Page 49 of Snowed In on Valentine's Day

“Oh, I intend to,” she said, her bright red lips curving into a smile.

I smiled back before realizing what this meant. She’d want to know what I’d done during the storm. There was no way to avoid this.

“From your face, I see a story,” she said with a smirk.

I laughed, linking arms with her. “Let’s go get a table first though.”

After the server took our order, I complimented her. “I love your hat. Yellow suits you.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” She smiled while sipping from the water glass the server had brought out.

“So how are you, Nora? And how’s Jane?”

“Well, I’m still alive,” she said with twinkling eyes. Her standard reply.

“You’re one of the healthiest, most energetic people I know, even at eighty-five. One day, I’ll make you share your secrets.”

“Good genes. In other words, luck,” she said with a hint of something not quite happy. Hmm. That was new.

“And how is Jane?”

Her breath caught briefly, and she busied herself rearranging her napkin in her lap. “She’s hanging in there.” She paused, seemingly unsure whether she wanted to say more. “She won’t admit to it, but I see her struggling.”

My eyebrows drew together in sympathy. “Is it the sciatica again?”

“I think so. But she denies it when I ask and turns down offers of help. Never did I meet a more stubborn woman.”

I couldn’t help smiling. “Except maybe yourself.”

Nora narrowed her eyes before returning the smile. “You have a point. I worry about her though, as she clammed up the last time I asked and didn’t reschedule the last doctor's appointment. It was during the storm, so we had to cancel it, of course.”

I nodded. “Understandable. Darn it, I wish I could help somehow. But she’s as likely to listen to me as she is to grow wings.”

We both laughed as the server came over with our spinach and artichoke dip appetizer.

After dipping the crusted bread and taking a first bite, Nora asked, “So, what’s new with you? How’s the writing going?”

I’d told her about my new career plans during our last lunch date, and she’d been supportive. “I hate to let you down, but it’s not going the greatest. Writing is hard.”

She tilted her head. “But you wrote a book before.”

“Years ago, yes. But it was different. The words practically poured out of me, and the only problem was finding time towrite, since I was always traveling on the speaking tours.” I took a sip of water. “This time is different. I have a lot of time, so that’s not the problem. Maybe it’s writer’s block, I don’t know. I haven’t gotten very far in my first draft, and I didn’t get to meet with my agent because of the stupid storm. I was hoping she’d help me with the block. Anyway, it’s slow going.”

“I thought you liked writing?”

“I do, sometimes. But I don’t want tojustwrite. I feel like it’s not fulfilling enough in itself. Being holed up at home in front of a computer isn’t really me … sometimes, sure, but not all the time. You know?”

Nora peered at me closely and nodded. “So, take your time on the book.”

I considered this for a moment. “But—”

“Are you hurting for money? Is that it?” She stuck her bread in the dip.

“No. At least, not now. I have some savings, but it’ll run out within a couple of years.”

“You can do a lot in a couple years. Like I said, take your time.” She shrugged and then dabbed at her mouth with her napkin.

“I guess there’s no rush. My literary agent didn’t give me a hard deadline, at least not yet. We’re meeting next week. And I told Roxy I’m taking a break from speaking events.” I paused, looking out the window. “But with all this downtime, I should be figuring things out. Deciding what I really want to be doing. Making plans, starting projects or maybe a new business—”

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