Cece heard footsteps on the stairs just as she finished arranging the pieces of bacon next to the pile of scrambled eggs. The two plates of food sat on summery placemats and matching clothe napkins Cece had dug out of storage just for this morning's breakfast.

"Good morning!" she sang as Elliot entered the kitchen.

"Morning," Elliot mumbled until she saw the feast awaiting her on the table. Her eyes grew big as she moved closer to see everything Cece had set out.

"What? No ice cream for breakfast?"

"The thought crossed my mind," Cece admitted, "but I wanted to start this day right."

She spoke in a determined tone, trying to convince herself that with enough self will she could keep her writer's block away. "Tea?"

"Yes please!" Elliot said, taking a seat at the table. "If you writing in my office means a gourmet breakfast in the morning then you can write in my office whenever you want."

"You said I could write in your office whenever I wanted when you first rented it," Cece said.

"That was last year. But taxes are up and I will now be asking for a small payment," Elliot explained, taking a bite of bacon.

"I already have a key," Cece countered.

"I'll change the locks."

Cece laughed loudly. "You're far too lazy to do that."

"Fine," Elliot said, "I'll let you use my office as long as you make me breakfast whenever you feel like it. It's my final offer."

"Deal," Cece said, placing two cups of tea on the table and joining her sister.

"What's in there?" Elliot asked, pulling a covered basket towards her. She opened it to find toast and happily took a bite before she took a closer look at the bread. "Cece, I thought we ran out of bread."

"Hmmm..." Cece hummed, suddenly very focused on applying jam to her piece of toast.

Elliot set down her bread as she examined her sister. "Tristan texted us last night that he finished the bread."

Cece finally looked at her sister and could see the concern in her eyes.

"Did you make this bread this morning?" Elliot asked.

Cece shrugged, like making bread from scratch wasn't that big of a deal and for her, it wasn't. Baking was a side-effect of her writer's block.

"How long have you been up?" Elliot questioned.

"Is it wrong that I wanted to make you a special breakfast?" Cece asked. "You are letting me use your office."

The truth was Cece had been up before the sun, which in New England in the summer meant some time before ‪5 AM‬. Yes, she had baked and yes, she hadn't just stumbled upon the placemats, she had been organizing the linen closet, and yes, all three of these things were familiar side-effects of her writer's block, but it was just a coincidence.

Cece returned to eating her breakfast, trying her best to ignore her sister's worried look. But it started to grate on her nerves and she could feel her anxiety rising.

"Stop!" she finally barked, giving Elliot a warning look. "I am fine. Everything is fine. Malcolm has left the country but that doesn't matter because I am going to write at your office and it's going to go super great and I won't hit any problems and everything is going to flow and I am going to finish this stupid book without my stupid muse without any trouble."

Cece glared at Elliot, daring her to counter Cece's positive affirmations.

Elliot just held up her hands in surrender. "Sounds good to me," she said and returned to eating her toast.

Cece looked down at her half-eaten breakfast, but with her stomach now in knots, she couldn't imagine fitting one more bite into her body. She threw her napkin on the table and stood to clear her plate.

As she was cleaning her dishes, they heard the front door open and shut. Both sisters turned towards the kitchen's entryway, and a moment later, their older brother Tristan appeared. The sisters studied him.

"He was wearing those same clothes yesterday," Elliot observed.

"Late rehearsal?" Cece guessed. "Could be a new way to torture the ballet dancers."

"Silent disco?" Elliot said.

"Far too many people for his liking," Cece said.

"He is pulling a Steve Jobs and only wearing one outfit?" Elliot said.

Cece shook her head. "No, this is the first time he has been home for a while, look at his hair."

Elliot looked closer and nodded in agreement. Tristan frowned as his hand went to his hair to fix whatever it was that the sisters saw.

"I got it," Elliot said, holding up her hand in discovery. "He was out all night to avoid Wendy?"

Tristan's eyes jumped to Elliot for a second but it was enough of a confirmation. Elliot cheered while Cece shook her head.

"You could just hide out in your room and pretend you aren't home," Cece suggested.

Tristan shot her condemning glare like that was the dumbest idea she had ever come up with. Then his gaze shifted to the table and his eyes lingered too long on the table settings. He moved closer and peeked into the basket.

"Malcolm left I see," Tristan said.

Cece's pursed her lips at the mention of the traitor's name, and Tristan grinned as his jab hit its target.

"Did you really miss the trio's farewell song last night?" Elliot asked Tristan.

