Once Upon A Christmas Wish: Have You Met The Mountain Man?

“Get in. Get in. Get in!” A deep voice demanded.

I screamed as I was being pulled inside, fighting whoever this stranger was determined I was not going anywhere with him. I clobbered him across the jaw with the mug in my hand. It did little to help. The man growled and yanked me through the door, slamming it closed behind him. I lost my footing and landed on my butt.

As soon as I got my bearings I began sliding away from the stranger. He was tall. Above average in height and well built. I could tell I wouldn't be able to get the upper hand without a weapon.

The man stood with his hands pressed on the back of a dining chair, he was breathing heavily. “There was a bear.” He pointed in the general direction of the trash cans, “A bear. Outside. Bears can be dangerous. It’s okay now. We’re in here. It’s out there.”

“We are.” I said. Standing, I took several steps back. I reached into the pockets of my coat. My right hand found my cell phone. I pulled the phone out of my pocket and held it up. “I know who I am. Who are you?”

“The name’s McKinley.”

“What are you doing in my house?”

“Your house?”

“I rented it for the month. I came here with my things. I am staying here. For the next month this house is mine.” I continued. “Who are you? What are you doing inside this house without my knowledge or permission?”

“I just saved you from a bear.”

“I was slowly backing up to the door to let myself in. If you hadn’t of panicked you would have seen that.”

He looked at me sternly, hazel eyes brightening with anger. “I own this house. If you had read the paperwork I left, you wouldn’t have gone out on to the porch to begin with. The first mistake was yours.” He said as he wiped coffee off his face and neck with one of his many layers of clothing. McKinley, my new landlord, reached out for the stack of papers sitting on the dining table between us. “My note states that a couple of bears usually come through the area just before trash pick-up looking for food. Monday morning is pick-up day. The bears usually move on by Monday afternoon.” He pointed to the page as he read from it, “ ‘It’s best to refrain from outdoor activities from late Sunday afternoon to Monday afternoon.’ Here’s an article from last week’s newspaper reminding residents to be watchful of bears scavenging for food. There is rarely a problem.” He said, raising his eyes from the paperwork and looking squarely at me, “Because we keep an eye out for one another.” It felt like he was looking through me, “You didn’t read any of this did you?” he asked.

“No. Not yet. Now that I'm aware of the problem I will be more careful of bears and keep an eye out for others who might find themselves in an encounter with one.”

“Wolves. You need to watch out for wolves too.”

“Of course.”

“Do you know what to do if you lose power?”

“Bring more wood in from the stack on the porch?”

“There’s a generator in the shed off the mud room.”

A generator? Yikes. “You’re the owner, can’t I just call you to get the generator going?”

“What if there’s a blizzard and I can’t get here right away?” McKinley ran his fingers across his forehead in frustration. “I knew renting this place out was a bad idea. City people have no idea how to survive out here.” He looked at me. “Have you even been camping once in your life?”

“No.”

“Fishing? Hiking?”

“I’ve been known to take really long walks from time to time.”

A low growl rumbled from the back of his throat.

“My life doesn’t call for lots of wilderness survival skills but I can repair a high heel in five minutes or less.”

He looked at me without responding.

“I’m a novelist. My life is writing books, doing public appearances to promote the books as well as attending the occasional black tie event.”

McKinley relaxed a bit. “A novelist huh? I guess that doesn’t leave much time for camping. Have you written anything I might have read?”

“Not unless you’re looking for the man of your dreams. I’m a romance novelist. I write the Book Boyfriends Holiday Romance series? Jess Windstrom.” I said offering a hand.

“Oh. You’re one of those.” He said making a face.

“One of those?”

“One of those writers who give women unrealistic expectations of what a relationship looks like.”

There it was. One of my least favorite statements. I reacted instead of responding. Regrettable but he did barge in and piss all over a perfectly nice morning. “Which is what men who aren’t willing to do the work that is needed to build and maintain a healthy relationship have a habit of saying.”

“Tropical island getaways? Private jets to exotic locations for dinner?”

“Have you read any of my books?”

“I just said I haven't.”

“Have you ever discussed the content of any of my books with anyone who reads them in depth?”

“I’ve never heard of you before today, of course not.”

I continued my retort without listening to McKinley’s response. “If you knew anything about my novels you would know that I don’t write those kinds of stories. There is not a single billionaire, alpha male, or BDSM master in my books. My book boyfriends are regular men with regular jobs. Some are a bit more successful in societal terms, some are in better physical shape, most are a little more handsome, all of them are more willing to go the extra mile for love but that’s it.” I grabbed the papers from his hand. “If you don’t mind I need to read this paperwork.” I said as I flipped through the pages. “I see there's a number to call for more information listed at the top of each page. In some cases several numbers. Instructions for starting and running the generator are here as well. I will call you if I have any questions. Thank you for saving me from the bear who had no interest in me whatsoever. Have a nice day!” I said. I looked at the paperwork and commenced reading ignoring the mountain man entirely. I waited for his brown hair and close trimmed bearded jaw to disappear from my line of sight and breathed a sigh of relief when I heard the front door open and close.

After spending an hour or two thumping around the house, I silently cursed McKinley as I scribbled and typed out a (Just In Case Of Epic Film Worthy Winter Storm) Survival Plan. I taped it in several places around the house and verified I could find all flashlights, candles, and matches easily. I located the generator. Using the paperwork provided as my guide I took a few minutes to learn where everything was practicing the steps I would need to take in order to start the generator before returning to book boyfriend eleven.

When I sat down this time I tried putting the first two book boyfriend elevens together. I got a much loved jr. high school principal who also worked as an interim sheriff. He spent time helping at risk kids when he wasn’t working his day jobs. By the time I got done with him the guy was spread too thin to be anyone’s boyfriend. I had a heroine who was losing patience and questioning her ability to find true love. Let's face it a romance where the main character has self-esteem issues and a love interest who is never around will rarely lead to a happy ending.

I found myself in the silence of a mountainous winter wonderland left alone with my thoughts. They weren’t good ones.

When a prolific writer with a mental block runs into a doozy of a brick wall is it really a block or has she just run out of gas?  A lunch featuring my favorite comfort foods and exercise didn’t help. In the true spirit of writerly procrastination I decided to make a phone call.

 

Lisa didn't sound like her usual self when she answered and happily surrendered the phone to Phoebe right away so I could thank her.

“I knew it was the place for you when I saw pictures of the kitchen Aunt Jess.”

“You chose very well. Are you having fun with your mom?” I asked.

“It’s okay but I still have school for another week or so.”

“Of course. I know you’re a big girl but please make plenty of time for your mom, she misses you so when she’s working.”

“I do.”

“What did you do yesterday?” I asked teasing.

“First Sunday in December.” Phoebe sighed.

“And?”

“Lunch and ice skating at Rockefeller center? It’s our tradition? We’ve been doing it forever.”

I could almost hear her roll her eyes.

“Did Brent fall on the ice again this year?” I asked.

There was a silence.

“Phoebe? Phoebe is everything okay?” The child did not respond. I decided to take another approach. “Can I talk to your mom for a minute before I hang up?”

“Mom, Aunt Jess needs you.”

As soon as Lisa returned to the phone I asked, “What’s going on?”

