” I bobbed my head, hands slipping into my pockets.

“Uh huh. Christine Lawrence.” Rather than lifting the counter, she dropped down and crawled under it to reach me. Talk about your unorthodox employees. Must have been really good to not be fired yet if she always behaved this way. “So how can I help you now you're actually here?”

I followed her to the desk with the kitten on it, watching her flick it on the nose as I dropped into the chair on my side. “I'm looking to rent a cottage.”

Christine focused her pale green eyes on the laptop in front of her, the only things on each desk that was the same and the only things making the place look high-tech in the slightest. There was a mouse connected, which she chose to use as opposed to the touch-pad. “Right. Guessing you want one on the lake?”

“There are cottages not on the lake?”

“Oh, yes. Lakeside Rental owns all of the rental cottages in town, and we have one or two on most streets, while the majority are on the waterfront. Still, the way you answered kinda sorta told me you're looking for something on the water.” Her fingers flew over the keys, hitting Enter a few times with a responding beep from the laptop. “While I'm looking at what we have here, can you tell me in you parked where I told you to?”

“Proper side of the truck.” Another nod on my part.

“Good. I really don't feel like humiliating poor Brett again.” She sighed, shaking her head and dropping her voice like she was sharing with me some monumental secret. “Every time he flips out on me I'm forced to remind him of the colour of his truck. His sister did it to him one night when he let her take it out. Hasn't let her lay a hand on the thing since. Hey, lookie! You're in luck, sir.”

“Name's Ashley. I'm not huge on it, but it's what you might as well call me. Sir makes me feel like a damned old man.” I made a face. “Anyway, you're calling me lucky?”

“Definitely. I made this secret mental assumption, right, that I'd have to tell you we didn't have anything. This time of the year we naturally don't. The rentals all fill up. Lucky for you, one of the families who usually comes down cancelled on us. Not going to be here at all for the summer, so you can take theirs. Prime spot, right across from this pretty little island out in the middle of this lake. Now before we get down to the nitty-gritty crap I hate so much and my grandmother loves, what do you know about the cottages and the area?”

I thought momentarily of the travel guide. Hadn't said much at all. Nothing useful beyond the phone number and directing me here to begin with at the thought of some cottages and some water. Sounded nice, so I'd taken it. Now I lifted my eyes to Christine's face and shook my head. “Not a thing.”

“Coming in blind. Good plan.” She clucked her tongue, giggling. “They're awesome, the cottages. I should know, I live in one 'cause I can. My family owns this business, so nothing I don't know about them.” Ah, part of the family. Explained why she hadn't been fired. “These pictures are from the one you'll be staying in the last time it got cleaned out, 'kay? We're really professional- a lot of places don't bother airing out the places when no one's in them, but we're not into that crap. Right after a family leaves we go in and clear out anything they might have left, and then we go air them out every few weeks.”

My eyes left her, moved to the screen so I could see it when she turned it towards me.

“No pictures of the porch for some reason. So first you've got the front room, complete with furniture and television. Cable is optional, as is a DVD player and any game system, since there're always little kids who wanna keep destroying things on a screen even with the water right outside. Great movie rental place in town, too. From there is the kitchen and dining room, which sorta blend together, though there's a great amount of space. Fully equipped with microwave, blender, coffee maker-” A-fucking-men. “and any other appliance you need. If you do find you're missing something, come bother us. Basic bathroom, nothing special. This cottage has three bedrooms. Most have two, it's just that some families like to breed more, you know. Need extra space, and we have to give it if we expect business. Every cottage comes equipped with a dock out front, for the sake of a boat when people want them.

“Boats don't come with cottages. Kinda the one thing that doesn't. We don't even offer boat rentals ourselves. For those, go see Brett. Now, the lake you're going to be right in front of isn't the only one. It connects to a whole chain of lakes, seven to be exact. You can travel the entire thing in a boat, which is part of this place's appeal. All in the aesthetics. Plenty of interesting places to go if you do decide to get a boat and go 'round. Outside of that, you can get pretty much whatever you want in town, do anything you want in town, and most of the time if we don't have it, someone'll be able to order it for you. Now d'you still want to rent a cottage?”

