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Hesaw her immediately and winked at her before stepping behind the front desk, his strong fingers moving quickly over the keyboard.Sheswallowed thickly, openly staring.Thinkingabout the feel of his mouth on hers again.Theway he’d rasped out “fuck, that’s hot,” when he’d learned that her books had some steamy bits.
Sheopened her laptop and then immediately opened a new document.Hewas right.Forgetthe outline.ForgetanythingSethhad had his hands on.Whatdidshemost want to write?Whatkind of story did she want to tell?
Sheglanced over inAdam’sdirection again to find his eyes on her.Whentheir gazes met, he lifted his eyebrows slightly and made a typing motion with his hands, followed by a thumbs up.Themessage was clear.
Justwrite.You’vegot this.
Awave of happiness so intense it made her want to bounce out of her seat washed over her.Actingpurely on instinct, she reached for her phone, wanting to textLeahto tell her all aboutAdamandGossamerFalls.Butshe couldn’t textLeah, because they weren’t friends anymore, and it was moments like this, moments she wanted to share her life, when she felt the loss most acutely.
Sheset the phone down and returned her focus to the fresh, new document in front of her.Sheglanced out the windows, at theHudsonHighlands, around the gorgeous sunroom, and then finally back atAdam.
Andshe knew.Sheknew exactly what she wanted to write.Theidea came to her in a flash, fully formed and tangible.Obviousbut still exciting.Herfingers started to fly across the keys.Withinminutes, she was in that flow state, where the story poured out of her, faster than her fingers could move.
Shewasn’t aware of time passing untilAdamquietly set down a steaming mug full of coffee beside her.Hepressed a kiss to her temple and then disappeared as quickly as he’d arrived, but that didn’t stop her from taking a second to appreciate the hell out of his rounded, muscular ass in his jeans.
Shecradled the mug in her hands, blowing steam away from the rim as her eyes skimmed over what she’d just written.Asmile pulled at her lips as relief poured over her like warm sunshine.
Evenif what she had on the page didn’t end up beingTheBook, it felt good to know that she could still write.Thatshe could still make something out of nothing.Putwords and emotions on a page.
Themain character wasMaryElizabethAxton, the author of the belovedGossamerFallslegend that she’d read a few times over now.ExceptthatMaryElizabethAxtondidn’t live in the 1890s.Shelived in present dayMassachusettsand was a professor atWellesley.Shewas also grieving for her husband, who’d died from a rare form of brain cancer just over a year ago.Herlife felt stagnant.Sad, and lonely.Andso, she decided on a whim to visit the picturesque town ofGossamerFalls.
Hazelhad written two chapters—one introducingMaryElizabeth, her world, and her grief, and a second, where she traveled toGossamerFallsand visited the landmark under the light of the full moon.Thechapter ended with something wholly unexpected happening, however—she slipped on a rock and tumbled into the creek, hitting her head.Shenearly drowned, but was eventually rescued.
Bya man in period clothing.Becauseunbeknownst to her, she’s traveled back in time to 1864.
Hazelhad never written about time travel before, despite the fascination she had for the concept.Butwhenever she’d tried to make the concept actually work, her brain started to hurt, and she couldn’t keep the converging timelines straight.Butfor this story, it felt like a natural choice.Theobvious choice.
Shestretched and picked up her empty coffee cup, glancing at the front desk.Autumnwas there, and she gaveHazela little wave as she spoke on the phone.Needingto get up and get her blood flowing, she walked into the lounge, depositing her coffee cup on a little tray reserved for used cups and dishes.Shewandered to the window, but she looked out at the front of the hotel’s grounds without really seeing anything; her mind was still back in 1864 withMaryElizabeth.Shecouldn’t remember the last time she’d lost herself to the fog of a story like this.Whereit seemed to envelop her and take over her brain.
Shewandered across the room and started perusing the bookshelves, trailing her fingers over the spines of the books, some worn, some fairly new.Acold but gentle breeze brushed past her, carrying the scent of roses and hot chocolate, andHazel’sfingers started to tingle.Sheglanced at where they’d landed on a lime green book.
Itwas calledTimeTravelinEinstein’sUniverse:ThePhysicalPossibilitiesofTravelThroughTimebyJ.RichardGott.
“Noway,” she whispered, yanking the book off the shelf.Sheskimmed the description on the back, snippets of phrases making her pulse race and the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention.
“…Buildingon theories posited byEinsteinand advanced by scientists such asStephenHawkingandKipThorne,Gottexplains how time travel can actually occur…” she read out loud, and then let out a small laugh. “Unbelievable.Ican’t…”
Thescent of roses and hot chocolate washed over her again, and she smiled, clutching the book to her chest. “Thankyou,” she whispered, and hurried back to the sunroom with her treasure.
“You’renot going to believe what just happened,” she said toAutumnas she passed the front desk.
Autumnshrugged. “Iprobably will,” she said with a little smile.
Hazellaughed again.God, she’d laughed more in the past forty-eight hours than she had in the past year. “I’vedecided to write a book with a heavy time travel element.SomethingI’vealways been interested in, but always too intimidated to touch.Iwent into the lounge to stretch my legs, andIfelt like something—or someone—was practically handing me this book.”Sheheld it up forAutumnto see, and a wide smile spread across the younger woman’s face.
“Goodjob,Grams.That’sexactly what she was looking for.”
“Thanks,Grams,” addedHazel, and she could’ve sworn she caught the faint scent of roses one last time.
“So,” saidAutumn, leaning on her elbows, her chin in her hands. “Ihear you’re having dinner withAdamtonight.Itake it the cider tasting went well?”Shegrinned expectantly atHazel, and she felt that spark of connection, of friendship towardsAutumn.Thewarmth, the trust, the desire to share.
Hazelblushed slightly and zipped her thumb through the book’s pages, relishing the scent of paper and the soft burr. “Verywell.Bestfirst dateI’veever had, honestly.Wetalked for hours, and then…well,Idon’t want to getTMIwith you.”
“Pleasetell me that idiot kissed you.”
Hazellaughed. “Hedid.Lastnight, and then again this morning.”
Autumn’seyebrows practically flew into her hairline. “Thismorning?Doesthat mean—”