“What?”

“You don’t sound right and neither does Phoebe. What’s happened?”

“Brent left me. He told me he wanted to end things a few weeks ago but reassured me he wanted to stay through the holidays. He didn’t want to ruin Christmas for Phoebe.”

“Then he changed his mind, that shit.”

“I was hoping he would change his mind about the relationship. He came home last night and said it wasn’t right to keep pretending that we’re happy when we aren’t. He cared for Phoebe and I deeply but he wasn’t in love with me anymore and it was time for him to go. He even suggested since it was still early in the month Phoebe might be okay with the change by the time Christmas arrived. Then he packed his things and left. When Phoebe got home I tried to pretend it was good news and we would have a much better holiday without Brent but Phoebe saw right through me. We’ve been doing the usual things. We’re baking cookies now and watching one of Phoebe’s favorite holiday movies. I took her to lunch and ice skating at Rockefeller Center yesterday but…”

“...it’s really difficult to keep a brave face when your heart is breaking.” I said finishing her sentence.

Lisa’s voice grew distant for a moment. I heard her say, “Go ahead and start your homework, I’ll finishing cleaning up.”

Returning to me she agreed. “It is.”

“I was thinking, there's a small town a short walk from here that looks like a charming place with lots of holiday events, there’s also skiing other fun things to do, why don’t you and Phoebe come up here?”

“For how long?”

“For the holidays. It shouldn't be too difficult to get the two of you here if we work on it together. I can arrange for the plane tickets and transportation. You get your Christmas shopping done, get it boxed up and dropped off for shipping, Phoebe's gifts will probably get here before you and Phoebe do. We can all have a nice holiday."

She paused for a moment. “So much has happened. I want to run it by Phoebe. I don’t want Christmas to be any more difficult for her than it already is.”

“Okay. Call me in the morning and let me know what you two would like to do.”

“I will. Thank you, for looking out for us.”

“You do it for me every day Lisa.” I responded. “You do it for me every day.”

The next morning Lisa confirmed that she and Phoebe would be coming to spend the holidays with me. She said they would like to fly up on the following Saturday if that could be arranged. I spent the morning sitting in the dining room with my coffee making flight reservations. I was excited at the prospect of not spending the holidays alone. I reserved two first class seats for them on a mid-morning flight. I wanted this holiday to be something they would always remember. I found myself feeling hopeful that a new deadline, getting the first three chapters of the next book written by the time they arrived would wake my muse and get book eleven on a slow but steady trek to the next Book Boyfriends Holiday Romance.

Over the next several days I arranged for a rental car much like my own and found better driving directions from the airport to the house for Lisa. While I waited for Lisa’s shipment to arrive I decided to give my current book boyfriend one more try.

This time I took my two book boyfriends and flipped the script. New boyfriend eleven was a small town sheriff who coached at risk kids at the local jr high school in his spare time. He was handsome, quick witted and funny also physically fit and tough enough that the kids he worked with only attempted to try his authority occasionally. Book boyfriend eleven made time for everyone. As so it goes in everyday life, something has to fall through the cracks and for our sheriff it was mealtime. Which is where our heroine comes in. She owns the local diner. One that always seems to be open to him. She has a knack for steering her regular customers to a more varied diet and better nutrition in general keeping high salt and deep fried menu options to a minimum. The two characters’ need to care for others and their love for rich desserts was their common ground.

After a week of planning, shopping, hiking (okay taking long walks), making lists of things to show Lisa and Phoebe and writing, glorious writing, it happened again.

On Friday morning at 10:30 am at location 3-6-5 my beautiful new holiday romance came to a sudden and screeching halt.

 

 

Once Upon A Christmas Wish: Desperately Seeking Book Boyfriend 11

 

Once the book tour was over, I went home and fell into bed sleeping for what felt like an eternity. On the third day I woke up determined to let go of the unusual events that had taken place during my visit to The Naked Ankle.

I always experience a period of readjustment after a book tour. Days seem to stretch out in front of me with few demands on my time when the week before time spent taking a shower or waiting for a car to arrive felt like a vacation. I usually spend the days leading up to Christmas shopping, resting, and enjoying the holiday activities going on around me. I also use that time to begin mapping out my new characters and the basic plot line for the next Book Boyfriend Holiday Romance. It’s not only a great way to get back to a gentler routine, it also gives me a place to start from in January when drafting the next book takes center stage.

All writers have their own way of working, their own rituals or traditions. For me, starting a new project begins with cooking a meal on December 1st. A brunch that serves two purposes, it's a thanks to Lisa for all of her help throughout the year and a "We Survived Another Book Tour" celebration. After the meal has been eaten and we're sitting back with our festive holiday coffees, I retrieve the box. A 10 x 8 wooden work of art with my initials engraved into the top in an elegant script. It has a tiny lock and is varnished in a warm nutmeg finish. The box felt like a bit of an indulgence when I first bought it but considering what is stored inside, the piece has proven to be a worthwhile investment.

You see, ten years ago I wrote down the names, occupations, strengths, and weaknesses of 365 book boyfriends. Discovering the identity of the next book boyfriend is how every new novel begins.

I hand the box to Lisa who shakes it thoroughly and sets it down in the center of the table. I then retrieve my key, unlock the box, and pull out a small folded square of paper. Lisa reads the description of the next book boyfriend out loud. We finish our coffee as I rattle off ideas focusing primarily on the main character and the freshly chosen beau.  I sort out how and where the characters might meet for the first time while Lisa keeps track of where I’m going with the story.

I write the first three chapters of the novel along with any random notes that might be useful down the road. I have always finished this step by December 20th. After I put those initial chapters away I am officially on holiday break. I will not return to the project until Christmas and New Year's festivities are over and Phoebe has returned to school.

I dived in without hesitation this year determined not to let the stock boy at The Naked Ankle’s prediction become a reality. Once I was left alone in my office with Book Boyfriend 11 and my thoughts, things began going downhill quickly.

The deeply loved jr. high school principal didn’t make it further than the prologue. 365 words.

For the first time in a decade, I had to find another candidate. The sheriff with the heart of gold who fostered at-risk kids didn’t do much more for me than give me a tension headache. I pushed through, working on his story throughout the morning and once again crapped out at 365. Chapter 3- paragraph 6 – word 5 to be exact.

I didn't want to panic but clearly something was wrong. This was a new kind of problem for me. New kinds of problems need new solutions. I wasn’t about to give permission to the memory of what happened in that bookstore to live in my head and pitch a tent. A stranger’s prediction was not going to control my future. I called Lisa into my office and asked her to make some last minute changes to my plans for the coming month.

Twenty-four hours later I found myself driving very slowly through freshly fallen snow as a trail of cars followed close behind.

“Turn right...” The automated voice instructed.

I flipped my turn signal and looked to the right, finding nothing but a ditch. “That can’t be right.” I turned the signal off and continued forward.

“...in 2.2 miles.”

“Now you tell me.” I looked at the odometer attempting to anticipate what 2.2 miles down the road might look like as a long string of cars, trucks, and all terrain vehicles passed me. Many rolled their windows down screaming insults, profanities, or to quietly flip me the bird as they passed by. Although I couldn’t make out their exact words, the content of their messages was clear. I quietly wished them a nice day and wobbly table legs for the remainder of their holiday season.

