“I’m sure the storm will pass soon enough and you can all be together like you planned.”
“I hope so. Then I’ll be out of your way. You can go back to whatever it was you were doing, writing, did you say? I can entertain myself.”
He shakes his head. “Naw, I lost my momentum. Besides, I'm only getting started. I have a long time before I need to meet my deadline. So there’s no rush.”
“If you’re sure. So what do you write?” I’m dying to know because this man certainly doesn’t scream writer, secret assassin maybe or MMA fighter, but never in a million years would I have guessed writer.
“Espionage thrillers.”
That’s sounding more like it, but… “How did you end up doing that?”
Chapter Four
Thane
Her curiosity is written all over her face. Not that she’s the first to have questions about how I ended up writing. Hell, it’s still crazy to me it’s what I do for a living now.
Who would’ve thought the kid who barely graduated and spent his first career becoming a trained killer for the military, would end up penning novels? Certainly not me. I would’ve laughed in the face of anyone who dared to tell me otherwise, but life has a funny way of working out sometimes.
“Ma worked in a diner. She had a customer, Anne, who was an editor. Since she was a regular, they got to know each other. I was in the army and unable to talk with Ma much, so I wrote her letters when I had downtime. More often than not, she would get a bundle at a time because I couldn’t always send them right away.” I pause to take a drink of the fresh beer I grabbed when I made Anya hot chocolate.
“Ma was reading one of the letters one day, and Anne asked about it. Ma let her read it and then she asked to see more. Anne thought I had a knack for telling stories, and when I got out she eventually talked me into trying my hand at writing a book. With a lot of coaching from her, I was actually able to produce something that wasn’t half bad. Turns out, a lot of other people thought the same and bought it. I’ve been writing ever since.”
After meeting Anne, it was hard to say no, to say the least. She is a sweet woman but a bit of a bulldog when it comes to getting what she wants. She could see I was struggling with Ma’s diagnosis and was at odds with what to do with myself. Once I actually started to consider the suggestion, and we talked more about it, the ideas began rolling. I’m able to draw on my experience to plot and write stories that are far more authentic. Before I knew it, with her mentoring and editing for me, books started flying off the shelves.
“How fascinating, that story in itself needs to be a book. I would definitely read it, but now I want to read one of your books. Which one do you suggest I start with?”
My eyebrows shoot up. “You want to read my books?”
Her shoulder rises and falls. “I’ve never met a writer before, and I enjoy reading when I have the time. Though my preference runs toward romance, reading something from someone I’ve actually met would be so cool.”
My stomach churns and my heart thunders at the thought of her reading my books. I haven’t felt like that about someone reading my writing since I first started.
“I’ll dig out a copy for you then.” The blinding grin lighting up her face has my heart racing for completely different reasons. She’s a beautiful woman, but when she smiles, it’s as if we’re in the middle of summer in the tropics instead of the gloomy winter in the north during a snowstorm. I want to bask in the warmth ofits glow for as long as possible. The heat now raging through me has nothing to do with the roaring fire.
“That’d be amazing. Thank you.” She takes a sip of her hot chocolate from the white mug with candy canes on it that was one of Ma’s favorites and glances around.
I plant my elbow on the armrest of the recliner, resting my chin on palm as I watch her study the decorations. I’m willing to bet the royalties from my next book I know what she’s going to ask next. She wasn’t too subtle when she asked about the Christmas decorations the first time, but I was able to delay the conversation by bringing up the need for her to call someone.
“So you’re really into the Christmas spirit, huh?”
I cover my mouth with my hand to hide my smirk. Easy money. “I suppose so. Tis the season and all.”
Her eyebrows pinch. “Do you host a lot of people during the holidays?”
I shake my head. “Nope, just me.”
“So you just really like decorating for Christmas?”
“Not particularly.” I have a feeling a picture of her would be next to the phrase “curiosity killed the cat.” I can’t help but mess with her, seeing how long she’ll go before coming right out and asking what all the decorations are for. Turns out it doesn’t take long.
“Then why all the decorations? This must take you forever to put up and take down.” She huffs as she waves her arm around.
“I made a promise.”
“Wow, that’s some promise. Must be someone pretty special to do all this. Do they even appreciate it? You said you don’t host anyone.” She frowns.
“She was the specialist, and I’m sure the effort would be appreciated if she were able to. Ma loved Christmas. The year she passed, we had Christmas early, and she made me promiseto decorate for her every year after she was gone.” I finally put her out of her misery before taking another swallow of my beer.
