Living the Dream

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. It’s picture prompt time. I’m continuing with Pumpkin Spice. Here’s the image I selected.

“And I have an obligation to my aunt. You may be my employer, but you aren’t my boss. My aunt is family and needs me. This is just a job. Like it or not, I’m going.” I stomped my foot for effect, not that it would do much good. “Fire me if you aren’t happy, but I’m going home.”

He cursed and grabbed my arm. I shook myself free.

“For God’s sake, calm down. The last thing I need is you making a scene. Your aunt’s in Salem, right? That’s only half an hour away. There’s no reason why you can’t just commute. At this time of year, the scenery’s gorgeous—all that red, gold, yellow, and orange. It’ll be a relaxing drive. If it’ll help, you can start at four and leave at ten during the week, but I need you here for your full shift on the weekend. I’ll even let you use your cellphone if you feel the need. If I could, I’d keep you until closing tonight. The place is hopping.” He grinned. “Now, are we good? So what if the old doll fell? She’ll be back on her feet in a day or two.”

I fisted my hands at my side before I punched him, wiping that self-satisfied grin off his face. It wouldn’t take much for me to do it. I’d never liked the man, and he wasn’t improving his chances that I ever would.

“We are most definitely not good,” I ground out through clenched teeth, “and I seriously doubt we ever will be. The old doll, as you called her, is very important to me. She’s broken her hip and requires surgery.” My jaw was so tight my face ached. “She won’t be back on her feet for weeks. She can’t stay alone, and I intend to stay with her.”

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Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales, the place where a select group of authors share their work in progress with you. This week’s word is ANGRY. I’m continuine with my new romanic comedy, Pumpkin Spice.

“I’m sorry to bother you this late, but your aunt slipped earlier this evening and fell down the outside steps. Her neighbor heard her calling for help and phoned 9 1 1.”

I gasped, yanked back to reality. Aunt Selma, actually my great-aunt, was in her sixties, but she’d never seemed old or fragile to me. Still, a fall down the steps at her age could spell trouble. “Is she okay?”

“She’s broken her hip. We’ve scheduled surgery for tomorrow. She’s upset and concerned about the house and her cat. I’d like to speak to you about her prognosis and her recovery. How soon can you get to the hospital?”

“Me? Why me?”

“You’re her only living relative, aren’t you?” he challenged, knowing damn well it was true.

My spirit plummeted as I guessed what was coming next. Aunt Selma wouldn’t be able to live by herself until she was fully healed, if then. I’d wanted an excuse to get away from here, and now I had one. Be careful what you wish for. I was about to be plunged into my worst nightmare—Cole Cottage at Halloween with the man who’d broken my heart. Could things get any worse?

“The soonest I can get to Salem is tomorrow afternoon. How long will she be laid up?”

“I’m not sure. That’ll depend on what arrangements we can make for her care. That house of hers is riddled with stairs.”

“I know, but there’s a main floor bedroom she can use. It’ll take a little reorganizing…”The room off the kitchen was currently used as an office. The first thing I would do was pull the house from the tour and temporarily close down the bar.

Stan came into the room, saw me on the phone, and glared at me, his face reminding me of the red Angry Bird.

“Walt, I’m at work and I have to go. I’ll be there around noon tomorrow, and we can discuss what has to be done. Please let my aunt know I’m on my way.”

“I will. She’s quite concerned about Peanut. It seems she was out looking for her when she fell. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He ended the call. Peanut? I vaguely recalled my aunt mentioning that she’d gotten a new kitten back in August, one someone had abandoned near the cottage. I was pretty sure Calliope, now well past her prime, couldn’t be too happy with that.

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Good morning. I hope you all had a wonderful holiday weekend. Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. Our word today is CELEBRATION. I’m starting a new story, a romantic comedy called PUMPKIN SPICE. It will be part of my Cocktails for You series.

“Drinks up,” I shouted across the bar into the crowded room. With the weather still mild, the garage doors to the patio were open, doubling the capacity of The Gilded Griffon. Thankfully, there was only one more costume-themed weekend to get through this year.

If anyone were to ask me to name my least favorite time of the year, it would be the so-called Halloween season. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the colors associated with autumn, but the unnatural interest in ghost, goblins, witches, vampires, shapeshifters, and the rest of the undead left me cold. Maybe it was because I’d grown up in Salem, the town that drew curious tourists intent on learning all about the misfortunes of others, like my great-great-great-aunt Hester Colton who’d been arrested for witchcraft. She’d been one of the lucky ones, released and sent home after months of incarceration and torture, but her last years had been spent alone, waiting for a husband who never returned from the sea, shunned by family, former friends, and neighbors alike. Today, Cole Cottage, managed by my Great-aunt Selma Cole, was open to the public. While visitors trooped through the house all year long, this month was always the busiest, and I avoided the place the way I had everyone and everything at the height of the pandemic.