“Turn right here.” My GPS instructed.

“Finally.” I said turning down a narrow road.

“Continue West for 2.6 miles.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I continued driving until I ran out of road. Sitting before me was a beautiful two story log home.

“You have reached your destination.”

“Nice.”

The drive and entry were well lit. I parked in front of the steps and pulled up the information Lisa had sent to my phone.

Mr. McKinley will be meeting you at three pm.

I looked at the remnants of the setting sun and quickly darkening sky. It was definitely after 3, I didn't see any other cars on the property.

It’s after 4:30 and I’ve only just arrived. No one else is here. I texted back before looking around until I spotted something taped to the front door.

I may have found something, just a sec. I climbed out of my all wheel drive rental and retrieved the note.

I waited as long as I could, had to get back home. The key is under the mat. There’s information on the dining table. Read It. Follow All Instructions. I’ll stop by in the morning to see how things are going and answer your questions. If you have an emergency dial 9-1-1 they’ll patch you through. -- B. McKinley

“Patch me through to who?”

My phone beeped at me. Jess?

I’m okay Lisa. The owner left a note. I found the key.

I went inside and stood in one spot while my insides adjusted. The entrance led to a great room with a beautifully decorated tree. The central feature of the room, a large stone fireplace, stood on the far wall next to the stairs. A long couch, perfect for relaxing, sat across from the hearth. Large windows took up most of a wall directly opposite of the Christmas tree. Despite the success of the books, I still had a habit of living below my means. Wow. This was something. Morning coffee at home would never be the same after this. I turned on lights, continuing my exploration.

There was a large rustic table between the great room and the kitchen. The kitchen was large and roomy. I could tell it had been designed with someone who loved cooking in mind. I found myself anticipating freshly cooked breakfasts and dinners. Some homemade bread. Perhaps even a batch or two of Christmas cookies.

I found a small bathroom located between the kitchen and a mud room with a door leading to a deck that ran parallel to the wall of windows in the great room. I dropped my bag on my way back through the great room, running upstairs like a child on Christmas morning.

There was a den at the top of the stairs with a low ceiling and a large screen something on the wall that felt dark and crowded. I closed the door on my way out and continued exploring. There were two bedrooms with a shared bathroom between them. They were inviting but not what I was looking for. I continued exploring until I found the master bedroom.

It was a suite. The large bed sat opposite a smaller, more intimate looking stone fireplace. The private bath included both a shower and a soaking tub. There was a comfortable chair near the bed for reading. An antique writing desk with a matching chair had been placed next to a large window that I suspected would display another amazing view. I spinned around the room throwing myself on to the bed, wondering why I always insisted on spending the holidays at home.

“If I had a coffee maker in here and some snacks I wouldn’t have to leave this room at all.”

I checked my pockets looking for my phone and called Lisa. “I’m calling about the house.”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for setting this trip up. It’s perfect.”

“Don’t thank me. All those book boyfriends you keep writing about are the ones who made it possible.”

“You found the house and took care of the details.”

There was a pause before Lisa answered. “I was kind of nervous about it actually. Phoebe insisted it was the house you needed.”

“She was right. Is she home?”

“No, she’s sleeping over at her friend Amy’s.”

“Sleep overs. I didn’t realize Phoebe was old enough for those.”

“They grow up so fast.” Lisa said.

“I hope you’re enjoying some time to yourself.”

“Brent will be home in a few minutes.”

“Have a nice evening. Thank Phoebe for me.”

“I will.”

Morning came early. I was ready for it. The sky was just beginning to show signs of the coming dawn when I began my morning stretch. I got my exercise routine over with quickly. By the time the coffee maker was releasing its final drops of goodness I was standing in the kitchen with my coat thrown over my workout clothes, snow boots covering my bare feet, holding a waiting mug in hand.

After pouring the coffee, I grabbed the house key (just in case), took my coffee out to the porch, and proceeded to drink in all the mountainous beauty while I savored my first morning cup.

I noticed something moving in my peripheral vision. A bear had wandered up the slope and was sitting a few feet from the porch. I watched him for a few moments. He looked up and saw me. The bear took a step closer to the porch. I quietly took two steps closer to the door. I waited several seconds and took two more steps in the direction of the door. It was not long before the bear took an interest in a pair of trash cans next to the garage and began to wander off. I decided it was best to go back inside while the bear was otherwise occupied. Before I could turn for the door a pair of hands grabbed me from behind and started pulling.

Once Upon A Christmas Wish : The Message

Our arrival at the food pantry and the book fair could not have been more perfect. Many children had already chosen their books. They were finding mischief and distracting their parents as the adults made their own selections from the tables in the section marked: Grown-ups. Taking inventory of the situation, I noticed game and coloring tables were still being set up as well as the cookie decorating stations. Handing my bags to Lisa, I stepped on to the circular rug in the center of the room with my elephant friend in hand.

“Good afternoon. Welcome to the Night Before Christmas book fair. How is everyone today?” I asked.

Some of the adults in the back smiled as they recognized me. Most of the children stared at me with a blank expression. I focused on the kids. “It’s a lovely autumn day, school is out for Thanksgiving, and there’s lots for everyone to do here. You can do better than that.” I smiled at them. “Who has a book today?”

A young girl, smallish, who I guessed was about six years old, raised her hand.

“Hello. Would you please hold up your book for me?”

The child complied.

“That’s a lovely book. Who else has a book?” I asked as my eyes searched the room. Slowly more and more children shared what they had found, I complimented them on their choices. “My name is Jess. I also have a book with me. “It’s called, “Stand Back!” Said The Elephant. “I’m Going To Sneeze!” It was written by Patricia Thomas, and Illustrated by Wallace Tripp. I would love to share it with you all, would that be alright?”

The small sea of heads nodded. Thank goodness. It was a chance to feel more comfortable if only for a few minutes, I loved it.

“I’m going to sit down here on this rug. If you all would come and join me we’ll have a story.”

When I finished reading one of the ladies working the book fair took my place announcing the game and coloring tables along with the cookie decorating stations were all ready and available for use. I thanked her for allowing me to interrupt. I thanked all the volunteers for their help. Wishing them a happy holiday I returned to Lisa and reached out for my bags.

“Feel better?” She asked.

“You know I do.” I said. “Thanks for not making a fuss. Time?”

“To go. You need to be at The Naked Ankle in ten.”

We made it to The Naked Ankle with moments to spare. Once I felt settled, I sent Lisa to the restaurant she mentioned earlier to make my apologies and have a break herself. These tours could be fun at times but they took a lot out of me. I didn’t have a daughter at home, missing me and bursting to talk. Lisa did. She was a single mother with an energetic eight year old at home named Phoebe. The lunch break would give them time to talk. I had done enough of these appearances to know I can handle the first hour or so on my own. Lisa knew how long I could meet with readers and sign books before I started looking for a bottle of water or anything of that nature.

