“You haven’t met him? That’s a little strange.”
“Yeah. I hope he’s not an asshole. I’m already worried.”
“Why? Does he have noisy pets or something? Women coming and going all hours of the night? Give me the deets! You’ve been holding out on me.”
“No. I mean well, I don’t know. It’s just that it’s December now and Christmas is right around the corner…”
“Christmas?” Tina asks confused.
“Yeah and he’s not put out one single decoration. It’s downright depressing. When the Monroe family lived there they decked the place out. Actually my whole street decorates. This guy not decorating is making the house stick out like a sore thumb.”
“Wait. If you haven’t seen him, how do you know it’s a man?”
“Lisa at the realtor office told me. He’s supposed to be some kind of recluse. She said he was a writer, but she didn’t recognize his name, so he must not be that great.”
“Well, hey. Maybe he uses one of those pen names. You know?”
“Maybe,” I shrug.
“Let me know if he’s cute… Oh! And if he’s single!” she says excitedly.
“Whatever. I don’t really care what he is or isn’t. I’m mostly hoping that getting a delivery of Christmas cookies, will give him the urge—”
“To sample other things you might offer him?” Tina giggles, trying to move her eyebrows back and forth. Sadly, she doesn’t, so it mostly looks like she might need to go poop.
“To decorate his damn house! Or at least put up a tree! I just know he’s going to cost my street the Juniper Springs County trophy this year for best décor!”
“The horror!” Tina mocks.
“I hate you. Just for that you’re locking up completely on your own,” I grumble. I put on my coat and then grab the two containers off the counter.
Tina just doesn’t get it. Then again, most people don’t understand my love of Christmas—which is sad.
It’s the most wonderful time of the year! I giggle thinking of the old song and then I hum it as I make my way to the Senior Citizen’s building at the end of town. Time to spread some cheer. At least Ms. Reynolds will appreciate it.
Chapter 2
Eb
I rub the tension at the back of my neck. It’s been a long fucking day. I’m working under a deadline. I need to have the first draft of this damn book finished in two weeks and the way things are going, there’s no way that’s going to happen. I had to be fucking insane to plan a move this close to my contractual obligations. I wish I had never signed that damn contract. There was a time writing was fun for me, but it’s been so long ago I can barely remember it.
Now it’s all about the Benjamins.
The thing about money is once you have a taste of the good life, you keep wanting more of it. It’s a vicious damn cycle.
Still, today I seemed to have gotten in a groove. I’ve knocked out chapter after chapter and I’m actually liking the direction of the story. I’m typing away when… all at once I hear it.
Outside my window there’s… singing. Several people singing actually, and at least two of them have to be completely tone deaf. All thought processes screech to a halt suddenly and as someone’s voice cracks on Silent Night. Screech seems to be a good word to use. Jesus.
When I asked my agent to help find a rental that was in a quiet town in Nowhere USA, I thought she had finally come through with Juniper Springs, Colorado. I should have been more specific, however. This whole place has gone Christmas crazy. My neighbor’s decorations alone hurt my eyes to look at. I’ve had to have total blackout blinds installed and I swear there’s still traces of light that seem to infiltrate my house. How the fuck they manage to pay their electric bill is beyond me. The place should be declared a national security risk. I’m pretty sure that there are planes above mistaking their yard for an airport runway, all because of the fucking lights.
I stand up, stretching muscles which are sore from lack of use. I don’t know how many hours I’ve been sitting at my damn computer, but I’m pretty sure when I started that it was barely daylight. One glance at the clock tells me that night will be falling soon.
No wonder I’m fucking sore.
I might as well take a break and regroup since no more writing will be done today. I walk into the kitchen wondering if there is anything in here worth eating. I pull back the lid to the pizza I had delivered yesterday…or maybe a couple of days before. I can’t really remember. When I’m writing I tend to get lost in the story and lose track of time. There’s still a piece left and there’s no mold on it, so I figure I’m good. I don’t bother heating it up. Warmed up pizza is for men who shave their balls.