Page 10 of Second Chance Spring in Paradise

“Seven o’clock tomorrow night?”

I shake my head. “Everything is closed on Sunday, except the gas station.”

She scrunches her nose, and I can tell that’s a ding against Paradise. “Right, Monday then.” Pushing herself out of the chair, she heads for the door. “The Garden of Eatin’. I used to love going to that place with my aunt.”

She’s out the door before I can suggest a different restaurant.

One not owned by the guy who probably wants to punch me in the face for helping his bride run away.

Chapter 5

Tessa

After talking to Rowdy, I head back to the cottage determined to write. But when I walk in the door, I'm itching to clean the entire cottage.

I have two weeks at Aunt D’s. That’s it. And I should spend every minute writing. My agent keeps nagging me to give her the book I’m under contract to write. I’ve sent her the beginning of my story, but I’ve been stuck in the middle for the past two years. This vacation, coming on the heels of my divorce, is supposed to be a restart.

But everything in this cottage needs to be washed and dusted. Aunt D’s three grandkids are supposed to be taking care of this place, but they obviously haven’t. The whole place looks like it hasn’t been touched in the last few years since Aunt D’s been in the care facility.

The cottage could also stand a little redecorating. The furniture and carpet are the same stuff that was here when I was a kid. Looking at it now, I realize it must have been outdated then, I just didn’t know it.

As I scrub every square inch of the cottage, Rowdy’s words about Georgia Rose—Georgia Rose!!!—not selling keep coming back to me. I’ll be sad if that’s the case, but I also had no idea before I got here how much work—and money—it would take to update this little house. Starting with installing an air conditioner, which none of the cottages have. It’s boiling hot in here.

I must not have noticed that as a kid because I spent most of my time out on Smuk Lake. But if I plan on using this place as a writing retreat, I will definitely need A/C.

The best view of the lake is from the kitchen, and my eyes keep drifting to the window as I give the old cabinets a good washing. The beach at the Little Copenhagen is public, so while there aren’t many people at the resort itself, the sand is packed with people sitting in beach chairs or lying on towels. Children dig in the dark, wet sand or float on inner tubes in the water. Further out in the lake, boats towing wakeboarders speed by. Close behind them are people on Sea-doos jumping the boats’ wakes. Sailboats move more slowly in the distance.

In a cloudless sky, the sun shines over all of them.

There’s no salty smell like there is at the ocean, and no waves pummeling the shore. Only a sense of peace and stillness, despite all the motion. Even the smell of the Pine-Sol I’ve used on every inch of this house sings of freedom and happy days ahead.

And, suddenly, I know what to write.

I drop my rag into the bucket of water and Pine-Sol and run to my laptop.

Despite the heat of the house, the words flow as freely as the happy noises that float in through the open windows. I write all day, stopping every few hours only long enough to grab some snacks and stretch. I write until the room grows dim, and I have to turn on the lights to see anything other than my glowing screen.

By that time, I have the first two chapters of a new romance. I have no idea what will happen in the next few chapters, but I can figure that out tomorrow.

That’s not how writing usually works for me—I plot everything. But the ideas flow too fast to stop and plot. And it feels good to let my creative brain lead the way instead of the more rational side that wants to make sure every word will be perfect before I commit it to paper.

I decide to celebrate my word count by treating myself to some fries and a famous Paradise fresh huckleberry shake from a local fast-food place. I have a number to choose from, each one claiming to have the best shakes. But I choose Neilson’s because it was Aunt D’s second favorite. Her first favorite was the Garden of Eatin’, but that’s a sit-down place, and I'll be there Monday with Rowdy. Neilson’s is an order-at-the-window and sit outside place, and that fits my mood today.

I could walk the mile to Neilson’s, but since it’s getting dark, so I drive. The line to order is long, and I can’t help checking out every guy wearing a cowboy hat to see if it’s Rowdy under that brim. I’m caught a couple of times and get some death glares from the girls with the hat wearers.

The girls wear hats too, along with tank tops, jeans, and boots. They definitely have a look that I don’t. Which is just the reminder I need that Rowdy is not my type. As if his deer antlers weren’t enough.

But I have a harder time convincing myself everything that happened at Second Chance Spring was just a coincidence. That’s the romantic in me, I guess.

Once I get my food, I take it back to the house to eat alone. There’s no TV, and the internet is spotty, making it the perfect, distraction-free, writing spot. And also the worst, because I’d sure like some company. Even if it’s just the cast ofBridgerton.

I go to bed early, and the next morning I’m able to write a couple more chapters. They’re rough, but a heaviness lifts from my chest with every word I type. By the time I’m ready to take a break for lunch, I feel lighter than I have in years. It’s like I’ve been wrapped in one of those weighted blankets—that people love for some reason—and it feels so good to be out of it.

I take a walk on the lake shore, reminiscing about how Aunt D and I used to walk along a little hidden beach collecting driftwood to make into wind chimes. She’d sell them every year during Huckleberry Days, which starts tomorrow.

Huckleberry Days is the biggest event of the year for Paradise. It always comes after the first huckleberries are ripe enough to be picked and used in everything from jam to soap. Locals set up booths in the town square to sell their huckleberry products and other goods. There’s music, carnival games, and every kind of small-town activity that a good Hallmark movie could dream of.

If I write ten thousand words today, I decide I’ll reward myself with an outing to the celebration later this week. Maybe I can find a good huckleberry sweet to eat while watching the meteor shower that will also happen this week as Earth makes its yearly intersection with a comet field. Aunt D and I made sure to watch the shower every year while sharing huckleberry pie. Paradise's clear skies provide a spectacular view that I'd never get in LA.

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