I was thirty minutes into the signing before I noticed him. A man stood in the back of the store, he appeared to be in his early to mid twenties. His hair was dark blonde and cropped close like someone in the military. He was dressed in jeans and a Rolling Stones t-shirt. There was nothing remarkable about him. The cut of his clothing appeared slightly off leaving the impression it was out of date. He was not in line for a signature nor did he appear to be shopping. He seemed content to stand against the back wall and stare. I felt like I was not only being monitored or watched but studied. Actions were being noted, details being put to memory. The man never moved from the spot until I found him standing in the aisle blocking my route to the center of the store on my return from the Ladies’ Room a couple of hours later.

“Nice place.” He said.

“It is. They had a good turn out considering they planned their grand opening so close to Thanksgiving.” I agreed.

“I think it’s you. You really draw a crowd. It’s something I noticed about you, you know how to draw a crowd.”

“It’s the excitement of the new book really.” I responded, taking a step around him.

He shifted his stance blocking my exit. “No.” He said. “I think it’s you. Jess Windstrom. Beautiful, talented, a woman who cares for others, who likes kids and does great interviews." He looked in my eyes and said, "You never tell them everything do you?”

I did not answer.

“Do you?”

I did not move.

“If you only knew how much it hurts your mother.”

I looked at the stranger squarely. “I think you must have me confused with someone else, my mother’s dead. She’s been gone for a long time.”

“Is everything all right here?” Lisa asked as she rounded the corner.

“Yes. Edward Miller.” The young man said offering his hand. “I know, knew Jess’ mother.”

I looked at Mr. Miller and raised a brow, clearly he had a secret or two himself.

“I don’t know Jess very well.” He said, he studied me for a moment before turning back to Lisa. “She probably doesn’t even remember me. I saw her name on the posters in the window the other day and I wanted to stop by and say Hello.” Mr. Miller looked at me. “It was nice talkin’ to ya. Have a good day now.”

Lisa and I watched him leave the store.

“Who was that?” She asked.

“I don’t know, apparently he knew my mother.”

“You don’t look good.” Lisa took my hand and guided me to a chair in one of the store’s many reading areas. “Come sit down.”

“I’ve been sitting for hours.”

“A few more minutes won’t be that difficult then will it? I’ll come back for you when I have things wrapped up here.”

I sat back in the chair and closed my eyes enjoying the solitude.

“It’s time.”

The voice was coming from somewhere behind my right shoulder. “The only way out is through.”

I turned my head to find an employee squatting next to me, he continued speaking as he restocked the shelves he was facing with books.

“It’s time Jess. It’s your turn to get your Christmas wish. There's only one way to your happy ending. You have to go through.”

“Through what?”

“You have to write through your pain. You have to tell everyone, the truth.”

“I have no Christmas wish.”

“You did. It still sits in the box where you left it.”

“That was a long time ago.” I countered.

“An interesting thing about Christmas wishes, when a Christmas wish doesn’t come true it doesn’t mean that you don’t deserve it or you aren’t worthy or even that you aren’t ready. Sometimes we don’t get our wishes simply because it isn’t time yet.”

Good lord. I had to be hallucinating. Lisa was right, I should have eaten a full meal when I had the chance. How do I make it go away? If I let it say what it needs to it should leave. “What would I need to do in order to get my wish?”

“You're a talented writer. A real storyteller. The next story you write, the next time you take pen in hand you must write your story. The story of a love lost, grief, loneliness, a Christmas wish made and of the hope that could not be found. That and everything that comes after it. All the way to the day you are living when you get to what you think is the end of the story. When all has been lost that is when your wish will be found.”

“Tell my story…”

“Yes the truth. All of it. No cheating allowed.”

“If I don’t tell my story I don’t get my wish. I understand. Thanks for the info.”

He leaned over and whispered, “If you don’t tell your story you'll never finish writing another book.”

“Sorry?”

“You may start as many books as you like but you will never get past the numbers 3-6-5.”

365 pages. A little shorter than my usual book length but I can write a slightly shorter book. I thought. Then I thought about my life. What was working in it and what wasn’t. The people I care about and enjoy spending time with. A new question emerged. “What if I decide I don’t want my Christmas wish? What if too much time has passed? What if it’s just too late for those things?”

“You do have the option to forfeit your wish. There is something you're forgetting. Something older than the Christmas wish itself. A promise you made to someone you loved. If you choose to forfeit the wish you're also breaking a promise. Breaking promises isn’t your style kiddo.”

There was a roll deep within the pit of my stomach. I turned away from the stranger hoping I had not paled at his words, that nothing had reflected my uneasiness.

“All done.” Lisa announced as she approached.

Thank goodness.

“Ready to go?” She asked.

“I believe I am.” I looked at the man stocking shelves before turning back to Lisa. “I think it’s time we met the next book boyfriend.”

Once Upon A Christmas Wish: The Interview

“What inspired you to become a writer? What lead you to write that first book?”The interviewer asked smiling for the camera.

“ A Christmas wish.” I responded. “A Christmas wish unfulfilled. The story is too long to tell. We’re running out of time but the truth is love has always eluded me. When I was younger, I had a special tradition. One I started just for me. Every year at the beginning of the holiday season I would make a Christmas wish to meet my special someone. That was the only gift I asked for, the only thing I wanted. Some Christmases were spent out mingling. Others I sat in my living room in my sparkly dress, with my manicured nails and flattering hairstyle only to kick off my shoes by 8 pm and stretch out on the couch with a favorite movie. Some Christmases were spent in jeans and a sweatshirt. A couple were spent in stained pajamas with a box of fudge for company.

I had tried everything. After spending years being available. Of not being too available. Of standing up for myself. Of being open to meeting new people. Of focusing on being my best self. Of going my own way and living my best life, one that the right man would only enrich and make better. Well, I was in my thirties when I finally admitted the truth. Love was not in my future. No matter how much I chased it or didn’t chase it. No matter how supportive and encouraging I was of others when they found it. No matter how many books I read or romantic movies I watched, it did not matter. Love was not in the cards for me. Nor would it be, not for a long time at least.”

“You never found it?” The interviewer asked. “None of these stories are about you?”

“No they are not, although I’ve heard the rumors. I can assure you, the book boyfriends readers so love meeting in my holiday romances are just as fictional in real life as they are on the page.”

"Are any of them Christmas wishes never fulfilled?” She prompted.

“You don’t give up do you? One...maybe two.” I answered.

“If love has been a stranger to you why do you write these types of stories?”

I smiled brightly as I looked at the audience. “Book boyfriends are a lot of fun. They’re handsome, kind and caring. They pick up after themselves, never forgetting the simple romantic gestures that make the season special, do they?” There was a round of applause. “Seriously, I wanted to find a way to take something that had become a problem, something that was weighing my spirit down, and create something positive. A fun and relaxing way for readers to spend their time.”

“You have done that. You’ve also done a few other good things. Your Night Before Christmas coat giveaways, food pantries, toy deliveries, clothing drives, and utility bill assistance help countless families. Not to mention the books for kids.”

I thought for a moment. I hated this part. The going around, talking to people. Doing television. Whatever happened to being the writer everyone loved reading but no one had ever seen in real life? When did those days end? “I have been so fortunate with the success of the books, it feels good to pass some of that good fortune on.” I looked away from the host, shifting my gaze back to the audience, it was my signal to her that I would prefer she change the subject. Thankfully she did.

“You have been writing one holiday romance a year, each book released during the Christmas season. This is book ten. Tell us, how many more holiday romances do you have left in you? How many book boyfriends are there?”

