Niall had avoided our writers’ group since scoring his book deal. When I spied him skulking into a grotty cafe, I followed. He hunched at a cable-spool table, typing feverishly.
“What is your desire?” asked the barista. Her luminous grey eyes and seductive smile became my whole world.
“My own book deal,” I stammered.
“Coffee first, perhaps?”
“Don’t!” Niall shouted, too late.
Her coffee tasted of elderflower and mugwort. Plotlines and characters kaleidoscoped across my mind. My fingers itched for a keyboard.
The barista smiled impossibly wide, her teeth and expression sharp.
“Come, kiss your muse and seal the bargain.”
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