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“Caroline has a field trip to a local herb farm on Monday of next week, and Sophie’s teacher sent a reminder about bringing in a treat for her birthday next Friday.” Mia points to the days on the calendar where she’s neatly written in the events.
“Is it already her birthday? Time has gotten away from me. I guess I’ll need to plan a party. The mere thought of entertaining a crowd of three-year-olds gives me a headache.”
Mia chuckles. “I feel your pain.” She looks over at my daughters. “Sophie’s so young. Why not have a small party for family only?”
I comb my hands through my hair as I consider her idea. “I like that idea. And much less of a headache.”
“I’m happy to help you plan it. And I’ll make cupcakes for her to take into school for her birthday treat.” Mia glances at her watch. “Look at the time. Unless you need something else, I should head out. I’m supposed to pick up my sons from football practice in a few minutes.”
“Not at all. Go! I don’t want you to be late.”
Mia disappears into the laundry room. When she returns with her purse, I walk her out the kitchen door to the side porch. As her car disappears down the driveway, I thumb off a text to Julia, thanking her in advance for the playdate on Wednesday and offering to pick up Caroline on my way home from work.”
As I hit the send button, I smile to myself. The idea of seeing Julia again excites me more than it should.
SEVENTEEN
JULIA
I’m thrilled with my progress on my new novel. The words flow effortlessly from my brain to the computer, forming sentences and scenes and chapters. Only a few times has the writing gone this smoothly this early in the process. But all those books became bestsellers, which leads me to believe I’m onto something big. A hit in this new genre would boost my confidence and establish my pen name, Bebe Bloom.
In addition to actually writing the book, I have a long list of other tasks to accomplish before I can launch it. I’ll have to create a new website and social media profiles and accounts at all the major online bookstores. And since I can’t show my face to the public, I’ll have to use an avatar instead of an author photo.
On Wednesday afternoon, I’m so engrossed in creating the website header that I don’t hear Will when he comes to pick up Caroline from her playdate with my son.
“Hello!” he calls out as he rounds the corner of the house.
I jump to my feet. “Hey, Will! I didn’t know you were here. Did you ring the bell?”
He joins me on the porch. “I knocked. When you didn’t answer, I figured you were on the beach.”
I nod. “We’ve been back and forth to the beach all afternoon.”
“They certainly seem happy enough,” he says, his eyes on the kids who are kicking a soccer ball around in the yard.
“They’ve been great. And I’ve gotten a ton of work done.”
He glances down at my open laptop, at the document full of words. “I can see you’ve been busy. Is your writing just a hobby or are you hoping to publish something soon?”
“My goal is to release my first novel early next year,” I say, lifting my hands to show fingers crossed.
“That’s exciting. Good luck with that. I admit, I’m not much of a reader.”
I’m relieved to hear this. I’d be embarrassed for him to read my work in progress since he’s the inspiration for one of my protagonists. “I doubt you’d like my books anyway. They’re geared towards women.” I close the laptop and cross the porch to the back door. “I’ll grab Caroline’s backpack for you.”
Will follows me inside the house. “Charming cottage,” he says as he circles the small living room. “I hope you’re not planning to stay here through the winter.”
I spin around to face him. “Is there a reason why I shouldn’t?”
“The exterior walls aren’t insulated. You can see the cracks in the siding.” He points to a sliver of light creeping in through the shiplap joints. And the windows are paper thin.” He taps on a window. “I’m a historic preservationist. I’m guessing this cottage was built during World War II when building materials were in short supply.”
Dread overcomes me. “I don’t have much choice. I’ve signed a nine-month lease. I guess we’ll be wearing our sweaters and coats inside.”
Will kneels in front of the fireplace and looks up the chimney. “I assume you know how to build a fire.”
“Of course,” I say, although I’ve never built a fire in my life.
He fiddles with the flue for a minute before straightening. “I would call a chimney sweep to make certain everything is in working order.” He removes a red bandana from the back pocket of his jeans and wipes his grimy hands. “Be sure to order a cord of wood before the first cold snap. Coastal Hardware carries an oil-filled space heater. It has wheels so you can roll it from room to room. I’ll text you the link.”
