I'm afraid you've met me at the very end of my life. I'm suffering from an untreatable condition called a lack of muse. My inspiration has dried up. I'm a has-been. Washed up. Drunk. I sell the rights to my last novel to a movie producer. Now I can wash my hands clean of the whole business. Au revoir, writing career. Until he shows up. Salt-and-pepper beard climbing his strong jawline. Dark frown on his perpetually grumpy face. Bright blue eyes that betray the flicker of hope inside of him. Celebrity actor Eric North comes to me to talk about the movie, but stays for the company. Our romance is forbidden. It's a bad idea. He's so deep in the closet, he has to pay taxes to Narnia. But he makes me smile. For the first time in a long time. Is this the kiss of inspiration? Or something more?