Twenty-Nine
Winter
One of the lovely things I realized hasn’t changed is the special winter menu at the coffee shop.
After all these years, they still offer the Chai Nog, a delicious iced chai latte that uses eggnog instead of milk.
I walk out of the town coffee shop with my favorite winter drink in hand and almost make it to my rental car when my phone beeps.
Shifting my drink to the other hand, I reach into my purse to grab it, but when I see who it is, I almost wish I hadn’t.
Alex: I haven’t received your latest project yet.
Me: Still working on it.
Dots in the message thread indicate he’s typing back, but instead of another text message, a call from him comes through.
For all of maybe ten seconds, I consider what would happen if I didn’t answer. He’d know I ignored him if I did that, though, since I’ve just replied to his message.
I do my best to sound like I’m not annoyed when I answer.
“Hi, Alex.”
“Winter,” he greets gruffly. “Why do I not have your project yet?”
I’m speechless for a minute. I sent him a message after my dad’s accident and let him know I was going to be needing a little break. All he did was send a thumbs-up. Now I wonder if he understood the implications.
“My dad was in an accident. Remember?” I prompt.
He scoffs. “It’s been weeks since then, Winter.”
“Yeah, it was a bad accident. He had to have surgery to fix his leg. He was in the ICU and everything.”
“What does that have to do with you?” he demands.
“My family has needed me, Alex. My mom’s been staying in the hospital with my dad, and I’ve needed to help with my brothers. And this month is their busiest time at the farm—”
“I still don’t see the point, Winter,” he cuts me off.
“I’ve been helping watch my younger brother while neither of our parents is there. My parents aren’t able to run the farm and the events it hosts this time of year. That’s the big moneymaker for my family. I had to step in and help.”
“Winter, I don’t think you understand the importance of this meeting. You need to be here January 2, in New York City, with the completed project in hand.”
The beep I hear after he speaks clues me in that he hung up.
Before I can put my phone back into my purse, a new text from him comes through.
Alex: Not just your contract is at stake—your future.
My heartbeat thrums in an erratic rhythm as I shove my phone into my bag and chug some of my favorite drink, but even that cannot raise my spirits now.
I cross the downtown square, walking around the gazebo that is all decked out for Christmas, and enter the general store.
Today, my dad is being moved from the hospital to his rehab facility. Mom asked me to pick up some items to make his room there homier.
I browse the aisles and grab a pillow shaped like a Christmas tree and a soft throw blanket. My basket quickly fills up with toiletries, snacks, and even a little plant for his bedside table.
A girl I went to school with rings up my items and cashes me out. She tries to make small talk, but I’m still thinking about the ominous text from my agent and what it could mean.
Thankfully, with the major events over for the farm and Dad moving into the rehab, Mom will be home more, so I’ll have to buckle down on writing for the next couple of weeks. I’ve still barely begun, probably because my confidence has taken a major hit after readers hated my last book.
My holiday cheer is looking a lot bleaker by the second.
I leave the store and head to my dad’s rehab facility, which is thankfully here in town, instead of thirty minutes away like the hospital. I’ll drop off his stuff, visit for a few minutes if he’s awake, then I’ll swing by Saint’s house to get some writing done.
It’ll all be fine. Hopefully.