SEALed at Midnight (5 page)

But when she’d taken this job as a house sitter, she supposed she'd become the twenty-four hour handyman.

She probably should have thought this over better before taking on the responsibility of a whole house, five acres and a barn in Massachusetts in winter.

Hindsight always had been Ginny’s strength. She sighed and turned her mind to brighter thoughts. As long as the lights stayed on, everything would be okay.

“So what are you doing for Christmas Day?”

“Marco is taking me to the city to see the tree at Rockefeller Center and look at the window decorations, then back to his place for a romantic dinner.”

It was Ginny's turn to be jealous.

Her friend not only had a great job, a fabulous condo, and parents who supported everything she did, but also a hot new boyfriend with an Italian accent to go along with his expensive Italian sports car.

“That sounds perfect. You better text and tell me what he bought you for Christmas the minute you open it.” Ginny might as well be completely green with envy and get it all over with at once.

“I will. Promise. Are you going to be all right up there by yourself if you get snowed in and can't drive home tomorrow?”

“Sure. There's food in the fridge.”

“But what if the power does go out?”

“There’s firewood on the porch and plenty of candles in the house. I’ll be fine even if the power goes out.” Ginny dismissed Molly’s concern, sounding more confident than she felt.

“Okay, but I'll make sure I keep my cell phone on in case you need anything.”

“Thanks.” Ginny didn't know what Molly and Marco were going to be able to do for her. If the roads proved so bad she couldn't drive south to Stamford, they wouldn't be able to drive north to Springfield either, but she did appreciate the offer.

The lights flickered again and she stifled a groan. She didn’t need Molly, in an attempt to help, reporting back to her mother that she was sitting alone in the dark. Her mom’s I-told-you-so would be more than Ginny could stand.

“I’m going to go. I think I’ll bring in some wood and make a fire.”

Even if the power didn’t go out, a cozy snowy Christmas Eve spent in front of a roaring fireplace seemed slightly less sad.

“That sounds nice. You should open a bottle of wine and enjoy your night alone.”

Spoken like a woman who had a boyfriend and didn’t have to spend any night alone if she didn’t want to. “Will do. Good night, Mol.”

“Good night and happy Christmas Eve.”

“Happy Christmas Eve to you too.” She disconnected before Molly could dispense any more holiday cheer Ginny wasn’t in the mood for.

After putting the cell down, Ginny stared at the lamp for a few seconds. The light bulb glowed steadily, with no more visible flickers.

That was a good sign. Maybe it had been a false alarm, though she should probably locate some provisions in case the electricity did go out.

Even at only four in the afternoon, on a cloudy late December day in New England, it was nearly dark already.

Best to be prepared, that's what Ginny always said. Well, she never actually said that, but it sounded good. For this situation she settled on locating the flashlight.

That was preparations enough for the time being because her trip to the kitchen had made her realize she was hungry.

She opened the fridge and perused the choices. She had lettuce to make a salad, but that idea left her feeling cold.

There was chicken breast in the freezer. She could defrost that in the microwave and throw something together for dinner. Maybe with some homemade mashed potatoes, but that would all take a lot of time and more incentive than she had.

Ginny opened a cabinet and eyed the rows of cans. Laziness won out and she opted on a hearty bean soup. One quick turn of the electric can opener and it would be ready to cook, with only one dirty pot to wash after she was done.

As the soup heated on the stovetop, Ginny wandered into the master bedroom.

Choosing to ignore the time of day, she grabbed her pajamas from where she’d left them hanging behind the bathroom door. A cozy night in front of the fire would be even better in her soft flannel PJs.

Okay, it wasn’t technically night yet. It was still more late afternoon, creeping up to be evening, but what good was the freedom of working from home if she couldn't put on her pajamas when she wanted to?

Besides, for better or worse there was no one there to see or judge her for it, so Ginny tossed her jeans and sweater on the chair in the bedroom and pulled on her softest, and also oldest, red and white snowflake patterned pajamas.

The soup was hot enough to eat by the time she got back to the kitchen, so she flipped off the burner.

After poured the steaming liquid into a bowl, she grabbed a spoon and a napkin and carried the lot into the living room.

The dark gaping opening of the fireplace reminded her she’d meant to bring in wood and make a fire. She’d have to do that later. If she did it now, her dinner would get cold.

She should probably try to put in at least an hour on her book since she hadn’t touched it in days. She could do that while she ate.

Ginny put the bowl down on the desk and sat. Her laptop was still open, just the way she’d left it. She tapped a key to wake the computer from hibernation mode and watched the screen spring to life.

She clicked to open the file for her novel. The document appeared on screen, looking exactly how she'd left it—unfinished, stalled halfway through the first chapter.

Okay, maybe not halfway. More like a few paragraphs in.

She blew out a breath. Ginny had heard of writer's block, but her experience seemed more like writer's amnesia. Nothing spilled out of her brain and onto the screen and she started to suspect that what she'd already written might be crap.

A Colonial-era cozy mystery had seemed like such a great idea when she'd originally come up with it and done the research.

So why wasn't it working? She had no idea, but sitting and staring at the screen didn't help either her mood or her novel.

In her defense, she had an eight-page outline for the story and ten pages of research notes, so she was closer to being finished than it appeared at first glance in spite of the pitifully low word count.

