A day and a half had passed in a flash, and I was sitting nervously at my desk, fingers tap-tap-tapping away- at the desk instead of the keyboard like they should have.

Bad, naughty writer, worrying about the boy with the pretty name instead of the character with the pretty name whose tale’s next installment was due in no time at all.

And yet, no matter how many times I chided myself, I couldn’t bring myself to be guilty about it. Not when he was the one forcing his presence on me. That’s right, forcing it on me, blackmailing me with an easy out. What kind of person did that?

I shook myself, planting my fingers firmly on the keyboard in the position every school drilled into its students- the one that quickly deteriorated into a form of typing I was always made fun of for. My floating left hand was always a source of amusement for Elizabeth, no matter how many times I kicked her out for laughing at me.

A scowl, familiar and comforting, tipped down the corners of my mouth as I returned to the novel I was working on. This scene was destroying my self-confidence, because no matter how hard I tried to write it, it wasn’t coming out. I guess ‘write what you know’ was a saying for a reason.

I reached out for my coffee, hoping a jolt of caffeine would give me the inspiration I needed, and almost spat it out. Cold coffee was the worst possible thing on the planet. Muttering under my breath, I got up to pop it in the microwave. The doorbell rang before I was a few steps away from my rolling chair, and I froze.

It’s probably Kisten. I hope it’s Kisten.

My eyes widened, and I wanted to hit myself. Why was I hoping it was that kid? All he did was irritate me and try to put his filthy hands on me.

Determined to staunch that irritating bit of hope that rose up to make my heart beat faster, I ignored the doorbell to put my mug in the microwave. My fingers knew the buttons to press, and the quiet whirr of the microwave filled my kitchen. I wanted to wait for it, use the steam to mask my face, but that would be cheating.

I headed for the door instead. “Who is it?” I called out without opening the door, just in case.

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!” was the response I received.

“Shut up!” I shouted, deciding I’d rather get kicked out than tolerate him for any extended periods of time.

“Alright, alright!” I heard him laughing, and I could imagine he was holding his hands up in surrender. “I’ll drop the Prince Charming act if you let me in.”

I let the pause drag on for a while. “You swear?” I questioned, skeptical.

“I swear.” There wasn’t a lie in his voice, at least not that I could hear.

Not that I trusted my own judgement, when it had led me wrong before.

And yet I found myself undoing all five locks on the door- I had ignored Elizabeth telling me to take them off- and peeked through the crack.

It was Kisten, but he was different than before. Both times I had seen him, he had been in jeans and a ratty tee shirt I would never find acceptable to wear out of bed, and his hair had been an inky mess of curls. Leaning against the wall that Sunday, he was the perfect picture of a rich schoolboy. His inky hair was slicked back, only one errant lock brushing across his face, a pair of glasses perched on his nose. And by god, but that uniform couldn’t honestly have been in his size, not the way it clung to him.

Kisten was laughing at me, bringing the scowl back to replace my almost stupefied expression. I undid the chain, the last thing keeping the door shut, and stepped back far enough that there was no chance he would touch me while he was coming in.

“Remember the rules,” I said tersely, disturbed by the fact that I’d been almost attracted to him. Almost. I had to keep telling myself it was almost or I’d have to really give in and hit myself. “Don’t disturb me while I’m working. Don’t make a mess. Don’t do anything but sit there while I’m on my computer or I’ll skin you.”

Kisten looked taken aback for a second, but then he was laughing again. Did that nightmare do anything but laugh? “You’re a Sherlock fan, eh? BBC is a monster, am I right?”

He held up his hand for a high five. I just blinked at him before turning quickly away. I was done with him, with that charming smile, and that charming voice, and I needed to run away now. Why did I agree to this?

“My writing room is in here.”

“Wow, this is… impressive.”

I was proud of myself when he actually sounded awed. I had paid a lot to renovate the room into a proper writing retreat. One whole wall was a giant magnetic chalkboard, where I could pin fan art and letters or graph out the timeline of the next novel, with a huge low shelf built into it where I could collect all the interesting colored chalk I ordered from the internet. My desk, where I had a desktop computer I rarely used shoved up against the back, also held god knows how many pens and pencils.

But the best part, by far, was the reading nook in the corner. Built into the wall, it was a hollow cavern where I could curl up around my book or my laptop and feel safe when Elizabeth had several people over to talk about the latest book.

“Eh, it’s nothing special,” I said, shrugging.

Kisten snorted, shooting me a look of disbelief. “You know, modesty isn’t actually a virtue. Can I sit here?”

I followed his gesture to the giant bean bag loveseat in the corner. “You don’t mince words, do you?”

“Nope.” There he was, laughing again as he fell into the beanbag. Putting his arms along the back, legs splayed in the very male way that I had captured with dozens of his characters. It was somehow different when it was Kisten, and I scrutinized him, shelving it away for later use before I turned my back to him again.

“You’re jumpier than usual,” Kisten noticed, leaning his head back against the chair. I could see him from the corner of my eye as I moved to my reading nook, though I tried to keep my back turned to him.

“Usual? This is the third time you’ve seen me, I don’t think there’s any usual about that,” I scoffed, curling up with my computer in my lap. Luckily, I hadn’t changed out of my pajamas. Sure, I looked like the ridiculous nerd I was in those pajamas, but they were two sizes too big and meant I wasn’t going to be accidentally flashing any skin. That would be enough to have me moving out immediately.

Kisten made a humming sound, low in his throat, like a purr- and I wanted to die. “Sweetheart, you’re a stereotype wrapped up in a pretty bow. Ever heard of an uke?”

“What?” My voice squeaked, and my gaze was finally centered back on him. I could feel my entire body turning pink. I knew what he was talking about, and I would have strangled him if I didn’t have to touch his filthy skin to do it. “I am not… how could you… what are you talking about?”

I was stumbling over my words, blushing like mad, and Kisten was gasping for air as he laughed. Huffing, I forced myself to turn back to my laptop- and the decapitation scene I had been stuck on suddenly flowed out of my fingers as Kisten settled into my couch.

Maybe, just maybe, there was some use for this kid after all.