There was a slight hesitation as if Simon were weighing up the final tilt at a big sale. He smiled again and crouched over the boxes, his fingers turning film canisters. He extracted one and then placed it in Daniel’s hand. “I’ll tell you what, why don’t I give you this roll for free? That way you can test it out. Maybe next time?”

After the frenzied enthusiasm and heavy sales pitch, this was a strange and unexpected change of gear. “Yeah, next time. That’s kind of you.” Monique would have to find another place.

A luminescent smile chased away Simon’s disappointment. “Thank you so much for coming to Simon’s Film Lab. I’ll see you tomorrow when your photos are ready.”

Daniel turned on his heel and, with the jingle of the tiny bell, left this strange shop with its photography-obsessed owner. He whistled as the single film canister nestled in his shirt pocket. He wasn’t sure about this idea of clarity—the photo album didn’t agree. If the camera was as good as Simon was saying, he might need more film, but not fifty rolls. Squeaky guitar and the first line of an early Beatles hit burst out of his pocket. “Listen . . . do you want to know a secret?”

Daniel had had the ringtone since his book launch. A love of the Beatles had been ingrained in him since a childhood spent leaning against the woven fabric and dark wood of Gramps’s record player. He pulled the music from his pocket. Amanda Porter, his editor.

“Daniel! Do you have a moment?”

A numbing sense of dread engulfed him. A lurking anxiety he was fighting hard to push away.

“I do, Amanda! What’s up?” He knew.

“Just following up on those emails I sent. That extension I gave you for your next book is almost up.”

The numbness seeped into Daniel’s bones. His sizable advance for the follow-up to No Secrets—their down payment on cliff-top luxury—required another book. And the numbness sank deeper with each passing day as the elusive big idea stayed in the shadows.

“You’ve got the advance, and we need to see something for our money.”

Daniel tried to keep it light. “Yes, all still percolating.”

Amanda laughed. Was it forced? “We’re beyond percolating. You’ve already produced one bestseller, and I’ve already given you leeway in good faith based on your success. You’re now months overdue.”

With a stumbled apology, Daniel hung up and shoved the phone deep into his pocket. His whistle didn’t come back. Instead the icy hand of doubt clamped itself on his shoulder. Amanda was right; it should be easy for an author who’d already written one bestselling book to write another one.

But he had nothing to follow it up.

Nothing at all.

Six