"We just settled that Tristan is just returning home now," Cece said to Elliot, sorry to be reminded of Malcolm's goodbye the night before.

Cece had refused to see him. She told him saying goodbye would make her too emotional. He had loved the thought of her shedding tears over him but her refusal had been for both their sakes.

She imagined he didn't want to be killed the night before he left for his trip and she didn't feel like going to prison for murder. Although, she felt if she had, she would have had a sound defense.

"You missed a show," Elliot told Tristan. "At one point the President's henchmen tried out harmonizing. That was when the neighbors started threatening to call the police."

"And what song did Mr. President chose for his farewell tiding?" Tristan asked.

Elliot suddenly looked like she had eaten something bitter. The look didn't go unnoticed by Cece and a quick look between her siblings told her the cause of Elliot's look. She had just lost a bet.

"Leaving on a Jet Plane," Cece told Tristan.

Tristan smiled victoriously and it lightened Cece's mood immensely. Her smile grew wider when Elliot glared at her.

"So predictable," Tristan said, holding out his hand to Elliot.

Elliot slapped it away. "I was really hoping he would have gone with the classic, These Boots were Made for Walking."

Cece and Tristan both laughed and it helped soften the blow for Elliot. When Tristan held out his hand again Elliot shook her head like she should have known Mr. President was going to let her down.

"If you walk out with us, I'll buy you a coffee," she said, clearing her dishes.

"You only bet a coffee?" Cece asked in disbelief. The siblings had graduated past five-dollar bets a long time ago.

Neither of her siblings answered. While Elliot looked anywhere but at Cece, Tristan gave Cece a pointed look.

"You thought there was a good chance Malcolm wasn't even going to say goodbye," Cece guessed.

"Yeah," Tristan said like it was obvious. "He didn't even tell you he was leaving the country. You really should break up with him."

"Break up Wendy," Cece countered.

"You know I can't until the show is over," he said.

"And I need to finish my book," Cece said.

Before they could start a real argument, Elliot stepped in. "You should both break up with your significant others and stop torturing me. You both might be in relationships with people who are extremely wrong for you, and that might be hard, but I have had to live with you. The amount of complaining!"

Elliot threw her hands up in frustration and stocked out of the room.

Cece and Tristan analyzed her dramatic exit before looking at each other.

"She must be writing the big fight in her book today," Cece said.

"I'll always honored when I can be a source of inspiration," Tristan said.

He conveyed that same sentiment to Elliot ten minutes later as all three siblings left the house. Elliot led the way towards their coffee shop, The Thinking Cup, Tristan close on her heels as she argued he hadn't inspired anything.

Cece was slow in following. The bickering with her siblings had been a welcomed distraction but now that they were walking towards the office, she couldn't avoid all the anxiety that had had her up at four-thirty that morning.

As if her body was connected to Malcolm by some invisible string, she had jolted awake in a cold sweat of fear and realized as she looked at the clock that Malcolm's plane to London was taking off at that precise time. She hated him.

She had tried deep breathing for approximately six breaths before she had given up and thrown off her blankets, accepting that her day was starting before the sun's.

In her years-long struggle with writer's block, she had read countless books and blogs about how to combat it. She had tried every single solution suggested, from yoga to fermenting food but nothing worked.

She had moved on to her own prescribed activities of cooking, organizing, redecorating, and erratic sleeping schedules. If she couldn't sleep at least she would be productive.

That morning hadn't been any different. She had started the bread and while that was baking she had sought out the messiest closet to organize. She had had her pick of spaces to organize. Since Malcolm had cured her writer's block, she hadn't had time to organize and all the closets and cabinets were in need of help. She had chosen the linen closet and grimly noted that at least there was no shortage of organization needed for this round of writer's block.

The tasks helped keep her hands busy and sometimes she was lucky enough that it also kept her mind away from the worried thoughts. But out on the street with the weight of her computer resting in her backpack, there was nothing to keep her mind from going to all the what-ifs.

"Cece, would you keep up?" Elliot called to her. "It's like 'Walking Miss Daisy'."

Cece looked up and saw her siblings were a block ahead of her, waiting at the door of The Thinking Cup. The open door was releasing coffee fumes and Cece hurried to catch up, the scent of caffeine calling to her.

Cece stepped into the coffee shop and took a deep breath in. As she exhaled she could feel some of her worry and fears slip into the further regions of her mind.

She loved this coffee shop. It almost felt as much like home as their house did. Morning coffees, afternoon pick-me-ups, late-night snacks, The Thinking Cup was her and her sibling's go-to place.