I reached for my glass of soda, took a sip, and satisfied that all of my customers were okay, I turned to the next chit of orders. Tonight’s special, the Pumpkin Spice Martini, was a big hit.

“Boy, will I ever be glad when tonight’s over,” Melinda said, pulling on the bowtie that was part of the Hugh Hefner styled bunny costume she wore. “This damn thing is intent on strangling me.” She hung another order chit on the carousel and reached for the tray of martinis I’d set on the bar. “If it weren’t for the tips … Next year, I’ll demand a say in the costumes we have to wear.”

I laughed. “I agree. If I have to hear one more comment about what a cute pussy I am, I swear I’ll scream.”

Melinda laughed. “Well, at least most of you is covered. If it were any colder out, I’d have frostbite!”

“If it were colder out, the patio would be closed, and it would be like an oven in here. The suit may cover more, but the rubbery material itches.”

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Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. Why is it that the older you get, the faster time flies? Here it is the end of June. Half of 2022 is over and done. Soon, we’ll be talking about Christmas again. For my Canadian friends, enjoy Canada Day on Friday, while I wish my American friends a Happy Fourth of July on Monday.

This week’s word prompt is EASY. This is the last post from Trouble with Eden, my contemporary romance.

Jackson’s books sold well, and with the money from the sale of the condominium and what he’d gotten from his mother, he wasn’t financially strapped in any way and was willing to invest not only his time but his money into the business.

Now, she felt confident that they would be able to make things work. Not only had he listened to her, he’d accepted her opinions and had treated her like an equal, the way Dad always had. This time, instead of acting on Dad’s suggestions, she would be taking the lead. She’d known from the start that Jackson would be as different from Jeff as day from night, and he’d proved it.

But it hadn’t been his decision to leave Toronto, the garage, or his books that had filled their lunchtime conversation. He’d wanted to talk about Dwayne, probing her memory about her father, making her dwell on the happy recollections from her childhood. It had been so easy to talk to him, to share all the memories that would’ve brought her to tears a few days ago. The burgeoning attraction she’d felt yesterday had grown exponentially. Could something more come of it? Might Lorraine and her crazy idea about them fated to be together, as her mother and Dwayne had been, have merit?

After they’d finished eating, E J had taken Jackson through the house to see Dad’s oil paintings, explaining what memories they’d captured. She’d taken him into her own room, expecting a comment on the pink canopied bed and frilly drapes, the same ones her mother had chosen all those years ago, the ones she’d been unwilling to change, fearing it would sever her from her mother’s memory once and for all. She’d forgotten about the small, framed sketch Dad had made of her dressed as Tinkerbell for Halloween when she was six. That had been just after they’d moved here… before Mom has lost the baby. There’d never been a second one, and then uterine cancer had taken her.

“You know, I could use that image to create a character in my new book,” he’d said, examining the sketch. “Would you mind if I reproduced it?”

“If you want to,” she’d tried to be nonchalant but was secretly pleased he would want to add a drawing of her to his books. No one else would know it was her, but it would still be a thrill to see one of Dad’s drawings in print.

That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales

Welcome to the first official day of summer, and this week’s edition of Tuesday tales. Our word prompt today is RAKE. I’m continuing with Trouble with Eden, my contemporary romance.

Jackson raked his fingers through his hair, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, but determined to be heard. “Like you, whatever Dwayne was thinking when he drafted his will is a mystery, but rest assured, it’s not my intention to take anything away from Eden.” He preferred using that name for her. “In fact, I’d like to make things easier for her. You say she belongs here, and yet I feel a sense of belonging as well. Call it an instinctive recognition of home. Like a salmon swimming upstream to spawn.” Or an elephant finding his way to the graveyard when it was time to die. He shivered.

“When I got word of the bequest, I knew in my gut it was where I was meant to be.” He paused and cleared his throat. Time to lay it all out there and see what Eden’s friend really thought of his chances. “Don’t you think Eden and I can coexist here? Share the business like she and Dwayne did? Share this house, too? It’s certainly big enough. We’re both alone, or so I’ve been led to believe. Neither of us has any other family. I could move into the apartment. Don’t you think we can make all this work? I’ve washed my hands of Toronto and all the sad memories there.”

“So, you are planning to stay here.” She cocked her head. “I suspected as much when you asked to have your med file updated. I used the business address instead of this one, but if it all works out, that’s an easy fix.” She drank from her cup once more and broke off a piece of the pastry. “You’re right about this being a big house. Dwayne’s grandparents built it just after the war. They had four kids. Sadly, Dwayne’s father was the only one to have children, and it looks like you’re the last of that line.” She buttered the scone, added a dollop of jam, and popped it into her mouth. She swallowed. “Try the scones. Betty is the best cook in the area. I don’t know about the apartment though—you must go down five steps to get to it, something that won’t be easy with a wheelchair, but Betty might not want to give up her new home. She and Eden came to an arrangement that gives her the apartment as part of her salary.”

