“Yep, sounds great.”
“Alright. See you then.”
His lips find mine once more before he turns to leave. As soon as the bell chimes his exit, Sydney comes running back from behind the shelves, screaming quietly.
“Mellie!” Sydney hugs me. “Text me tonight after. Or tomorrow morning—I don’t know your life. I will need every. Single. Detail.” She punctuates each word with a thrust of her hips, making me laugh.
“Duh,” I reply. I fan my face, walking around the desk to plop into one of the over-sized chairs. “Even after this past weekend, this still feels surreal.”
Sydney grins at me from behind the desk. “I haven’t shipped anyone this hard since Bella and Edward. This is fuckingfantastic.”
“Syd, that was like, almost twenty years ago.” I pause, my eyes widening. “Wow, I really regret saying that out loud.”
“Yeah, well, they’re still my favorite couple. I don’t care how old I get.”
“You have an unhealthy obsession withTwilight. I’m just being real with you.”
“You say obsession, I sayappreciation,” Sydney replies. “Tomatoes, toe-ma-toes.”
“I feel ancient. I have to look at when that book actually came out now.” I pull out my phone and search for the release date. “Oh my God, it was 2006. Itwasalmost twenty years ago. Excuse me while I go hide in a dark corner and wither away.”
“Well, put your existential crisis on hold until tomorrow, old lady, because I need to live vicariously through your date tonight. We don’t have time for any breakdowns today, Grandma.”
“I wish I had something to throw at you right now.”
“Please, you’d be so bored without me.” Sydney sips her coffee, unbothered.
The bell chimes over the entrance as a family comes sweeping into the store, the two young kids running through the shelves toward our children’s area in the back. The parents smile at us as they pass, following their children.
“You’re lucky they showed up when they did or I may have resorted to throwing a shoe,” I say to Sydney after they walk by. I push out of the comfortable chair, and ready myself for the next rush of customers.
To Sydney’s disappointment, my date with Ronin has been postponed. He received a call from his grandparents earlier, requesting his assistance immediately at their home. Julian took a hard fall and bruised his hip pretty badly. Ronin called me just before I left the bookstore, his voice full of sorrow as he explained Nora needed his help at the house. He promised to make it up to me soon.
I find myself at home before I know it, settling in for a night of writing. But before I dive into full writer-mode, I make a quick list for the market, planning to bring over some food tomorrow evening so Nora doesn’t have to worry about cooking.
Sitting on my bed, my hair pulled up into a messy bun and wearing my favorite comfortable sweatpants and hoodie, I’m ready to go full-blown writer gremlin. Settling into the pillows behind me, my laptop propped on my lap, I stare at the blinking cursor on the blank page.
It’s mocking me, that incessant blinking. Who did I think I was, trying to write a story? I’m not an author.
I sigh, leaning my head back against my pillow.
“Okay, Mellie, let’s think,” I say out loud. “Who are your characters? Why are they both at this inn, alone?”
I decide to make an outline instead of diving right into the story. I type up a brief summary of events and make a short list of characters, keeping the plot simple for the purposes of the short story. There is a bad snowstorm and both main characters happen to be driving home. They each decide to pull over for the night. When they both arrive at the only inn in town, they realize they recognize each other, both secretly pining for the other for quite some time.
When the innkeeper informs them there is only one room available, they decide to share. To the reader’s delight, when the pair get to their room, they find there is only one bed. I plan to keep the romance level pretty tame. This story is more about the emotional connection the two share.
Now that I’ve got a solid outline, I open a new document page. Instead of letting the blinking cursor intimidate me again, I jump right in, reminding myself I can always go back and change things if it’s awful.
It’s too quiet, so I pop in my earbuds and choose one of my lofi playlists. The words flow out of me as I lose myself in the music and the story, weaving the tale of these characters’ meet-cute.
I snap out of my writing haze a while later, checkingthe time and shocked to see a couple of hours have gone by. It’s late, and I have work in the morning, so I close my laptop and lay back against my pillows.
I pull the covers over me and snuggle in, falling asleep before I can form another thought.
The afternoon sun is warm on my back as I sit behind the desk in The Reading Nook, scrolling through the bit of writing I got done last night. I switch off chewing on the tip of my pen for a bite of my sandwich.
All in all, it’s not terrible. But it feels like it’s missing that special something that hooks a reader, especially in such a short format. Who cares about a silly one-bed story? What doesthisstory have that will make it stand out above the others?
