“I think Sarah’s got enough to go home with for today,” Lance interjected to stop his grandmother before the woman gifted Sarah the ranch in its entirety. He honestly wouldn’t put it past her.
“You know me.” Nana Jo chuckled heartily. “It’s your fault if you leave here empty-handed.”
He knew. He also knew there was never a chance of leaving with an empty stomach, or an empty heart.
And today, every part of him felt full, to the point of overflowing.
CHAPTER 7
“It’s a perfect idea,” Dahlia Goldberg, the Library Director, said, tipping the end of her ballpoint pen toward Sarah to punctuate her enthusiasm. “I love it, and I know our community will, too.”
Sarah released a breath. She’d been holding it all morning, waiting for the opportunity to bring up the writer’s retreat to her boss. Finally, five minutes before clocking out, she’d mustered the courage to flag Dahlia down in the picture book section and spill her request.
She’d hoped for an agreeable response but had not counted on Dahlia’s level of shared excitement.
“I’ve got a long list of author friends I’d be willing to email you. Most are relatively local, with San Diego being the furthest, I think. I’m sure a handful of them would love to participate. Writers are always looking for a good excuse to hole up and pen their latest novel,” Dahlia said with a laugh. “What’s your timeline for this sort of thing?”
Oh. Sarah hadn’t given much thought to that. She wanted permission first before she let her vision become a full-fledged plan.
“April?” she threw out there for no other reason than it was the first month to come to mind.
Dahlia’s grin slipped from her face. “That’s when we host our big Book Swap.”
“Summer, then? June, maybe?”
“June’s the Read-a-thon.” The librarian bit the inside of her cheek. “Believe it or not, our calendar fills up fast after late-February. But between now and then we have some downtime. Any chance you could pull something like this off in the next few weeks?”
Sarah hadn’t counted on such a short timeframe. Would it even be possible to coordinate with the authors that quickly? Sarah knew there was an inevitable lull after the holidays. Christmas was the busiest time of year in Snowdrift Summit, thanks to the holiday traditions and community festivities that drew crowds from all over. But now they were two weeks into January, and everything seemed to slow down. Maybe Dahlia was right? Maybe it was a good time to host a retreat—something to pull the town together again and beat those unavoidable winter blues. Something to rally around and get excited about.
Sarah still hadn’t responded to her boss’s question, and Dahlia interpreted that as something else entirely. “It’s okay to say that it would be biting off more than you can chew at the moment.”
“No.” Sarah’s head whipped so quickly, the strands of her long curls fanned out around her shoulders. “No. I can pull that off. Definitely.”
“Perfect. I really do think this is just what our town—and our little library—needs. Great brainstorming.” A hand clamped onto Sarah’s shoulder. “I’ll get you that list of authors this afternoon so you can start making connections. And you’ll needa venue for this. A place for the writers to stay. Have you thought that far ahead?”
She hadn’t, but there weren’t many options when it came to lodging in Snowdrift Summit. Sure, there were larger hotel chains once you got closer to Lake Tahoe, but in their neck of the woods, accommodations for big groups were few and far between.
“I’ll head right over to the Snowdrift Inn and check on their availability,” Sarah said definitively.
“Ah, yes. Love that place. Ideal spot for a retreat.” Dahlia gave a clipped but encouraging nod. “I really like this, Sarah. If you can pull it off, we might have to put you in charge of more around here. This could be pretty epic.”
Those had been the exact words Sarah had longed to hear, but not the ones she’d been expecting. Having her boss’s permission—along with her excitement—was a big win, and she rode that high all the way to the Snowdrift Inn. Even when she turned her key to power down her car, she couldn’t help but pause a beat just to sit with her thoughts, a proud smile on her face.
Yes, the original idea to host a writer’s retreat was a means to secure her position at the library. But when it came down to it, this was exactly the sort of thing Sarah wanted to be a part of. She’d gone to several author signings in her life, but to be surrounded by creative minds for a weeklong event was something out of her wildest dreams. She’d never told anyone, but penning her own story was something Sarah aspired to. Motherhood pushed the pause button on that particular life goal, but she knew one day—when things slowed and she had the luxury of free time to herself—she would write her own romance story.
Plus, she figured she would need a little inspiration for that sort of thing. It wasn’t as if her own life had given her much to work with other than chapters of heartbreak and failed hopes.
She eagerly anticipated the chance to connect with and learn from those who had already accomplished what her heart longed to achieve.
Every time she would slide a book onto the shelf at the library, just the sight of the publishing house’s imprint on the spine made her heart strain with an envious joy. She could only imagine the thrill the author must have felt when they received the call from their agent with the good news. To have someone appreciate your writing enough to acquire it was a goal Sarah hoped to fulfill in her lifetime.
But for now, she was content surrounding herself with the stories of others. Her time would come.
She hadn’t called ahead to Sterling Winslow, the innkeeper, to give him notice of her arrival, but she figured it was still early enough in the day that he would be easy to track down.
Sarah loved the Snowdrift Inn. It was just five minutes from their little downtown, off the main drag and a quick jaunt up the Summit. It was the only structure in Snowdrift that favored a more Victorian style in architecture, with pitched rooflines and a wraparound porch that begged for a rocking chair and a good book. As a local, Sarah had never had the opportunity to stay overnight at the Inn, but it was always the place she recommended to travelers heading up to the Summit. Sterling was known for his hospitality and kindness, treating his guests like family and long-lost friends.
Today, when she grasped the cold brass doorknob and gave it a good twist, that hospitality poured out with a single greeting.