While the pictures hadn't honestly been too helpful in terms of room dimensions, I could see myself staying here. I wouldn't need a boat- couldn't drive one and would probably end up killing myself along with a few other people if I made a sad attempt. Fine. “Yeah, I want one. Paperwork, I assume?”

“Not paperwork, per se. I convinced grandma to update to an electronic system and she was totally cool about it. We can do it all on here.” She tapped a key harder than needed and the screen changed, turning the laptop back to herself. “Name?”

“Ashley Sears.”

Inserting my name, she mumbled, “Ashley Sears...sounds familiar.”

I winced, waiting expectantly for the always-resulting freak-out.

It never came.

“Oh, you're that author, aren't you? Really famous? Cool.” In response to my nod, she smiled brilliantly at me from her place. “Maybe we can like, hang out sometime and you can teach me something sweet about writing? I've never been too good at it, really, except for my poetry. 'Kay, moving on...The cottage has a phone in it, but do you have a cell phone number I can put in the system?”

I rattled off my number, dumbstruck that she hadn't reacted how most people did. Cheerful too, though. I was damned sick of the reaction I'd grown accustomed to. Maybe Lakeside would be even better than I already thought. She kept asking the basic form questions for renting anything, up through how long I intended to stay, and I remained still. Eventually though, she needed my credit card number and so she turned the system again, letting me enter it myself, where it showed up in stars like any basic password. Well-protected system.

“Great! You're in.” She bounced out of her seat and back behind the counter, where she scrabbled around in a drawer until she came out with a key. “Just use this, and if you lose it there's a ten dollar fee. We've got extras just in case, yeah, but still...We don't like to lose them, so a fee you'll pay. Careful with it. And I almost forgot!” She picked up a little booklet from a stack beside her and waved it at me. “This is for you, too. One for everyone who comes to stay. It's a full list of everything happening this summer you can do. I'm sure you'll meet your neighbours yourself, people tend to be friendly when they come to stay in this area.”

My hands reached for the objects from her. “Thanks. So I'll see you around, probably. Not a huge place, is it?”

“Not at all.” She shook her head. “You'll see me way sooner than you think, if you show up tonight. There's a bonfire- I'd tell you the exact location, but why bother when it's in that thing I just gave you? Aaand I don't think you can really miss a huge flaming pit out there. Enjoy, Ashley!”

I waved my free hand at her as I walked out the door, noting that the sleeping kitten hadn't drifted into the waking world at all during the rental process, and the last thing I heard was Christine's farewell.

“Not bad.” I said to myself, standing just inside the doorway of the cottage. The only things I'd carried inside with me just now were my laptop, not much relishing the idea of leaving it sitting inside the Camaro with the sun beating down like it was, and one of my suitcases. Besides, much as I wanted to relax, I had to check a few things out online after dropping my suitcase somewhere other than this room. “Not bad at all.”

It wasn't, either. The place looked far more welcoming in person that it had in the pathetic little photos Christine had shown me. Perhaps they needed to hire a real photographer. Much like in a hotel, the furniture all matched, staying within its own colour scheme, a rather pleasant shade of crimson. The front room was basic- a couch, a pair of chairs on either side of it with a small end table between one of them and the couch, a rectangular coffee table, a rug covering the majority of the wood floor, and a damned nice TV sitting across from all of the furniture on it's own stand. No pictures on the walls, only a few nails in case I wanted to hang anything myself. Not high on the most-likely-events on my list.

I set my laptop, thankfully in its case, gently on the floor. My feet brought me to the window where I pulled open the curtains to allow the sunlight in. Nice view, too. My eyes remained on the sight before me, the absolutely gorgeous water. The porch would offer me a better opportunity to stare if I so desired, resting on one of the wicker chairs. Later this evening I looked forward to laying down on the grassy slope toward the dock.

“Maybe I should get a boat. Pay someone to take me out in it so no one dies.”

