Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 38149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
“Wow. That’s good.”
“Good? It’s incredible! And the numbers they’re throwing around are insane. I promise not to bug you through the holidays. I know how much you covet the season—” He paused to chuckle when I grumbled on cue. “But I figured you’d want to know that your presence will very much be in demand in LA in January. So don’t get too comfy out in the wilds of Vermont. I made sure the house was just drafty enough to discourage permanent residence.”
His tone was jocular, but I had a feeling he wasn’t kidding. In Martin’s perfect world, I’d be at my desk in LA where he could keep tabs on me daily. Between him and my aunts, the well-meaning attention could be stifling.
I leaned against the windowsill and admired the wintery vista in my yard. Snow clung to tree branches, overgrown shrubs, and the birdbath at the far end of the patio, lending a peaceful glow to the afternoon. Or maybe it was evening. I’d lost sense of time.
Maybe that was a good thing. As Martin reminded me, I had work to do and I needed to stay focused.
A grumpy expletive from the other side of my office door broke my reverie. I smiled slyly. Then again, some distractions could prove to be the best source of inspiration.
Over the following few days, I sequestered myself in my office and wrote all day and all night. I ventured into the kitchen when I got hungry at odd hours, grateful that Martin had arranged for a housekeeper to drop off food and supplies twice a week. Left to my own devices, I would have put a bed and a kitchenette in the office to avoid wasting time.
I loved getting into the mode where the characters in my head came to life and guided me to tell their story. It was magic. And when the words flowed like manna from heaven, nothing else mattered. I’d become a pro at blocking out the real world, though I was vaguely aware of things happening around me.
The roofer’s team had descended to fix the leaks, and someone had shoveled the pathway and the sidewalk in front of the house. Maybe Joe?
His was the only voice that permeated closed doors and thick walls. Every so often, I’d look up from the middle of an intense scene and wish he’d walk in. Trust me, that wasn’t something I ever wanted.
But his presence was a balm of sorts. A welcome touchstone to reality. After three or more days of little food and almost no sleep, the desire to see him was stronger than my desire to write. So, I slipped on a jacket and ventured outside to find Joe fitting a new plank of wood onto the bottom porch step.
“Good morning.”
Joe glanced up from his chore and flashed a lopsided grin. “Ah, he lives! How’s it going, author man?”
I chuckled at the snarky greeting. “Very well, thanks. You’ve been busy.”
“Yeah, basement stairs are fixed, and all but one box of holiday stuff is stored away. I figured I’d take advantage of the weather and finish the porch steps. Supposedly, there’s a storm coming at the end of the week, so I’ll tackle indoor projects like the inside window casing then,” he reported in a businesslike tone.
“A storm?”
“Yeah, a few inches of snow or whatever Mother Nature decides to dump on us.” Joe wiped his hands on the green apron he wore and motioned for me to join him on the path. “Come take a look. Tread carefully on the last few planks. I need to make sure they fit properly before I nail them down.”
I stuffed my hands into my pockets as I turned to survey his handiwork. “Very nice.”
“Yeah, not bad if I do say so myself. The entire porch should be refinished in springtime. The wood is solid, but it’s rough. Might want to think about staining it too. Oh…and treat yourself to a new front door, eh?”
I glanced at the door and did a double take. The evergreen wreath I’d purchased at Lena’s insistence was tied with a bright-red ribbon to the front door and the fresh garland was draped over the frame. I had to admit, it looked nice. Very nice.
“You hung the wreath…and the garland.”
Joe scratched his nape and lowered his head. “It wasn’t my idea. Tony made me do it. He even brought the ribbon at Lena’s insistence. If you hate it, we can chuck it.”
“No, no. It’s…kind of pretty.”
The pop of greenery was like putting a mink shawl over a thrift store sundress. Yet it gave the house a welcoming, cheery vibe that even a hardcore Scrooge had to admit was a nice change.
“Yeah, it’s not bad,” he agreed with a bashful half smile. “How’s the writing going?”
“I made significant progress…thanks. What’s with the apron? Are you baking cookies too? If so, chocolate chip, please.”