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January in Hawaii
“COME TAKE A LOOK,” I called to Max from the patio of our bungalow. He came through the door carrying two cups of coffee and sat down beside me on the loveseat. “Wyoming is having a snow day. Interstate 90 is closed from the South Dakota border all the way to Sheridan. These are pictures from the Wyoming Department of Transportation webcams.” I clicked through several pictures showing snow blowing steadily across the highways, and some whiteouts with visibility zero.
My cell phone alerted me of an incoming text. “Oh, and look at this,” I said, smiling. It was an image of Bonnie and Clyde in the barn at the ranch eating hay from a hanging feeder.
“Those two are spoiled rotten,” Max said as he leaned over to give me a kiss. “I have to go do some FBI stuff today and will probably be late getting home. Do you want me to pick up dinner on the way?”
Before I could answer, my cell phone chimed again. “Text from Sissally.”
“How are the wedding plans coming?” Max asked.
I smiled, picturing the beach wedding she and Quintin would have here in Hawaii. Max and I were going to be witnesses, and Opal and Lydia were coming too. There’d be a reception in Montana in June. I handed him the phone. “Pictures of the finished wedding dress Sissally and Opal made together.” I sighed. “It’s so beautiful. Scroll through and look at the necklace Sissally will wear on the big day. Quintin’s grandmother, Lydia, wore it on her wedding day. Everything will be so perfect—the Airbnb where we’ll all stay, the private beach. And most importantly seeing those people that have become family to me.”
“To us,” Max corrected. He smiled and gave me another kiss. Pointing to the notebook and my favorite pen on the end table, he raised his eyebrow.
I reached for the notebook and said, “I’m finally ready to start writing again.”
“I knew all you needed was time. You’re too talented of a writer to just quit.”
I smiled at him and opened the notebook to the first blank page. I rubbed my hand over the slick paper and began to write:
Chapter 1
Love Triangle or Ménage a Trois?
Grainy, unflattering pictures of one woman and two men stared back at Serena from the supermarket magazine rack. She recognized . . .
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The End
