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My Week at a Buddhist Retreat.
Birding – What’s the Appeal?
He pushed his laptop aside and stood. He strode to the fire and poked at the flames, then added another log. He walked to the window, cracked his knuckles, returned to the radio, and fiddled with the knobs.
Brooke wrote,The Art of the Blanket Fort.
“Station twenty?” Sam shouted into the mic. “Do you read me?”
He turned up the volume, and a flood of static filled the room. She listed a few names of psychologists as possible expert sources about birding.
After trying for another five minutes to reach the ranger station, Sam put the mic down. He leafed through the old paperbacks, opened the board games to poke at the contents, and shook a deck of cards into his hands. Then he wandered around shuffling the cards.
What about stories of women who’d changed their lives after the age of fifty? Or families who’d decided to take their kids and start traveling full-time? People who took a leap of faith without knowing if there would be a safety net.
Sam stopped pacing, still shuffling the cards. “What’re you working on?”
“My freelance story ideas.” Her gaze was drawn unwillingly to his hands, which were large and dexterous. The cards almost danced in his capable grip. He flexed his fingers with unconscious effort, letting the cards fall in a perfect arc before straightening them with a flick of his palms.
What would his hands feel like on her bare skin?
The thought bloomed hot and hard. A shiver raced over her.
Determinedly, she positioned her pen over the paper.Dating the Zodiac Way.
With a mutter, Sam tossed the cards on the shelf and walked to the kitchen. He opened the fridge. Bowls and spoons clinked, cabinet doors slammed, water ran, and the microwave whirred. Foil crinkled as he tore open a bag of chips.
Pacing from the kitchen to the door and back again—which for him was all of five strides—he crunched noisily through handfuls of chips.
Brooke took a sip of tea. Maybe she could talk to Destiny about an article on how to incorporate wellness practices into a daily routine. Or what about rune casting? That had a mystical history extending back to the druids or something.
Sam shoved another handful of chips into his mouth.
She wrote,Self-Soothing Techniques for Riled-up Men.
“How can you just sit there?” he suddenly thundered.
Brooke looked up. “I’m not just sitting here. I’m working.”
“On what?”
“I told you, my freelance ideas.” She set her pen down with a slight frown.
“There’s a blizzard out there.” He flung his arm toward the window.
“Yes, I know. It’s eased up quite a bit, though.”
“You shouldn’t have come up here alone.”
“Well, clearly I didn’t know there was going to be a blizzard.”
“Clearly.” He brushed crumbs from his shirt onto the floor and grabbed another handful of chips.
Brooke folded her arms. “Would you like to tell me what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Is it your book?” She tried another angle. “What’sTripwireabout?”