They were familiar with the revolving group of college students who made their lattes and iced coffees. The family's seasons changed in accordance with the coffee shop's change in decor and coffee offerings, not the weather.

"I hate summer," Tristan said under his breath as he followed Cece into the busy shop.

"Correction, you hate tourists," Elliot said, observing their overrun coffee stop with disdain.

Cece waved away both of their grumblings and headed for the line. True, the coffee shop was invaded by tourists during the summer months, but she didn't mind. She found the chatter pleasant background noise and she loved when the accordion windows were open, letting in the morning's fresh air.

"A medium iced coffee," she said when she reached the register. She stepped aside to let Tristan order and saw Elliot looking at her. "What?"

"I'm buying Tristan a coffee," Elliot said. "Not you. I have a coffee maker at the office."

Cece just shrugged like it was Elliot's problem and not hers. She moved to the pickup counter and looked around. If Malcolm was still in the country The Thinking Cup would be serving sweet tea to southern belles in pristine summer dresses. But now she only found the usual suspects. Families munching on egg sandwiches, and moms out for their second or third coffee of the morning.

"Geez, what did that mom in athleisure ever do to you?" Elliot asked as she came to stand beside Cece. "You don't have to threaten her life just because she is wearing workout clothes and not going to the gym."

Cece realized she was staring at a woman across the way with a stroller and broke her gaze to look at her sister.

"There are other reasons for threatening people's lives other than the miss-wearing of athleisure," Cece argued.

"Like..."

Cece was saved from giving an answer when a barista called "Mckenzie!" She swiped her cup and headed for the doors, thankful for the diversion.

She didn't want to tell Elliot she was staring knives at an innocent mom because she wasn't a southern belle. It didn't bode well for her mental stability or for the case of writer's block she definitely wasn't struggling with.

At the door, Tristan bade them farewell, and the siblings headed in different directions. Elliot's office was just a short jump across the Boston Common.

Cece led the way and the two sisters walked in silence. Cece knew Elliot was preparing to write. Elliot liked to use the walk to her office to focus her thoughts so by the time she reached her office, she could sit down, open her computer and bust out a chapter.

Cece was finding no quiet in her mind as her brain seemed to latch onto everything she passed, wearily searching for a spark of inspiration before moving onto the next person, animal, window display.

By the time they reached the entrance to Elliot's office building, Cece felt like she had mentally run a marathon. And by the time they climbed the four flights of stairs to the office, she physically felt like she had run a marathon.

Cece stood in the doorway of the office, catching her breath as Elliot moved briskly about the room. It had been an empty square with a small kitchenette when Elliot had rented it, and she had transformed it into a comfortable space. It had big comfy chairs, a couch, a coffee table, a desk, and enough tea to hydrate the whole British nation. Elliot started the tea kettle while she unpacked her computer.

Cece had always been in awe of Elliot's control over her writing. Unlike Cece, Elliot was a professional when it came to writing. Her first book had been published her senior year of high school and ever since she hadn't stopped writing.

If Cece's long-term relationship was with writer's block then Elliot's was with production. She had already released her second book and was finishing her third. Cece tried not to feel bitter as she remembered Elliot had started her third book months after Cece had started her current book and Elliot was now weeks ahead of her in content.

Elliot was seated on the couch, her tea steeping and her computer in her lap before she returned down to earth to visit the writing mortals.

"You could try writing standing up," she said, pointing to where Cece still stood in the doorway, "but I don't suggest it for your computer's sake."

"You make a strong argument," Cece said. She moved into the space and shut the door behind her. Elliot started typing and Cece knew that was the last she would hear from her sister for a while.

She took in her seating options, one of the chairs, the desk, or the other side of the couch Elliot was already on. She chose the chair close to the window and sat, slowly pulling out her computer.

She picked some calm music and tried to ignore the fact that her mind was blank and tried to believe that inspiration would strike. But her confidence deflated as she opened a new document and all she could do was stare at the white screen. She was going to kill Malcolm.

**********************************************************************

What's up buttercup! *

* We're going with pastry greetings for this one

Leave your thoughts, emotions, sprinkles, and any other dessert toppings you want here. 🗯💭💬

Why are you eating a jelly donut?

Because they were just sitting there on the counter. Cece left them and I snuck one. *pulls one out* Want one?

Sure. I'm super bored waiting around for the love interest to show up.

You are too hard on yourself. I'm sure he will eventually make an appearance.

Tote, tomment, tollow!