I drop off Adley at preschool, reminding her again to keep her hands to herself and not to chase Holden around the playground. She agrees, but she’s done that before.
Driving over to the cottage with my laptop, I can’t stop thinking about last night. Matt waited downstairs for me to get Adley to sleep, then we talked for about an hour before I was yawning, and he said he should go. My excitement is too much to contain, and the minute I get into the cottage, I text my cousin Harper, who I wish I could just have come over here, but rules are rules, and I’m not supposed to tell anyone else about this place.
Three dots appear immediately.
I should’ve allowed my family to teach me when I was younger, but even though I liked adventure, I wasn’t the outdoorsy type of girl. I was the “stay by the fire in the lodge” type of girl. I saw Matt’s disappointment when he asked me last night whether I could ski or snowboard.
I don’t like lying to her, but I can’t tell her where I am.
I can almost hear her laughing.
She’s always been so hung up on us, even though I’ve explained a million times that Hudson and I were a one-and-done.
Lately I’ve realized how much one of us meeting someone we’re serious about can change our family dynamic. It scares me. I felt the tension radiating off Theresa last night and with good reason. Adley and I bulldozed our way in there, and that was unfair. Maybe we need to set some boundaries. Boundaries have never been an issue before, but maybe this is just the reality of how things need to be.
I open my laptop, staring at my blank screen, then I glance at the time on the top right corner.
I put my phone on vibrate and shove it under my leg, turning off my cochlear implants. I close my eyes, inhaling and exhaling, trying to ignite something in my mind, some spark of inspiration.
My fingers start typing without me looking at the screen.
He’s the hot up-and-coming Olympic snowboarder, and she’s the reserved single mom. Both are only looking for one thing…
I open my eyes and read the paragraph I wrote, but something feels off. So I grab a notebook from my bag, hoping to sketch out the storyline, see how far I can get it.
I use my usual methods, writing everything and anything that could happen. All the what-if scenarios. I can’t believe Harper got me on this line of thinking. I mean, Matt was great, but he’s not the “hero of a love story” kind of guy. He’s the guy who broke the girl’s heart, so the hero has to mend it and make it whole again.
I press the delete key until I’m back to a blank page.
Blowing out a breath, I think about all the tropes I love. Those are always easier to write.
When nothing helps, I shut my laptop, toss it on the adjacent chair, and walk around the small space, hoping Great-Grandma Dori channels something inside me that will help.
I open drawers and cabinets, not finding much except evidence that Rylan and Calista spent some time here. There’s some Wok For U chopsticks and fortune cookies in a drawer with takeout menus. They love the orange chicken like most of the Bailey clan, but they practically live there during Rylan’s off-season, saying they’ve never found any better Chinese takeout than here in Lake Starlight.
The bedroom is small, with only room for a bed and a dresser. The dresser drawers are all empty, but the closet has poster boards in one corner, slides in another. Being nosy, I go through them and laugh.
Each board is Great-Grandma Dori’s mission board on how to get one of my aunts or uncles together with who she thought was the love of their life. I dig deep into the back and find my own parents’ board. Front and center is a picture of me at only eighteen months.
Sedona and Jamison
Palmer needs her daddy.
It goes through all the steps to help push my parents together. A story I learned as a teenager that made me loathe my parents for keeping it from me all those years. Ultimately, I understood as I got older that relationships are complicated. Especially, since I returned to Lake Starlight much like my mom did—pregnant. The only difference was that my baby daddy was with me, whereas my mom was alone.
Great-Grandma Dori sure went to a lot of work, but her and her best friend Ethel’s planning was flawless. Everything is detailed, all the way down to what they expect will happen to break them up—or what I call the black moment in my books. I wonder who she would’ve seen for me and what her plan would have been. There’s a sad tug on my heart that I’ll never know.
Of course, it would probably be Hudson. Everyone in this town thinks Hudson and I are stupid because we should be a couple. As if it’s that easy to be a couple. Not to mention, I’m not looking for a forever man. I like my life the way it is, and if Hudson and I got together and things went south, there’s no way we could still have the easy co-parenting relationship we do now.