All she had to do was write it.

Easy. No problem at all . . . She laid her fingers on the keyboard, but she’d be damned if she knew what to type.

Maybe if she opened the outline and went over that again it would help.

Ginny was just about to do that when an alert popped onto her screen, which reminded her she hadn’t checked her email since this morning.

She opened her inbox in a new browser and found it full. She’d definitely be able to concentrate better after she went through it. And it would be far easier to eat her soup while reading email than while trying to write her novel.

Decision made, Ginny clicked open the first email, grabbed her bowl and settled in.

The falling white flakes out the window in front of her caught her attention. She had to admit, there was nothing that put a person in the holiday spirit more than snow.

It was peaceful.

Too peaceful. The house, so far removed from the neighbors and the road, was too quiet.

Maybe that was why she couldn’t work. She was used to her apartment and all the noises that came with it.

She got up, grabbed the remote control, and turned on the television. Ginny flipped through the channels until she found an old black and white movie. She lowered the volume until it was a soft drone and went back to the desk.

A little background noise would make her feel more at home. She’d make quick work of the inbox and the soup, then get right back to her book.

An hour later, Ginny’s soup bowl and inbox were both empty.

The movie had ended and another began. She heard George Bailey’s familiar voice behind her and smiled.
It's a Wonderful Life
had come on the movie channel.

It was a classic. One she made sure to watch every Christmas, but she hadn’t seen it yet this year. Who knew if the station would air it again tonight, and if she was traveling tomorrow she could miss it.

Flipping the lid of the laptop closed, she stood. The book would still be there when the movie was done.

Maybe a couple of hours spent away from staring at the screen would rejuvenate her. Moving to the sofa, she flopped onto the cushion and grabbed the throw to pull over her legs just as the station came back from a commercial break.

One glance at the screen told Ginny it was the colorized version of the classic. She hated that. Black and white movies were meant to remain black and white, in her opinion.

In silent protest, Ginny reached for the remote and changed the channel. She’d rather miss the movie than watch the bastardized version.

The people who owned the home had every channel known to man, so she was pretty sure she’d be able to find something good to watch.

“Today’s topic is how to find a man.” The words of the male host of a show she didn’t normally watch halted Ginny’s channel surfing. “We’re here with relationship expert Ronald Pearl, also known as the Love Doctor.”

Just what she needed—some expert giving her advice, as if her mother didn’t do that enough.

She was about to flip again when the guest said, “Single women are alone because subconsciously they
choose
to be alone.”

She paused long enough to scowl at the idiot on the television who’d just delivered the ridiculous statement.

The homeowner’s cat chose that moment to dart into the room. It sent a look of fear in Ginny’s direction and then skidded into the kitchen where the food and water bowls were.

If Ginny couldn’t even get the damn cat to spend time with her, how was she supposed to do it with a man? She’d love to ask this expert that.

Remote control still in her hand, she couldn’t bring herself to change the channel quite yet. Not until she’d heard what other bullshit this man had to say.

The Love Doctor, who she doubted was really a doctor at all, continued, “Think of where you choose to work, to live, to shop, to recreate. Are these places where you are likely to meet the man of your dreams?”

The doctor of course had spoken to a female audience member, but it seemed as if he addressed Ginny directly.

She thought over her choices, mostly to try and disprove his theory, but the more she thought, the more she realized he was right.

Rather than getting an office job, Ginny chose to work from home.

For the holidays, the busiest time of the year for shopping, parties and just generally being around other people, she traded her city apartment for a house in the country, hours away from her friends and family.

The only guy she’d be likely to meet while buried away here was the man who delivered the heating oil. She’d barely even caught a glimpse of the mailman since she’d been here because the mailbox was along the road at the end of the very long driveway.

And recreation? Even when she was home in Stamford, watching television and reading were her main past times, especially now that Molly had a boyfriend to keep her busy.

It
was
her own fault she remained alone. The epiphany sat heavy in her chest.
 

Her mother might be right. Just that realization alone shifted Ginny's entire perception of reality.

“So what do I do?” She whispered the question aloud as the woman standing in the television audience asked the Love Doctor almost the same thing.

“I want you to make a list of everything you want in your life. By writing down and acknowledging your goals, you’ll unconsciously take the steps necessary to achieve them.”

Tossing the blanket to the side, Ginny jumped up and lunged for the desk. She grabbed a pad of paper and a pen.

The audience member began to tear up. Ginny frowned at the reaction. Crying would do no good.

Then again, writing down what she wanted probably wouldn't do much good either, but at least it seemed more productive than sobbing on national television.

She began her list by writing at the top of the page
What I Want in Life.

Ginny paused. What did she want? She tapped the pen against the pad of paper while considering the answer to that very important question.

Her lack of ideas wasn’t a very promising start. Did her writer's block extend to list making too?

Ah, ha! That was what she wanted.

“I want to get over my writer's block. I want to write a novel.” She wrote as she spoke and felt better the minute something went down on the paper.

On a roll, she went back and added the words
and publish
after the words
to write
.

Ginny thought some more and added the words
bestselling
before
novel
.

She reread the sentence with the additions.

To write and publish a bestselling novel.

As long as this was a wish list, she might as well make the wishes good.