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Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. Our word prompt is BAUBLE. I’m continuing with Trouble with Eden, my contemporary romance. This scene follows last weeks as Eden recalls her parting with Jeff.

As she’d expected, a furious Jeff had followed, but his rage hadn’t even come close to hers. The scene played itself out in front of her eyes.

“How dare you be so rude to Phil! He’s my best client,” he whispered, his jaw clenched.

She turned toward him, wobbling on the damn heels she’d worn at his request to give her height. “How dare you tell him I would take his lousy job,” she hissed in return. She pulled the engagement ring off her finger and shoved it in the pocket of his jacket. “We’re through; you can keep this and all the other baubles you want to decorate your pigeons with. Give them to someone more in keeping with your needs. I’m a mechanic, and I have no intention of being anything else, including your doormat. I’ll find my own way home.”

He grabbed her arm, his fingers digging painfully into her flesh. “Don’t make a scene,” he growled. “You ungrateful bitch. Wait here. I’ll make our excuses, and we’ll talk about this at home.” The muscle in his jaw had jumped and she’d been afraid.

E J exhaled, the room restoring itself. She hadn’t stayed. Instead, she’d left the hotel and had taken a cab back to Easton Corners. It had cost her a fortune, but she’d been home safe. He’d texted, claiming to be concerned about her, asking where she was. She’d replied with one word, home, and had turned off her phone. He called the office, the landline at the house, but she’d refused to speak to him. Finally, he’d sent a dozen roses with a message saying, that since she needed space, he would give her some and to call when she was ready to talk, ending with “I love you. I know what’s best for both of us.” She tossed the roses and the message in the trash can.

Lorraine had been her confidante, assuring her that what she’d believed had been Jeff’s love had been nothing more than obsession on his part. The man had always wanted what he couldn’t have, and now, that was her.

Hurt and lonely, Eden had retreated into her job, the one thing that had never let her down. Dwayne did his best to see to it that she was happy, but she knew he blamed himself for encouraging her to follow in his footsteps.

That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. Our word prompt for this week is SIMPLE. I’m a few words over the 400, so bear with me. I’m continuing with my Contemporary Romance, Trouble with Eden. Enjoy.

She removed her work boots, put on the slippers she always left by the door, and went into the kitchen for her usual cup of warm milk before bed. The calming drink was one her mother had insisted on for as long as E J could recall, and Dad had continued the ritual.

Memories of sitting at the table with Dad, joking about Thanksgiving dinner, flooded her. God, was that really this weekend? Her eyes welled with tears. She would gladly forego the traditional turkey meal for Dad’s favorite macaroni and cheese if she could have him by her side once more. Dwayne had loved the simple things. Unfortunately, her life now was anything but easy and peaceful. Everything was topsy-turvy. How long before she had to face the possibility of losing this house and her job? It didn’t sound as if Jackson would insist on selling the business, but the house? Sure, they could share it while he was recovering, but once he was back on his feet? Two healthy adults cohabitating? Jeff would have a field day with that. No, she wouldn’t go there tonight. There’d been more than enough unpleasant surprises today. Why invent more?

Leaving the kitchen, mug in hand, she went into the family room and stood before the photograph of her mother, Dwayne, and herself on their wedding day. Mom had worn an ecru dress with a feather fascinator rather than a veil. She stood in front and yet between them, dressed in a long, pink gown, styled in the same fashion as her mother’s, the basket of rose petals she’d carried almost empty. A headband of rosebuds held back her hair. Dwayne, still in the army reserves, had worn his dress uniform. No one could doubt the love radiating from their faces, certainly not the little girl whose toothless smile was as broad as theirs. Would Jackson see the resemblance between her mother and herself? Between him and his father?

She frowned, slowly reexamining her reaction to her houseguest. Jackson was the first man who’d kindled any interest in her since the debacle with Jeff. No doubt her ex would say she was having “Daddy” issues again— spout some bullshit nonsense about transference. One of his pet peeves had been that she’d turned to Dwayne more than she’d turned to him. Why wouldn’t she? He was her father, a man who treated her as an equal and had put her happiness first.

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Wow! June already here, and the world is simply getting crazier. Mass shootings in the US, strange new diseases and variants making headlines, meteors coming closer to the Earth than ever, close friends losing relatives, or being seriously ill themselves, and insane weather patterns causing destruction unlike anything we’ve seen. And that was just last month. I shudder to think what this month will bring.

This month’s question is ” June 1 question – When the going gets tough writing the story, how do you keep yourself writing to the end? If have not started the writing yet, why do you think that is and what do you think could help you find your groove and start?