I head back to the couch, my head as bleak as it was before my walk around the cabin. Lying down and pulling the afghan over me, I set my alarm on my phone for twenty minutes and shove it under the pillow. A quick nap will hopefully refresh me.
Twenty minutes later, my head vibrates from my phone, and I reach under the pillow to grab it, turning it off. I close my eyes briefly and recall the most vivid dream I just had. Grabbing my laptop, I can’t open my blank file fast enough.
My fingers land on the keyboard with a thud and move on their own accord.
Bea was quiet, reserved. She wasn’t like her roommate, Nia, who drew the attention of all the boys. Bea was plus size, large-framed, big-boned, whichever word was politically correct these days. Nia was slim, fit, and could make any piece of clothing look good.
Nia walked into the small mountain bar where she was supposed to meet up with some drummer. She’d asked Bea to join her just in case things went south. Bea already knew what to expect from the night. She’d be nursing a drink at the bar while Nia flitted around, flirting and holding court. But she had no other plans for the night, so Bea had agreed to come anyway.
They had no sooner gotten their drinks than the drummer (Trek, Trey, Trev?) approached Nia from behind. He covered her eyes and looked at Bea, smiling wide. He was cute in that rock star type of way—messy dark hair that looked on the verge of greasy with a band T-shirt she didn’t think was his actual band, along with a pair of jeans and metal chain that went from his belt loop to his wallet. And of course, the finishing touch—a pair of beat-up Converse. He was Nia’s type, which assured Bea that her assumption was correct. Bea would nurse a drink until Nia told her she was going home with him, then all three of them would take an Uber to their place and she’d be rewarded with having an awkward run-in with him in the kitchen in the morning. If Bea was really lucky, she’d bump into him in the middle of the night in the hallway after he used the bathroom, and of course, he wouldn’t have put the toilet seat back down.
“Guess who?” he says.
What are we, five? Bea thought and quickly reprimanded herself. The reason she didn’t have a boyfriend was because of intrusive thoughts like that. She could be a tad judgmental and nit-picked any guys who hit on her.
“I could tell those calluses anywhere,” Nia said and turned around and hugged Trek—at least Bea thought that was his name.
Bea refrained from calling Nia on her bullshit since she liked anyone who played in a band, especially a drummer, and everyone knew they had calluses. Again, Bea assumed this was why she couldn’t find anyone. She refused to act like one of those stupid giddy girls. Flirting was not Bea’s forte.
“Let me show you the set list,” the drummer said.
Nia glanced at Bea as if Bea might say no, stay here. Bea had never said no, stay here. She waved her friend to go on, encouraging like any good wingwoman should. Nia slid off her stool and accepted his hand, and he dragged her away as she laughed at some stupid joke he’d made.
Bea raised her hand to the bartender. When she went to bars with live bands, she relied on reading lips and pointing most of the time to get what she wanted. Most of the time, no one was the wiser that she was deaf. Most people would be amazed how much you don’t have to talk in a bar. Hell, she’d gotten away with actually sleeping with a guy once without him knowing she was deaf. But Bea had always felt misunderstood, and sometimes it was easier to avoid the whole thing altogether.
The bartender had messy sandy-blond hair that looked thick and luscious. He had light eyes. Bea couldn’t quite tell whether they were green or blue or a mix of both in the dim lighting, but they held kindness when he approached her.
“What can I get you?” he asked, leaning closer so she could see a light five o’clock shadow that made him look even sexier.
She pointed at the beer the guy had next to her. The bartender nodded and opened a cooler with the bottom of his shirt that gave Bea a glimpse of his happy trail.
“My name is Pete. Holler if you need something.” He smiled, and Bea’s stomach erupted into butterflies.
Maybe this evening wouldn’t be a bust after all.
My fingers stop, and I break into a big smile. Finally, the writing gods are with me again. I feel the energy inside my bones, the excitement brewing in my stomach—this is the story I’m meant to write.