A brief smile crosses my lips. “A few.”

“We hope we will be enjoying your Book Boyfriends Christmas Romance series for many years to come. Thank you for coming today. Ladies and Gentlemen, Jess Windstrom!”

I thanked the host and waved enthusiastically to the crowd as I exited stage left. I started fast walking the moment I got back stage. “What time is it?”

Lisa Paget, the best assistant I could ask for was at my side within seconds with a pair of dressy walking shoes in hand.

“11:45. You have a signing at a book store opening at noon and another interview at 4:30.” She answered as I took off the television appearance appropriate footwear and got comfortable. I took my bags from her hand as her phone beeped freeing her to answer and stowed the death heels inside my tote bag. Her voice faded as I continued out of the studio and into a waiting car.

“Could you give me a minute before starting out?” Lisa asked the driver. “That was the Naked Ankle.” She said, taking a seat next to me. “The Naked Ankle? The romance bookstore we’re headed to? Their heat is out. They’re working on solving the problem but they were wondering if you would be willing to start at 12:45 instead. They have a table waiting for you in the restaurant at the hotel across the street.”

“Can you push back my 4:30?”

Lisa sent a text.

“Mr. Nash said that since it was a phone interview we could reschedule for a time later tonight or early tomorrow.”

“How does tomorrow look?” I asked.

Lisa consulted the schedule. “It’s the last day of the book tour, it looks like all you have left are interviews most are scheduled in the afternoon.”

“Would nine am work?”

Lisa sends a quick text. “All set.”

“Good.” I consulted my notebook. “There is a Night Before Christmas food pantry having a book fair two blocks away.” Leaning forward, I gave the driver directions before sitting back against the seat.

“Don’t you want lunch?” Lisa asked. “You’ve been going all morning, you must be famished.”

“I do want lunch.” I said as I pulled a couple of bottled smoothies out of my tote bag and handed one to my assistant. “Do you know what I want more?” I retrieved a copy of “Stand Back!” Said The Elephant, “I’m Going To Sneeze!” by Patricia Thomas, Illustrated by Wallace Tripp from my bag. “To read a story. To a group of someones who will enjoy it.”

“Phoebe’s favorite.” Lisa said smiling.

“Yes.” I said returning her smile. “Phoebe’s favorite.”

Lisa returned to her phone and her lists as the driver pulled away from the curb. I looked out the window, watching people and cars as they moved along streets in various stages of Christmas cheer. The city was preparing for Thanksgiving along with its annual Christmas parade. The decorations in various states of installation reflected it.

“That was quite an interview you gave ma’am.” I heard the driver say.

“Thank you.”

“I watch a lot of them. I noticed that you never tell them everything. You’ve never told anyone everything have you?”

I looked at the driver. He was not looking at me in the rear view mirror. He was quiet, fully immersed in his task. I reached out for Lisa’s hand, when she looked up I whispered, “Did you hear what he just said?”

“What who said?” She asked.

The Return Of Jenny Love

Writer Lady taps on her keyboard without actually typing a single word. Turning her head, she watches as Carp and Tinkletoes chase Furnatche through the living room. The baby dragon scampers across the floor with one of Carp’s arm guards clenched between his teeth. She turns back to the email in front of her, then back to the people and animals in her living room.

Tinkletoes chases Furnatche playfully, gently relieving the dragon of the arm guard and returning it to Carp. Writer Lady turns back to her computer, not before Tinkletoes sees her watching them. The two men stop on their way past the entrance to High Command.

“Hey.” Tinkletoes says.

“Hey.” Writer Lady responds.

“Are you needin’ something?” He asks.

“No, um...yes. Not really.”

“So which is it?”

“I don’t need anything. I got this email from the editor Carp connected me with. I wanted to ask Carp a question.”

The retired romance novelist/assassin-in-training steps forward. “What do you need sweetie?”

Tinkletoes makes a face. The self-proclaimed mercenary finds Writer Lady to be anything but sweet.

“Ms. Woodson has this anthology she's editing. One of her contributing authors backed out and she was wondering…”

“No. Your answer is no. You are editing. Creating when you are immersed in the trenches of editing is difficult for some of the most experienced professionals. You are not ready for that.”

“She wasn’t asking me she’s asking you.”

“Sweetie, I’m retired.”

Writer Lady shrugs.

“The industry dumped me. Turned their backs on me. When my carpal tunnel set in she dropped me like a hot potato.”

Writer Lady points to the email.

“She’s near the top of my Revenge list.”

“The email is really nice?” She says.

“Fine.” Carp steps into High Command to read the message. “Working on a collection blah blah blah...lost an author...blah blah blah...”Where I Am Now” essay written by the most beloved authors of the last decade.”

“I am beloved?” Carp repeats, he steps back, placing a hand to his heart in surprise. The assassin-in-training looks at Tinkletoes.

“Nothing should interfere with a man’s Revenge list. You’re fully immersed in your training. There is no way you can switch from the rigorous physical and mental training you are going through to...write.”

“How many words?” Carp asks.

“There is an 800 word minimum.” Writer Lady responds.

“I can do that in my sleep.” He says, pulling up a chair. “Move over girl Jenny Love is back.” Fingers move across the keyboard at an alarming rate.

Tinkletoes watches as his trainee settles in. “So are you um...gonna be long?”

The sound of fingers tapping on keys is the only response the self-proclaimed mercenary receives.

“I’m just gonna wait, out there.” Tinkletoes says pointing in the general direction of the kitchen. “Let me know if you need help with you know...words and stuff.”

Still no response.

“Bye.”

Several minutes pass.

“Did you say something?” Carp asks.

“No.”

“I have to finish this up. Tinkletoes is waiting.”

Writer Lady turns around. “He’s not here.”

“Oh. He’s probably wandered off to blow something up. I’m sure he’ll be back by the time I’ve finished.”

“I have a question.” Writer Lady asks.

“Yes?” Carp asks without looking away from what he is doing.

“Who are you writing this as?”

“Jenny Love of course.”

“What are you telling your readers about your life?”

“The truth.”

“You’re telling them about the carpal tunnel, getting dumped, meeting Tinkletoes, deciding to become an assassin, meeting all of us.”

“Yes.” He continues typing.

“All of us?” Writer Lady asks.

Carp turns to look at Writer Lady.

She moves her head to the side indicating he should look at who is in the immediate vicinity.

He looks into the living room. Furnatche runs past with Dylan following behind. Daemon the demon is chasing both the baby dragon and the child. The floor bounces and he runs past.

House’s voice can be heard over the rumble. “No running inside you’re straining my floor joints.”

“It’s fine.” Carp says as he continues typing.

“There is a seven foot dragon in the living room.”

“Thanks for reminding me.” Carp talks as he types. “My good friend Diomedes’ chess game is flawless. He has impeccable table manners. Guess what boys and girls? I also have been traveling extensively.”

Writer Lady whispers, “Don’t be too specific.”

“To the exotic world of Faerie. A magical place that does not exist on our physical plane. It’s true my friends, Jenny Love has experienced in-ter-di-mensional travel. It was the most amazing experience of my entire life.”

Writer Lady stares at Carp in disbelief.