Heaving a sigh, I turned back around, lifting my laptop and instead taking it to the couch. Leaving it there seemed far more logical, though not quite as logical as on the coffee table. I'd never been one for logic anyhow.

Ignoring it for the moment, I went back to my suitcase and hoisted it up in a hand, making my way down the hall to what was, thankfully, a bedroom. I didn't feel like wandering the house just now either. I tossed the suitcase onto the bed, mentally praising a random deity when the weight was no longer anywhere near me. I'd always hated holding the thing for even a few steps.

When the time came to confront my email, I found myself dreading the experience. Nothing like before my published-author days, when email time had been the utter highlight. I'd really needed a life back then; now I had too much of one. Dread or no dread, I clicked and typed my way into my account with a heavier heart than I'd had since setting off on my trip. I hadn't checked the account in a week, trying to do two things at once: conserve the laptops life while I lacked an outlet and avoid the hell out of exactly what I was doing now. Resulting from my game of avoidance, my inbox contained forty-three new messages.

“Fucking spam.” I muttered, doing away with twelve messages right off the bat. Penis enhancement, for the love of Christ. Even if I thought I needed it (I didn't) I hadn't had opportunity for good sex in quite awhile. The rest of the majority were things I could handle later or never, along with a bit more spam, save for six of them I knew I'd need to check out now.

The first came from my mother, wondering why I wasn't coming home and asking when she should expect to see me. I fired off something about being sorry I couldn't really explain and not being sure when I'd visit. The next two came from different talk shows, encouraging me to come on and talk about how my writing was going since the last time I'd come. In slightly more time than I'd spent on my mother, I told them to go to hell, though in far more polite words. The third came from my agent, a message involving movie rights for Turning the Key.

Wonderful, a cause for more stress. Just what I need. Rather than try his phone right then, I replied that I'd give him a call the following day.

The final two, a pair I felt less like handling than most of them, came from my editor. One seemed like the same message I'd received from him a billion times- when would I start writing again? My agent didn't bother me about that as much as my editor, pathetically enough. My fingers twitched on the keys, itching to type a fast 'go fuck yourself' and be done with it. Business relationship- bad move. So I moved on, to the other one, figuring I could answer both at once more easily. After two seconds of reading, I groaned. He wanted me to do a book signing in Portland; he knew if I'd gone home it'd be far away, but otherwise I should do it.

Lakeside was only a few hours from Portland.

“Oh, what the hell.”

My answer eventually told him I'd do it if he sent the details; I hadn't written anything yet, so fuck off. Without the last little bit.

Ordinarily I used my laptop for hours on end. After the bout with my email, I didn't feel like it. I closed the device as hard as I dared, set it down on the coffee table and flopped back. I reached out a hand to pick up the thin booklet Christine had given me. Plenty to do, if I stuck around the entire summer. Tonight's bonfire and more upcoming, picnics, a carnival in the middle of summer, an organised trip to Salem, a boat race... If only it were a bit bigger, Lakeside would be the perfect tourist trap. Good thing it isn't. I'd still be in the damn car.

Now what to do? Sleep sounded nice. I dropped the booklet next to my laptop and let myself drift off in a way I hadn't since I began driving.

When I came to it was darker than before and someone was knocking on my door. I climbed to my feet slowly, calling out, “Gimme a minute.” I forced myself to the door, pulled it open, and found myself face-to-face with one of the most gorgeous men I'd seen in a very long time.

His height surpassed my own by several inches, placing him at more than six feet tall. Looking up at him, I found it was his eyes which truly attracted my attention. Those and his hair, and mostly the way they came together in such an offsetting combination. The eyes were a dark and murky, deep-forest type of green. While they matched his hair perfectly in their own way, the almost-wavy raven feather locks which didn't quite meet his shoulders were far more feminine. Damn. Here I'm expecting Christine and I get...

“Ah, who are you?”

The man on my porch smiled. “Cain Grante, nice to meet you. I mean I'm sorry to bother you of course- looks like you were passed out. I just wondered if you- if whoever is here, I mean, is planning on going over to the bonfire. There wasn't a car outside before today and I headed this way to check it out, saw the light on, figured I'd try the door.”

