Xavier
Nashville
Xavier Titan stepped out of the elevator and surveyed the lobby of The Athenian, his home for the past several years. He liked that it was clean and luxurious without being over the top. But he didn’t like the influx of people walking through the lobby since businesses on the first floor opened over a year ago. He preferred quiet, empty spaces.
He realized the irony of the thought as he made his way to Melody Brews—patronizing the coffee shop had quickly become part of his morning routine when it opened, and he’d begrudgingly had to deal with more and more patrons as her café became popular.
The warmth of Melody Brews wrapped around him like a familiar blanket—the rich aroma of coffee, the chatter of regulars, the soft clink of ceramic mugs. It should’ve soothed him, but today it only highlighted an unease swirling in his chest.
A few regulars greeted him as he entered, their smiles genuine. Xavier nodded to them, keeping his responses curt. He didn’t dislike people, but he wasn’t here to make friends. He noticed the building’s owner and approached his table. “Morning, Brian.”
Brian looked up from his book. “Good morning, Mr. Titan.”
“Any news on the apartment across the hall?”
Brian’s new wife had lived in the rental unit across from Xavier’s before they were married. He’d just become used to having Krisi there, and now it was empty again. Xavier hated getting new neighbors. New people were unpredictable. Unpredictability was a problem. Unpredictability meant lost control.
And lost control? It was unacceptable.
“Yesterday I arranged for a short-term rental. She arrives later today,” Brian said. “Doesn’t sound like she’ll be around long,” he added, as if that made it better. Xavier knew all too well how much could change in a short time.
The news of a tenant across the hall hit Xavier like an unwelcome draft. At thirty-nine, his home was his sanctuary, the one place he could control completely. The idea of someone—anyone—disrupting his routine made his chest tighten. Change wasn’t just inconvenient; it was dangerous. He’d learned the hard way. But he kept those thoughts to himself and nodded before going to the counter to order his coffee.
“Mornin’, Xavier.”
“Good morning,” he said, his tone even more curt than usual. Although he’d lived in Nashville for several years, he hadn’t adopted the southern habit of dropping the last letter of many words. He grew up with a strict, formal education, both from his nanny and his tutors, and he just couldn’t bring himself to say Mornin’.
“You’re in a mood today, honey. Writer’s block?” Melody’s soft Southern drawl soothed his nerves, still a bit ruffled by Brian’s news of a new neighbor. She was old enough to be his mother, maybe even his grandmother, but her warm demeanor and charm made her coffee part of his morning routine.
“No.” At her slight frown, he reluctantly added, “Just…people.”
Melody chuckled. “If anyone deserves a little peace and quiet, it’s you. Life’s funny like that—it rarely listens to what we want, does it?”
Xavier nodded, unsure what to say to her insight.
“You kill anyone off lately? That might make you feel better.”
Melody’s fascination with his thrillers amused him.
“Working on it,” he said.
His words brought a grin to Melody’s face. “You’ve got a new book coming out in a few weeks, right?”
“I do.” It was satisfying when a new book released. With the exception of Melody, a fruit basket from his editor, and flowers from his agent, his new releases mostly went by unnoticed.
“Well, I can’t wait to have it keep me up way too late.” Melody chuckled again as she handed him a to-go cup of coffee. “Your regular, I assume?”
Xavier gave a short nod.
“Same time, same order,” Melody said, her smile teasing. “You’re not one for surprises, are you?”
“Only in my books,” he replied, his lips twitching into what might be a smile.
“Well, you keep writin’ those twisty endings, Xavier…but maybe it’s time to write yourself a happy one, hmm?” Her words were light, the look she gave him anything but.
“I write thrillers, Melody.” He shook his head as he turned to leave. “Happy endings don’t sell.”
“Of course they do. Romance is the number one genre,” Billie, the woman who ran the bookstore, said.
He looked at her but didn’t respond. There was no reason to.
“Mr. Titan,” she began a little tentatively. “Would you be willing to sign a few of your new books when they come in?”
“Not happening,” Xavier said, his tone clipped.
Signings meant small talk. Smiling. People digging into his thoughts. No, thank you.
As he stepped into the hallway, her words drifted out to him. “But it’s just a few books…” She said it so innocently, as if she hadn’t pried open a door he’d nailed shut years ago.
Of course she didn’t know that. But still.
Fueled by frustration, Xavier stalked down the hallway, punched the elevator button in the elevator harder than necessary, and was soon on his way to the comfort and safety of his sixth-floor apartment. Once inside, he went to his office and booted up his computer. He couldn’t really blame Billie. She didn’t know his history…at least he didn’t think she did. He didn’t do book tours, book signings, book anything. Just writing.
Period.
But as he settled at his desk and took the first satisfying sip of coffee, he thought about Melody’s words. Life rarely listens to what we want. That was for sure. And today it seemed bound and determined to prove her right.
Next, the conversation with Brian replayed in his mind. He told himself it didn’t matter who moved in across the hall. It wouldn’t change his life. Since it was a short-term rental, there was a good chance their paths wouldn’t ever cross. He caught himself wondering who she was but quickly shoved the thought aside. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to affect his life.
Xavier shook his head and scrolled through his rough draft. After reviewing the last couple of paragraphs to refresh his memory, he dove into the world he’d created. He’d left his heroine in a precarious position; it was time to make things right for her.
Here, at least, he was in charge. Stories obeyed his rules. The real world? Not so much.
Xavier’s fingers flew over the keyboard, words pouring out faster than he could type. The heroine’s sharp retorts, the villain’s desperate struggles. They weren’t just characters; they were pieces of his own turmoil, his own story, distilled onto the page.
He leaned back, staring at the words on the screen. Another bad guy gone. Neat, clean, final. If only life were so simple.
It was the quiet moments, the times when people connected and healed, that eluded him. Maybe that was why he wrote thrillers. Less risk.
Later that evening, as Xavier returned from his run, he saw a suitcase propped against the door across from his. The new tenant. Temporary, he reminded himself.
He didn’t stop. Didn’t linger. Didn’t care.
But just as he shut his door, a laugh—light and careless—slipped through the walls. Unbothered. Unaware.
It shouldn’t have mattered, but for reasons he couldn’t explain, that laugh followed him long after the lock clicked into place.