“One learns so much about themselves when they travel abroad. Miss Jenny is no exception. I learned that I have an immediate rapport with intelligent and exotic animals. Unicorns, royal felines and talking antelopes.”

“Oh my goodness.” Writer Lady says. The air in the room grows still and it is a bit warm as well as she wonders when they come because they will come, will the men in the white coats only escort Carp away to the asylum or if there be a complete sweep done of the property.

“I have to confess I have also seen ancient artifacts. As Jenny always says you shouldn’t write historical romance if you don’t like history. It’s just not your thang. It is Miss Jenny’s. For all you fans of Camelot, Miss Jenny can confirm that Excalibur does exist in real time. The sword is amazing! The stories were not exaggerating.”

“Please stop.” Writer Lady mutters.

Carp types a few more words and says. “All Done.”

Writer Lady reaches out to delete the essay the moment Carp’s back is turned.

“And already sent.”

She looks at Carp.

“You didn’t think I was going to trust you not to delete it did you?”

Carp looks at Writer Lady. “Woodson asked me to write something, I did. What the reader brings to the piece when they turn the page something else entirely.”

Writer Lady begins to say something.

“It was a lot of fun and should sell lots of copies. Writing should be fun sweetie. Never get so far from the fun that you can’t find your way back, it’s where the passion is.”

He's A Funny Guy

Writer Lady looks in the hallway. “Oh.”

After a moment of silence she turns back to her white board. “I need more space for Faerie.” Erasing the remaining area allotted for the Nana problem, she delegates a tiny corner of the area for Nana and returns to her brainstorming. “This needs color coding.”

Nana Dupree looks at the man standing in front of her. Tall and on the muscular side, the man from the Bible study fiasco has returned to the scene of the crime. His dark blue jeans and freshly laundered button shirt having been replaced with a khaki t shirt and an odd mix of cammos. It reminds her of an overzealous toddler who decides he wants to be in every branch of the military at the same time for career day at preschool. She supposes it could be worse at least his boots were matching.

“May I help you?” she asks.

“I kinda wanted to have a word with ya and the kid at the front desk said I could find you in here. I was here you know...earlier.”

“I may be getting up in years but I’m not that old. I remember you.”

“I wanted to come and apologize. I did the thing.” He says.

“The thing?”

“I did the thing, you know with the papers. I kinda brought the handouts with me and placed them over the ones that were given out earlier.” He mutters. “...For fun.”

Tony Johnson looks up and sees Nana talking to Tinkletoes. She steps forward stopping next to the octogenarian. “What?” She asks.

Tinkletoes looks at Nana. “I thought it might make things more interesting for the residents, wake them up a bit. Sometimes I think of those things. I’m kind of a fun guy...at times.” The self-proclaimed mercenary coughs.

Nana looks at Tinkletoes, as he stands in front of her wearing the strange mix of green and brown fatigues, turns to Tony Johnson and then back to Tinkletoes. “You? With that precise military haircut, the sharp angles, and impeccably polished combat boots? No, you do things by the rule book.” Nana shakes her head. “I don’t believe you!”

Tinkletoes lowers his head for a beat or two then he raises it. “You’re right ma’am. I do like to follow the rules and I like the precise guidelines that are found in the military, unfortunately the military has never established proper guidelines for combat with zombies or space aliens not to mention ninja- zombies.” He shifts slightly. “I do follow the rules, diligently, but I’ve had to write some of my own. They can be a little different.”

Nana looks at Tony Johnson, “Hmm.”

Tinkletoes waits until he has both ladies' attention and says, “I know it’s difficult to believe but let me assure you I am a real funny guy.”

TP pops in behind Nana and Tony. The faerie proceeds to make funny faces at the self-proclaimed mercenary indicating he should smile. Tinkletoes attempts one that is stiff and slightly crooked.

“Is that supposed to help?” Tony asks. “Now you just look like a serial killer.”

Tinkletoes stops smiling.

“That’s better.”

“I am not buying whatever it is you’re selling young man but no one else has stepped forward. If you’re determined to take responsibility for the this morning’s antics…”

“I am.”

“Okay.” Nana says. “What are you going to do to make amends Mr. I’m A Funny Guy.”

An “Uh-Oh” is heard as TP disappears.

When Tinkletoes returns, Writer Lady has assembled everyone she can find into High Command. She is in full presentation mode.

“If Faerie waits until Christmas before she makes her presence known we can celebrate in groups of three. One group does rounds from 8 am to 8 pm the other from 8 pm to 8 am the following day.”

Carp raises a hand. “What about Christmas Eve?”

“You’re right. We’ll have to monitor things for two days in a row. Now for New Year’s…”

The self-proclaimed mercenary raises a hand stopping at shoulder height. “Why are you only focusing on holidays? Look at what happened today. It was just an average Sunday.”

“TP says Faerie creatures are curious and nothing is more interesting to them than our holidays. People and things we consider to be of great value are also extremely interesting. Isn’t that what a good leader does anticipate the enemy so to speak?” Writer Lady asks looking at Tinkletoes.

The self-proclaimed mercenary stands at the back of the room and studies Writer Lady’s work. “You’re trying to protect everyone who doesn’t know Faerie exists from Faerie right?”

“Yes.”

“Faerie is a magical place. There’s no telling the range or strength of her powers once they travel beyond her dimension, am I right?” He asks.

“That is correct.”

“Considering we have so many unknown variables doesn’t it make more sense to wait and see what she does next?” Tinkletoes indicates the multitude of incidents and possible countermeasures Writer Lady has listed. “There is no way we can collect all this stuff and store it on this property without raising eyebrows."

“He’s right.” Carp agrees. “The minute you say you are expecting magic from another world to invade the neighborhood…”

“You’re toast.” Ray finishes.

“The best thing we can do is relax, try not to panic, and wait.” Tinkletoes says.

“Did you see the diagrams? I have really good diagrams.”

The self-proclaimed mercenary steps forward and repeats, “Relax, try not to panic, and wait.”

Writer Lady looks at the white board. She nods. “Okay, since we seem to be at a good place with the Faerie issue let’s talk about how to resolve the fiasco at the assisted living facility.”

“All taken care of.” Tinkletoes says. He looks at the rest of the group. “Dismissed.”

“Not dismissed. What happened?”

Tinkletoes waits for the room to empty out and turns to Writer Lady. “I went back and explained to Mrs. Dupree that it was a joke that wasn’t as funny as I’d hoped it would be.”

“You got her to believe that a racy story mixed in with Bible quotes was you pulling a prank?”

“I’m a funny guy.”

“You are not a funny guy. You’re a guy who does things that can be so stupid they end up being funny. But you are not funny.”

“Okay fine.” Tinkletoes says, “She didn’t buy it. When I agreed to spend the next month of Sundays helping keep young uns corralled so adult children can visit with their parents, she came around.”

Writer Lady raised her brow, “They are going to leave you alone with children?"

"I'm taking Dobby Cat with me and I do okay with these guys.” He countered pointing in the direction of Peter, Paige, and Dylan who were currently playing in the living room. “’Sides they were desperate.”

“Desperate I could see.” Writer Lady responds as she erases the problems of the day from her white board. Why did you go...and say you did it.”

