But how on earth could she express that to this kind elderly woman who seemed to have no business in her little café? And really, this was probably her own fault for ordering coffee in a tea house.
She set the mug onto the table. “You know what? I was just looking at your tea list. I’m not much of a tea drinker, but they have me intrigued.”
Excitement lit the older woman’s eyes. “Oh, all the teas here are marvelous. They’re loose leaf and mostly organic. Unfortunately, when I opened this store a few years ago, I found there aren’t many tea drinkers around. I’m not sure if it’s a Montana thing or a—”
“It’s an American thing. Not big tea drinkers. But I’d love to try some.” Kind of. It had to be better than the coffee.
“What kind would you like?”
“What do you recommend?”
“Earl Grey is a favorite of mine.”
“Earl Grey sounds wonderful.”
If it was terrible, she’d ask about sweet tea. It didn’t seem to be on the menu, but maybe… “I’m Aspen, by the way.”
“Mrs. Gerald. I’ll go get your tea.”
When Mrs. Gerald walked away, Aspen cast her gaze around the empty store. There wasn’t another soul in sight. Was it always like this? The place was big, with stairs to a mezzanine level upstairs. It wasn’t styled in an overly tea-house kind of way. In fact, it looked kind of like a normal coffee shop.
She eyed baked goods in the display case. Nowtheylooked good. Pies, scones…even the mini chocolate cakes.
She looked back at the screen of her laptop and tapped her nails against the wooden tabletop. She was procrastinating. Procrastinating when she should be working. But the blank page was a great example of the fact that not a lot of work was happening.
She wanted to blame the quiet tea house because she tended to like noise and movement around her when she worked. But that wasn’t fair. Lately, it didn’t seem to matter where she was,there were no ideas to be typed. None. Squat. Her head was empty. Completely and utterly empty.
Okay, Aspen, if there was any time to be inspired, it’d be now.
She put her fingers on the keyboard, trying not to let the blank page intimidate her.
She wrote a sentence. Then deleted it. She wrote another sentence…and deleted it again.
Dammit, Aspen, come on. This is your job.
Maybe she needed to read the previous chapter she’d written…that sometimes helped.
She scrolled up and started reading.
Five sentences in and she hated it. Not just a little bit. Huge, gigantic belly punches of hate. Her hero sounded like a pompous prick, and her heroine did nothing but complain. They weren’t likeable characters, not even a little bit.Shedidn’t even like them, and she’dwrittenthem.
Her finger hovered over the delete key, but she hesitated. What if she wrote negative words again? And what if every day she deleted a bit more until she had nothing? No book. No new release. But was no book better than a bad book?
If she couldn’t write anymore, she’d have to get another job. But she wasn’t good at anything else.
Maybe if she just stared at a blank page long enough, the words would come to her.
Ha. She’d tried that yesterday…didn’t work.
“Here you go.” Mrs. Gerald set a pot of tea onto the table with a teacup, saucer, and a little pot of milk beside it. “Let me know what you think.”
“Thank you.”
Instead of walking away, the old woman watched.
Oh, she wanted her to try it right now. That was a bit of pressure.
She poured some tea into the cup and added a dash of milk before taking a sip. She flinched when the burning liquid touched the tip of her tongue. Holy crack on a cracker, it was hot.