To be honest, my head gets so caught up in the dismal news that it saps my desire to write, so if I haven’t started a story, and there are a few on the backburner waiting for me, that’s probably the reason. It’s hard to write happy go lucky stories when the world around you seems to be falling apart, when people you know personally face pain and sorrow, and when there is no guarantee that tomorrow will be a better day.

As to the first part of the question, I tend to function better when I have a deadline to meet and some degree of pressure to do so. Left to my own devices, I usually manage to find other things that sap the time from me. If I have a deadline, I can get my butt in the seat and get things done. I may have to reread what I’ve written, if I’m stuck, but usually knowing time is running out is all it takes to get me motivated to finish. Sometimes, I find it hard to be as upbeat in the story, but I get it done.

How about you? Check out other answers here: https://www.insecurewriterssupportgroup.com/p/iwsg-sign-up.html

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. As hard as it is to believe, May is over and we’re on to June. Time certainly moves more quickly these days. I’m continuing with Trouble with Eden, my contemporary romance.

“Thanks.” E J turned to him. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here. I’ll see you sometime tomorrow.”

Before he could stop her, she was out the door and down the hall.

“Do you want to use the bathroom before you get into bed?” Betty asked, the suitcase already open in front of her.

He chuckled. “I would. If you’ll wheel me closer to the door, I can manage the last couple of meters with the crutches.”

She nodded. “Have you got pajamas in here?” She indicated his case.

“No, but I have boxers and t-shirt. It’s what I normally wear, and if you open the case, while they may be wrinkled, they’ll be welcome. My toiletries are in there, and I’ll brush my teeth. I don’t think I have the energy to eat.”

The woman smiled. “I’m sure you’re tuckered out. I doubt missing one meal will set your recovery back, but you must have your pills. I’ll take out what you need for tonight and look after the rest. You’ll see, back in your own clothing, with a good night’s sleep under your belt, you’ll be feeling better in no time.”

“I hope so. The last thing I want to be is a burden. It looks like Eden has enough on her plate.”

“Ach, E J’s fine. That girl’s a tough little cookie as Dwayne used to say. No matter how busy she is, she always finds time for those in need. I was quite disappointed when her wedding plans fell through, but then I never liked that Jeff. Not country born and bred—although I suppose I could say the same about you, but you have Dwayne’s genes. That will make a difference. A man who can’t stand to get his hands dirty isn’t what our E J needs. People around here would do anything for her. Now, you get yourself changed. I’ll get the bed ready, and you can get to sleep as soon as you’ve taken your meds. I’ll be staying up until eleven, and I’ve programmed my number into that cellphone. If you wake up and you need anything, just call. I’m right next door. The sooner you get your strength back, the sooner you and E J can get matters settled.”

Jackson shook his head. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

Betty’s face grew stern. “That’s easy. Don’t hurt my girl.”

That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. Hard to believe we’ve had our first long weekend of summer, but the weather has been good, so here’s hoping for many more. This week, our word prompt is PIPE. I’m continuing with Trouble with Eden, my contemporary romance.

Betty frowned. “Have you been doing breathing therapy?”

“Yes, ma’am. Twice a day using a blue plastic pipe that they gave me.”

“Good.”

“I told you that Betty would take care of you.” She chuckled. “Now, I’ll get your stuff inside. Do you want a quick tour now, or are you ready to lie down?”

“More than ready for that. I’m not going to be much company tonight I’m afraid.”

Eden shook her head as she grabbed his computer bag, suitcase, and crutches, handing him the bag with the breathing machine and the one from the drugstore.

Nodding his thanks, he let Betty push him up the ramp.

“Was this always here?” he asked as they navigated the ramp.

“No. E J had the boys whip it up a couple of days ago when she thought of borrowing the wheelchair.”

He looked up at her as she stood by the door. “Thank them for me.” He sighed. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Somehow, this wasn’t the way I’d planned to make myself known to you.” But maybe this was better. This way she would at least have a little sympathy for him.

She chuckled. “You can thank the guys from the garage yourself. As much as you might’ve enjoyed a lot of peace and quiet at the hospital, you’re going to be the main attraction around here for the next couple of weeks. You might as well get used to it—especially if you plan to stick around. Dwayne was well-liked and well-respected. People are going to want to meet his son.”

He wrinkled his brow in concern. Playing goldfish in the bowl wasn’t one of his favorite games. “Does everyone know our history?”

“No. That’s your story to tell, but I’m sure they have a lot of different theories.” She held the door open for him and Betty and then, bypassing the front of the house, led him down the hall. “My bedroom is over here on the left.” She indicated the door as they passed it. “The two on the other side are guest rooms that share a bathroom. I have my own, and there’s a powder room off the kitchen. Betty has an apartment attached to the back of the house. It used to be Dad’s smoking room before he gave up his pipe.” She opened the door at the end of the hall and stepped inside. “This was Dad’s room.”

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