“We needed to get that resolved without revealing the whole Faerie thing and you seemed to have bigger problems.” He looks out of the room in the general direction of the kitchen. “Is there coffee?”

“I’ll make some.” She says as she heads in the direction of the kitchen. Writer Lady turns around. “Tinkletoes? Thanks, thanks for being there when I needed help.”

The self-proclaimed mercenary shrugs off her gratitude. “Are there any cupcakes?”

“No, I appear to have a little free time. I kind of feel like baking some.”

Writer Lady exits High Command as she turns off the light with a self-proclaimed mercenary not far behind her.

She's Not Done Talking

 

You’re touching me.” Tinkletoes says. “On purpose.”

“I am.”

“Just makin’ sure you know. What do ya want?”

“To discuss your behavior.” Writer Lady responds.

“Yeah what about it?”

“You weren’t very nice to House.”

“She wasn’t nice to me first.”

“You’re an adult.” Writer Lady says.

“She’s not?”

Writer Lady contemplates her answer. “If she was human she would be. But she isn’t.”

“So anything that is not human doesn’t have to be nice?” Tinkletoes asks.

“No.”

“So what are you saying?”

“You shouldn’t have been mean to her when she was going through something so difficult.”

Tinkletoes looks at Writer Lady with an irritated expression.

“Men don’t understand how devastating aging can be for a woman.” Writer Lady says.

“Mural Man did okay. He’s a man, sort of. And he was supportive.” The self-proclaimed mercenary counters.

“Yes he was.” Writer Lady agrees. “Why weren’t you?”

Tinkletoes holds up his left hand and counts off the reasons as he responds. “I ain’t her boyfriend. She’s mean. She had it coming.”

“Had it coming?”

“Yeah. For bein’ so mean.”

Writer Lady shakes her head. “There are children here. Did you ever stop to think you were being a bad example to them?”

“The kids aren’t here right now. Aunt Purdy took them out.”

“The other kids.”

“Other kids?” Tinkletoes asks.

“Spots and Smudge.” Realizing she is reaching a bit, Writer Lady turns her attention away from Tinkletoes’ face and looks at the floor, the wall, the shower curtain, anything else.

“They aren’t kids.”

“If they were human they would be kids. Impressionable ones.”

“You’re really pushing the ‘if they were human’ thing.”

“Okay I might be reaching with that one.”

“Ya think?”

“We all do our best to get along with House and TP when he gets mischievous. You don’t. Why is that?” Writer Lady turns away from Tinkletoes and studies the wall House and Mural Man had disappeared into minutes ago. She looks at Tinkletoes, “You get along with TP most of the time, Daemon, Diomedes, Furnatche, even Mural Man but not House.”

“She’s mean, she hides my stuff, and goes out of her way to be mean or make my life difficult. TP is just as obnoxious to everyone here as he is to me. It’s different. If you want her to be treated the same she has to call you, Carp, Ray, Diomedes and the kids stupid and hide their stuff too. Then I’ll be nicer.”

Writer Lady releases a sigh of frustration. House is never going to change her ways.

“You seem awfully preoccupied with my behavior.” He looks into Writer Lady’s eyes. “Maybe the question shouldn’t be why can’t I be nicer to House maybe it should be why do you care so much how I behave?” He asks leaning in close.

“You think I care how you behave?” A guilty expression crosses Writer Lady’s face. “You’ve caught me.” She crooks a finger and gestures to the self-proclaimed mercenary to come in even closer. He complies. “I have to confess it has become important to me how you behave. You do spend a lot of time here.”

Tinkletoes grins.

“Do you know why it’s important? It’s important because you keep screwing things up!” Writer Lady turns and leaves the room.

“I keep screwing things up?” He repeats, catching up with her in High Command just as the words “This entire messed up day has been your fault,” crosses her lips.

Tinkletoes begins to argue until he notices Writer Lady’s current work in progress is still sitting open on her desktop. Open and waiting to be finished or in his case waiting to be read. The self-proclaimed mercenary reads as Writer Lady stands on the other side of the room, saying angry things and pointing a lot. No one is paying much attention at this point. Tinkletoes coughs clearing his throat. “I didn’t screw up. You did.”

Writer Lady looks at Tinkletoes. “How can this be my fault? I haven’t left the house today.”

The self-proclaimed mercenary points to the story displayed on Writer Lady’s monitor. “This is what the residents were reading, remember? You are writing the story, you got the roof replaced. If today’s events are anyone’s fault they’re yours.”

“I already took ownership of the roof problem and House is doing okay again.” Writer Lady sighs. “I guess it would be best to drop it.”

Tinkletoes grins.

“For now at least.”

“TP said Faerie replaced the words on the pages the residents were reading from. That she’s bored. I acknowledge that we do have some problems.” Writer Lady picks up her eraser and begins cleaning off her white board. “Okay. We have two problems. One: How to track what Faerie is doing in her boredom and how to manage damage control. Two: How to apologize to Nana and her friend without sounding like complete lunatics. Although I still don’t see how the incident at the assisted living facility is my fault.” Writer Lady says. As she begins diagramming all of the variables they would need to consider when it comes to Faerie and what she might do keep things manageable. One side of the board fills up quickly and starts leaking on to the other side.

“If you hadn’t been writing that story about that Lord Nathan guy standing on the cliffs in the rain brooding, the female ghost and their...visits. This never would have happened. You need to learn that Nathans are nothing but trouble.”

Writer Lady turns around and looks at Tinkletoes with nothing but pure anger. ‘You’re back to that again?!” She turns around and begins writing on the white board furiously. “Do you know why there is a story about brooding Lord Nathan and his hot ghostly lover? You! You kept insisting there was a Nathan somewhere in my life. You insisted on acting like an ass when I told you you were completely wrong. I got tired of the crap. You wanted a Nathan so I created a Nathan. A hot brooding, rich sexy one! As far I can tell the only problem with Nathan is you don’t know how to let it go. Do you see anyone named Nathan in this room? No there isn’t one. There are no Nathans here!”

Writer Lady turns around. “It’s that simple!” She says to no one in particular.

Tinkletoes is gone.

Every Dog Has His Day. Even War Dogs, Unless...

Dedicated to everyone who's found true love.

 

 Writer Lady opens her mouth to protest. The self-proclaimed mercenary raises a hand and places it over her mouth blocking anything that tries to come out. She steps back quickly, opening and closing her mouth, sticking her tongue out in an effort to exorcise any cooties that might currently be living on or near her mouth.

Tinkletoes doesn’t notice, he’s fixed his attention on the enemy. The self-proclaimed mercenary has already continued his counteroffensive when he exits the shower area. “So...what are you going to do now that everyone knows the truth?” he asks as he paces the remaining open area of Writer Lady’s postage stamp sized bathroom. “You can’t exactly cover something like this up. It’s not like there’s, you know, hair color.”

House’s face is pale in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, her eyes dark and lifeless without their usual bright glimmer. “I’m paper. I would probably disintegrate.”

“That would be a real b*…”

Something slaps Tinkletoes across the back of the head.

“That would suck.” He says altering his language. “You, no longer existing?”

“Technically, she’s a house.” Writer Lady points out, stepping forward. “Her mural is made up of magic. TP’s magic. We’ll ask TP to change her hair color back.”

