“What is that, anyway? Is that like something that writers made up? Like, you know, as an excuse for not writing?”

“What are you talking about?”

Cassidy shrugged and Laura wondered at the smile playing on her lips. “Writer’s block. If you’re a writer, you write. If you’re a painter, you paint. Do they have painter’s block?”

Laura narrowed her eyes at her. “Really?”

“If you’re a car mechanic, you fix cars. Do you think they come into work one day and say, you know what, I just can’t fix this car today. I’m totally blocked.”

“Are you serious? Really?”

Cassidy laughed. “No. Teasing, of course. I can’t imagine writing a book. Good for you.”

“A car mechanic,” she muttered disgustedly, causing Cassidy to laugh again.

“Well, I guess I’ve taken up enough of your time this morning. I need to go see if Ashly made it through the night.”

“You don’t know?”

“No. I didn’t look in on her this morning.”

“Oh. She wasn’t—”

“In my bed? No.” Cassidy smiled. “She wanted to be.”

“Well, who could blame her?” Their eyes met and Laura felt a blush from head to toe. “I didn’t mean that like it sounded,” she said quickly with a shake of her head.

Cassidy laughed. “You’re blushing.”

“I know I am,” she snapped.

“Don’t forget to pay yourself,” Cassidy called as she walked off. “Don’t worry about receipts. I trust you.”

Laura watched her until she rounded the corner of the fence, then sunk down in her chair with a groan. “I’m such an idiot.”

Chapter Twenty-One

“I love your house, Cassidy,” Karon said as she linked arms with her. “How can you stand your apartment in the city after this?”

“I will admit, it’s getting harder and harder to leave here,” she said, surprising herself with the answer. She’d grown up in Dallas. Had gone to college in Dallas. Her family was in Dallas. Their business was in Dallas.

But that business was now practically running itself. If she wanted to, she could spend more time out here. Her upstairs office had everything she needed if she wanted to work from home a day or two a week. The problem was…she didn’t think of this as “home” yet. This was still a weekend place she invited friends to and held parties at. Her apartment—where she’d lived for the last six years—still felt like home. When she’d decorated the house, everything was new. She hadn’t taken anything from her apartment. There was nothing personal here. Maybe that’s why it didn’t feel like home to her.