Chapter 15
GEORGE
I made it home without losing any parts to frostbite (and, bonus, without encountering any wild animals larger than a squirrel).
I took a shower to warm up. I brewed some coffee with my new French press.
I made a few social media posts, which I know will make Anabel happy since she’s always after me to interact more with my fans.
Then I stopped for dinner because, after all, I have to eat. I prepared one of the packages of mac & cheese, discovered it was almost inedible, then guiltily stole some kind of pesto fish from Owen’s freezer (it was magnificent).
And now… now I’m well and truly out of excuses. It’s time to get to work.
I decide to work on the four-season porch, where I can position myself on the couch with my computer in my lap and stare out at absolutely nothing but the dark night. No distractions (well, except the ones in my head). But I’m going to sit, and I’m going to write, and I’m not going to move.
Okay, except it is awfully cold out on the four-season porch (in fact, I’m pretty sure that’s a misnomer—I’d say it’s good for two and a half seasons at best). Which, I suppose, is the reason there’s a wood-burning stove out here.
Right. So I’ll just start a fire, and then I’ll work.
I bundle up and go outside to grab some firewood, then return to find the long matches, kindling, and newspaper in baskets by the stove.
I set the wood and the kindling inside. While fire building isn’t something I normally do, I have written enough scenes in wintry Swiss chalets and isolated wilderness assignations to grasp the basic gist of the procedure.
Except… Well, I have a little bit of a hard time getting the fire going. But once I’ve got it going, it’s really going. Not so much the flames, but the smoke. There’s lots of smoke. There’s lots and lots of smoke. I’m no expert, but it kind of seems like it might be a little too much smoke…