TP pops into the bathroom, flying close to Writer Lady the faerie shakes his head. “No, no, no…” He sings. The faerie spins around, the colorful clothing he usually wears is replaced with the ceremonial uniform of the Kingdoms of Faerie complete with emerald green frocked coat and cocked hat. TP snaps his fingers and a scroll appears. Unrolling the scroll the faerie begins reading. “All magical renderings of any real object must maintain some resemblance to their true form. It may be in the form of shape, size, or physical make-up. If the magical rendering does not wish to keep the same shape, size, or physical make-up he or she may simply choose to maintain the same basic color scheme of their true exterior. If the magical rendering chooses not to comply, this contract becomes null and void and will result in immediate termination of the magic he or she is enjoying the use of.”

“If she changes her hair color...” Writer Lady begins.

“She’ll die.” Tinkletoes points out.

Writer Lady looks at TP. The faerie puts the scroll in his left breast pocket. Retrieving a bugle from his right breast pocket, he puts the mouthpiece to his lips and begins to play “Taps.”

As the first few notes emerge Tinkletoes places his hand over the end of the bugle. “Stop. That song is for military personnel only.”

The overflowing room has grown quiet. Ray, Carp, Dobby Cat, Spots and Smudge are all looking at House’s mural holding a hand over their hearts.

“She’s not dead.” Writer Lady says. “Do you mind?”

“It would be nice.” Tinkletoes says.

“Excuse me?”

“You know.” He leans in and whispers. “If she wasn’t here, bugging us.”

Writer Lady leans in from her side. “House is here. She will always be here. She’s my house.”

“I know. Just not in here. On the walls. Talkin’ and bein’ obnoxious.” Tinkletoes lowers his head and mutters. “Hidin’ my stuff.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“I know that House can be…” Writer Lady looks at House’s mural to verify she is otherwise occupied, “...difficult. I don’t understand why you two can’t find a way to coexist. You were a soldier. Isn’t being a member of the military about being part of a unit? Of working together?”

“Yeah but she won’t do what I tell her. She’s kinda mean, mostly to me.”

“She’s mean to you? That’s what this boils down to?”

Tinkletoes looks at Writer Lady. “She has made herself the enemy. The enemy cannot win. There is only one alpha leader on this base. I will not relinquish command.”

Writer Lady rolls her eyes. She looks at House then at Tinkletoes, realizing everyone there is standing in the bathroom of a house that she works to pay for...“Did it ever occur to you that this house has an owner? It’s me! Me! I am the one paying the mortgage. Not you, not House. ME! If anyone here is the alpha commander of this base I am!” She looks at Tinkletoes squarely. “You big dork!” Writer Lady yells before leaving the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Everyone looks at Tinkletoes.

“Don’t look at me. I don’t know what her problem is.”

Not knowing how to process her frustrations between the aggressive visitors from earlier in the day and the current drama, Writer Lady does the only thing she can think of, she cleans something. Okay, the refrigerator. It doesn’t take long, Ray has nearly eaten it clean already. Taking a soapy dish cloth in hand, she wipes down the inside and mutters. A lot. “My goodness. What is that dipshit thinking? Where the hell did he even get those ideas? What the…”

“I’m fairly sure you don’t want to finish that sentence.” A familiar voice says.

Writer Lady looks at the wall next to the refrigerator and finds herself looking into a pair of deep blue eyes. They belong to a handsome face with a disarmingly friendly smile. “Mural Man. How are you doing today?”

“Happy as ever. Although not as energetic as usual.”

“Under the weather?” Writer Lady asks without thought as to the fact she is addressing a mural.

“No, just woke up feeling a little flat.” He said smiling.

Laughter bubbles forth from Writer Lady’s diaphragm. “That’s such an old joke.” She says laughing.

“But a good one.” He counters. “Old jokes are old because everyone has heard them which means they are loved.”

“That is one of the best ways to explain an old joke that I have ever heard.”

“I like it. Have you seen House? She disappeared for her a.m. check and never returned. I can’t seem to find her.”

Not knowing what to say, Writer Lady takes a deep breath and tells the truth. “She’s still in the bathroom. Morning check over has not gone well.”

“Is it another wrinkled corner?” Mural Man asks. “It’s probably the same one she found a few weeks ago. I’ll go help her smooth things out.”

Writer Lady looks at Mural Man. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple. It’s my fault.”

“Oh?”

“While you were away on vacation I had her roof repaired.”

“Thicker hair. She should be ecstatic.”

“It wasn’t that kind of repair. The old shingles were removed and replaced with new ones of a different color.”

“New hair color. That was probably a bit of a shock. What color did you go with?”

“Gray.”

“Oh. That would not have gone over well. A woman like House does not like to be reminded of her age.”

Writer Lady’s mouth falls open. “You know?”

“Of course.” He grins. “A house’s walls, they talk. The ones that have been standing a while have the most interesting things to say. We never run out of things to talk about. How could I not know? I think I’ll go have a talk with TP, after that I’ll go see my girl. If you’ll excuse me.”

“You’re not angry with me?” Writer Lady asks.

“There’s no reason to be. As long as I can be with my girl I’m the happiest mural who ever lived.” Mural Man alters his direction.

“Mural Man?”

Mural Man returns his attention to Writer Lady.

“Thank you. I’d really like to be there when you tell House she’s beautiful and you still love her.”

“I’ll send a signal your way.” He promises before heading into the darkness of the bonus room and a meeting with TP.

Not much time passes before Writer Lady’s refrigerator light flashes on and off. Backing out of the appliance and closing the door, she tosses her dish rag into the kitchen sink before returning to the bathroom. As she enters she hears Tinkletoes saying, “The old gray mare ain’t what she used to be. That dripping sink proves it. I wonder if Mural Man is going to want to keep sharing his life with someone who’s lookin’ so, old.”

“Mur…” House says wistfully.

“There you are.” Mural Man says as he appears on the bathroom wall. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Writer Lady smiles as she looks at the friendly face she had seen earlier. Something about the mural is different. His hair has changed. Mural Man’s hair is now the same color as House’s.

“Writer Lady mentioned what happened. I didn’t want you to feel alone so I had a talk with TP. He altered his magic and made some changes. I hope it’s okay.”

“Oh Mur. It’s perfect.” House coos.

Tinkletoes rolls his eyes and gags a little.

Mural Man continues. “TP and I had a talk and we came up with something we think is going to make you feel even better. TP.”

The faerie waves his arm in front of him in a half circle motion, House’s hair changes color from gray to a brighter shimmering silver.

“Does that?” Writer Lady asks.

“TP took a tiny bit of the glimmer which lives in House’s eyes and used it to brighten the color of her hair. The base color still matches the gray of the roof honoring the magical contract that they originally forged. I asked a few questions about the contract and made a couple of suggestions. TP found this alteration agreeable.”

“It’s wonderful!” House exclaims.

Looking at each other adoringly, the murals slowly disappear out of sight.

“I love a happy ending!” Carp says.

Water spurts out of the bathroom faucet soaking Tinkletoes who mutters, “Happy ending for who?” and reaches for the door.

Writer Lady places a hand to the self-proclaimed mercenary’s chest stopping him in his tracks. “We’re not done here.”