“I see.” I didn't, really, see much of anything. This guy was overly friendly, but he didn't seem to recognise me at all, a complete bonus. “Yeah, I figured I'd go before I fell asleep. What time is it, anyway?”

“Bit after eight. The fire'll be going for hours yet. You could come with me, if you like. I'll introduce you to a few people.”

Genuine smile.

I shrugged. “Okay, sure.” I stepped back from the door, holding it open to let him in. He closed it behind him, quietly. “Just let me change really quick, all right?”

“No problem. Mind telling me your name, if we're going to be around each other for much of tonight?”

“Oh.” I turned my face, partially to the bedroom already. “I forgot, sorry. It's Ashley- Ashley Sears.”

“Nice to meet you then, Ashley Sears. You the author, or d'you just have the same name and happen to be his twin?”

“Hang on.” I called, pressing my bedroom door closed. For a moment after turning around I just leaned against the wood, eyes closing, visions of this newly introduced man dancing in the darkness I found there. Only in the visions I found him naked. Fuck, I haven't had sex in ages. Email just had to make me think about it. I shuddered, forcing myself forward by pushing my sex drive aside. The outfit I changed into wasn't much different from the one I'd worn previously, it just felt cleaner, as I hadn't changed since the previous day. What I needed was a shower.

A shower got to wait.

Back in the living room, I found Cain resting on my couch. He cocked an eyebrow at me, a smile forming on his lips. “New clothes, so I ask again- you the author, or just his clone?”

“Last time you said twin.” I pointed out, waving him toward the door with me. “Yeah, though, I'm the author. Fame and fortune and all that good stuff and at the very least I got the Camaro out of it. Your name sounds- I've heard it before, I think. You famous too?”

To my surprise, he answered, “Oh, yes. Guess Lakeside gets two celebrities this year. I paint though, so I'm not sure I constitute a celebrity.”

I blinked, left speechless by his nonchalance. Finally, in the process of locking my door, I got out, “You're too friendly.”

“Too friendly?” He grinned at me. “You haven't seen anything yet. I haven't even invited you anywhere for just us yet. Maybe I won't, if I find out in the course of tonight you're really an ass. Or if I find out you're straight, which'd also pose a bit of a problem.”

My entire frame flinched at that. “And what makes you think I'm gay?” I tensed warily.

“Dunno.” Cain chuckled, glancing down at me. Now we were crossing my front lawn. He pointed to the right. “We're going that way. So as I said, I don't really know. My little sister is obsessed with your book on about nine disturbing levels, so I've seen just about every interview you've done since it came out and I just always had feeling. Made me want to meet you myself about as badly as she's wanted to. What do you know, huh?”

“Guess so.” I mumbled.

“Don't sound that way. Tell me if I'm right so I know if it's safe to hit on you and after that I'll drop it awhile.”

Great, I had a stranger assuming me to be gay. How many other people can tell, I wonder? Whatever. If he's gay it's only a bonus. “Yeah.” I said grudgingly. “So how far to the bonfire?”

“Just up here. Can't you see the fire, sort of? Hear the people? There's this little section up here where they don't have cottages or anything and it's all sandy, like a beach. Makes it great for bonfires I suppose. This is the first since I've been here.”

Now he mentioned it, I could hear the action up ahead. I plastered a smile onto my face, one thought running through my mind.

I was wrong. I paid two bucks for fucking gold.

So. This story was born of my desire to write a male character named Ashley, a painter, and a story that took place on a chain of lakes like a place I visited quite some time ago that I still remember almost perfectly. It's half past 3 AM right now, so there isn't a chance in hell I'm about to be proofreading this. My apologies for typos, and I just hope you choose to R&R. This is sort of an experiment in characterisation, so you'll be seeing much more of Cain and a number of other people. I'm trying to avoid having two characters who are way too much alike, beyond Cain and Ashley both having celebrity status.

Thanks and love - Arianna Sterling