Page 7 of Snowed In on Valentine's Day

Iwas just waking from a blissful afternoon nap when I heard it.

The creaky double doors of a huge moving truck opening.

Boots crunching in the hard packed snow that fell last week.

Distance voices that sounded distinctly male.

Cursing under my breath, I removed my sleep mask and cap and squinted as I looked to the open window.

Dammit, I’d forgotten to close the window. When I’d gotten home from the gym this morning, I’d seen the most beautiful birds right outside my bedroom window. It was too cold to stand outside and watch them, but I opened my window to listen to their song.

Yeah, I wanted to listen to birdsong.

This was my life now. If I wanted to take the time to watch birds, I could. I was putting down roots for the first time. This was my home, but it was the birds’ home first. Well, maybe not technically, since some birds have a short lifespan. Then again, I had a friend whose cockatiel was almost as old as I am.

It had been a month, and I was loving the change of pace, honestly.

But …

Sometimes loneliness crept in.

OK, it was not just sometimes. It happened a lot. I wasn’t naturally a homebody, after all. Maybe I just needed to adjust, or maybe all this alone time wasn’t fulfilling to me. I thought about renting a coworking space before laughing aloud to myself. As if Shipsvold had coworking spaces. The town was pretty old-fashioned, as one expects of quaint little places like this. But that was fine. I could learn to love my own company, surely.

Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I stood up slowly and then padded over to the window.

My eyes widened as I saw the scene before me, including not one but two massive moving trucks. So, the new neighbor had a lot of stuff, eh? It was a pretty nice house, I have to admit. Nicer than the cozy two-bedroom I bought a few months back. But I was proud of my home and everything in it. It had all the markings of someone who was settling down. But in a good way, not in an “I settled for something less than I deserve” way. Because that wasnotwhat I was doing. I deserved—

My thoughts vanished as I saw a man emerge from the back of a truck and head into the house, large box in hand. He wasn’t dressed in the collared shirts and grey vests worn by the moving company guys, so I assumed he must live there. I only saw his back, but he looked about my age, maybe a bit older. His hair was short and dark, and his clothes appeared well tailored and fit his solid physique like a glove.

Suddenly he started to turn around, and I ducked beneath the window. It wouldn’t do for the new neighbor to see me as a creeper spying through the window. Even though I was.

I pressed my lips together, my thoughts racing. No one had lived in the house next door since I’d moved in. It was a large house with three stories and innumerable rooms. I’d heard theprevious owner had set a high list price despite the place needing some work, so no one had been eager to buy it. Until now.

I should go bring him something. Or maybethem, as it could be a couple. Or a family. Or even some guys living together. The possibilities were endless. I snuck another look out the window quickly, hoping to see whether the man had a family with him, but I didn’t see him or anyone else.

No matter. I’d make my famous sugar cookies. Or maybe my salted caramel brownies. Hmm. Or both?

No, both would be overkill.

I shook my head with a smile. Making both would be fun. I loved baking, and I was pretty decent at it too. Not enough to do it for a living, but people often asked me to bake for them.

That’s what people did with new neighbors, right? Bring them a welcome basket or meal or treats or something? I thought so. Well, it was worth a try. No one could say no to my baked goods.

No one with taste buds, anyway.

I smiled while retrieving the recipes, which Ialmostknew by heart, but I didn’t fully trust my memory because, well, that ended in disaster last time.

The cookies had been missing sugar, and I’d handed them off to Mariana without tasting one. How did I manage to not taste my own creations even once? Well, I was baking three other things that same day, and my body protested even the thought of more food. In any case, the attendees at Mari’s staff meeting will never eat anything I make again.

Recipes in hand, I scoured the kitchen for all the ingredients. I thought about using this time to plan out the next chapter in my book. I’d written a couple chapters of background about my experience, and now I’d be diving into the good stuff, putting all my experience and know-how into the writing. Thebook was coming to life beautifully, and I couldn’t be happier about it.

But no. Using this time to think about work … well, no. Baking was meditative for me, and I needed a break from writing andthinkingabout writing. It’s all I’d been doing, even when at the store, at the gym, at the gas pump. Everywhere.

With a satisfied smile, I started measuring out the flour.

I wished just once, though, that I could make anything with flour without making a giant mess. But nope. And I forgot to put an apron on, because of course I did. I made a mental note to change clothes before visiting the new neighbor.

Before I knew it, I was sitting on a kitchen stool tasting a cookie when I saw the pink, orange, and purple swirls out the window. How lovely, there’s nothing more soothing than a sunset in a dusky sky. Maybe I could write about that.

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