What I’m really late for is my shift at the coffee shop, but I’m not about to admit to him that I still have to have a day job. I throw on my coat and scarf, shoving my gloves in my pockets so I have them for the walk home later this evening.
We were graced with a smattering of snow this week, but it hasn’t been thick enough to really stick and has mostly turned to a gray-tinted sludge. A white Christmas is probably not in the cards, though I’m still holding out hope. But I don’t focus on the weather as I speed-walk down the streets of Park Slope. Instead, I focus on the holiday lights and garlands framing windows and draped around railings, still determined to reinvigorate my love of Christmas, even if reintroducing Nick Matthews into my life might make that impossible. I admire the trees in the front windows of the brownstones and delight in the faint notes of Christmas music spilling from businesses and cars. And I definitely don’t spare even a single thought for Nick Matthews, aka the Boyfriend Who Ruined Christmas.
When I push through the door of the coffee shop, the walk has helped clear my head. Luckily, there’s no line, and from the relaxed smile on Josie’s face, I can assume she isn’t mad at me for being a few minutes late.
I take my position at the espresso machine, leaving Josie to greet the trickle of customers throughout the afternoon.
“How is your book coming?” she asks during a particularly long lull. We’ve restocked the baked goods and wiped down just about every surface in the shop, so she leans her hip against the counter and levels me with a too-knowing look.
“See, the thing about writing books is I have to have an idea for the book before I can sit down to write said book.” I’ve been stalling for so long on my option clause because I haven’t been able to come up with anything that feels inspired. My mind automatically flashes back to my DMs with Nick. He never had any issue coming up with ideas, always had more of them than time to write, the lucky bastard.
And that’s when it hits me. A little spark. A tiny little nugget. The seed of a book plants itself in my brain.
I freeze, not wanting to do anything to disturb the force. It’s been so long since I’ve had this feeling, I don’t want to risk messing it up, chasing away the idea before it fully forms.
“Jess?” Josie is watching me, scanning me like she’s afraid I’ve completely lost the plot, which I literally might if I make any sudden movements.
I hold up my hand, signaling her to stop talking. I close my eyes, and yes, I know I’m being incredibly dramatic, but this drought has been long and I don’t care if Josie thinks I’m rude.
I squeeze my eyes shut even tighter, and that’s when I see them.
I see the characters first, two people with a history. A second-chance romance. It’s the holiday season and they are forced to come together to—to what?
I open my eyes and they drift over to the flyers hung on our community notice board, catching on a bright-red one advertising a holiday musical revue.
A smile tugs on my lips. Yes. Two former lovers who have to come together to put on a holiday musical revue. Their careers depend on it being a successful show, and in order for them to do that, they’ll have to overcome their old issues and learn to work together. And while they work together, they fall back in love. On the surface, it might seem a bit sweet and tame for my audience, but I know that with my voice and a few steamy scenes, I can punch it up into something holiday-tastic.
There’s still work to be done, backstories to flesh out, plot points to solidify, but I can see the characters in my head, hear their voices. Their first kiss plays in my mind like I’m watching a movie in my brain.
I have it.
I don’t hold back the squeal, knowing Josie will understand when I can eventually put all this into words. She doesn’t resist when I grab her hands and jump around in a circle like we just won the lotto and will never have to make another latte again for the rest of our lives.
“What are we celebrating?”
I imagine at most normal jobs, if your boss caught you jumping up and down instead of accomplishing actual work, there would be some sort of retribution. But Morgan isn’t that kind of boss, and the genuine smile on her face lets me know she’ll be legitimately excited for me.
“I think I just got the idea I need for my next book!” I clasp my hands together, like they can hold on to the idea and keep it safe.
Josie claps for me. “I told you it would come to you eventually.”
I rest my hands on my knees because that was a lot of jumping and I no longer have the lung capacity of a seven-year-old. “Not going to lie, I was getting a little freaked out.”
“Congrats, Jess. I already can’t wait to read it.” Morgan checks her watch. “Why don’t you head out early? I can stay and close up. Julie can walk Otto tonight.” A queer white woman in her midforties, with a gorgeous wife, adorable dog, and impeccably decorated apartment, she’s basically my inspiration for living a life on your own terms.
“Are you sure?” I’m already taking off my apron and hanging it on the hook by the back door, while I scribble some notes on receipt paper with the other hand. If she’s going to give me this chance to go home and get words on the page, I’m not going to turn it down.
“Absolutely.” Morgan ties on her own apron, taking my place behind the counter. “Oh, and I saw your request for time off for that holiday party. Are you sure you need just the one night?”
I grimace, the thrill of a new idea dashed by the reminder. “Yeah, I’m not going to spend any more time there than I absolutely have to.”
“Sounds good. Now get home and start writing.”
I wave goodbye to both Josie and Morgan, heading out into the chilly evening air with a pep in my step.
Chapter Four
Nick
