Novel Dreams

by Jessica Anne Renwick

  “Anna?” Tad snapped his fingers in her direction. “You home?”

  She jerked to attention. “Sorry, I have a lot on my mind. My agent gave me a ton of notes on The Wicked Moon. She’s going to pitch it to YA publishers.”

  Tad cocked his head. “YA? From what you told me this summer, Rowena is struggling with her new career and a red-hot, off-and-on relationship with a gnome. That doesn’t sound like a book for teens.”

  “A gnome?” Anna picked up a dish towel from the counter and hung it over the handle of the stove. “No, Eamon is a leprechaun.”

  Tad raised a brow. “Oh, pardon me. Because a leprechaun is much different than a gnome.”

  Anna laughed and leaned her hip against the counter. “It sounds cooler in the book, I promise. But you’re right about the audience issues. I have a ton of work to do to make it appropriate for YA readers. And good enough to catch the interest of a new publisher.” The thought of her rejected manuscript crept into her mind and with it, Matthew’s scathing words from the day before. “Apparently, it’s not very impressive at all. At least, not to certain editors.”

  Tad leaned his elbows on the island and propped his chin in his hands. “Yeah. About that. I saw Matthew pull in this morning. Dad said he’s helping with the barn project.”

  Anna’s neck grew warm. “Yep. Your dad even sent me to town with him, first thing.”

  “Ugh, Dad.” Tad buried his face in his palms. “He is so unobservant. I’m sure he had no idea how uncomfortable you were around Matthew.”

  “What do you mean?” Heat rose to Anna’s cheeks. “I’m not uncomfortable—”

  Tad straightened and began to sort through the flyers on the counter. “Oh, I see. You bolted away from here yesterday because you enjoy hanging around outside in a freezing cold downpour, then?”

  Anna crossed her arms. “Okay. Maybe it’s a bit awkward. I mean, I never thought I’d have to meet the man who rejected my book proposal. Much less work with him.”

  “Did he say anything to you? Does he know who you are?” Tad asked.

  “He knows now.” She thought back to the truce she and Matthew had made that morning in the truck as they rumbled to town. Why does he have to smile like that? She bit the side of her cheek, remembering his earnest explanation and desire to clear the air.

  Tad paused from his sorting. “What did he say?”

  “He offered an olive branch, and I took it. And then—well, he was so nice.”

  After picking up supplies from the hardware store, they’d driven past a retro-looking ice cream shop she hadn’t been to yet. She’d let it slip how much she missed going for rocky road with her sister. Matthew had turned the truck around, insisting they had time to grab a couple cones. As they drove back to the inn, happily eating their frozen treats, he’d told her stories about going to that shop with his family as a child. How Marshal had always insisted on plain vanilla, while Madison had loaded her sundaes with every kind of candy available.

  “And your favourite is honestly rocky road? The same as mine?” Anna had asked him, gesturing to his cone with hers in disbelief.

  He had given her that crooked grin, then taken a lick of his ice cream. “Always has been. Guess we have more in common than we thought.”

  Tad’s voice jerked her back to the present moment. “What’s wrong with him being nice? You said that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “It’s not. Or, I don’t think it is. I don’t know.” Anna tore the hairnet from her head, catching it on an arm of her glasses. She took them off and pulled the hairnet free, then shoved it in the pocket of her trousers.

  Tad regarded her for a moment, as if deciding if he should say more. “He probably didn’t mean what he said to me about those books not being any good. He seemed nice enough otherwise, and we all say dumb things sometimes.”

  “I guess that could be true. But he’s confusing. One minute he’s a pompous jerk, the next he’s Mr. Wonderful.” Her mind reeling, Anna began to clean her lenses with the corner of her tunic. “What’s his angle? Is he really not so bad, or is he only trying to win me over with that boyish charm?”

  Tad tapped the flyers on the countertop, then gave her a catlike grin. “Boyish charm? Was he flirting with you? I mean, he’s pretty cute—”

  “What? No.” Anna put her glasses on and narrowed her eyes at him.

  The swinging doors that led to the dining area opened, and Madison entered the room. “Who’s cute?”

  “Nobody,” Anna replied.

  Tad grabbed one of the stacks of flyers and tossed it in the recycling bin beneath the counter. “Oh, some guy Anna’s been ogling.”

  “Who? I want in on the juicy gossip.” Madison flipped her wavy dark hair over her shoulder and stepped up to the coffee maker on the counter. She motioned to the empty pot and wrinkled her nose.

  “It’s nobody. Just some guy I saw in town.”

  “Speaking of guys,” Madison gave Tad a sideways look, “how are things going with you and Ethan? Did you go to that hockey game with him on Saturday?”

  Tad picked up the dishrag from the counter and began to wipe down the surface. “I did. And even though I hate sports, we had the best time. I never thought I’d enjoy sitting in a packed stadium, eating poutine and drinking weak beer.”

  Madison let out a little squeal. “That’s amazing! You two have been flirting for ages. It’s about time.”

  “Don’t tell anybody yet. We’re trying to keep it on the down-low. You know, with him working here with the horses, and my mom is technically his boss—it could be awkward with my parents.”

  Anna gave him a wide-eyed stare and lowered her voice. “You never told me you two finally went on a date.”

  Tad stopped cleaning and rounded the kitchen island to the sink. “You never asked. You’re always off in la-la land, thinking about fairies and books.”

  He’s right. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own problems lately. “I’m sorry.”

  Tad playfully snapped the rag in her direction. “It’s okay. You’ve got a ton on your plate, between men and books . . .”

  “Speaking of books,” Madison flicked her gaze to Anna, “I was going to ask you, was your book with that publisher my brother Matthew worked for? Raven Stone, right?”

  Tad snorted, then turned on the tap and began to rinse out the rag.

  Anna blinked, her stomach tight. “Umm, yeah. It was. Why do you ask?”

  Madison shrugged. “I talked to him this morning and put two-and-two together. From what he’s told me, the Canadian publishing world is small.”

  Anna swallowed the lump in her throat. She adjusted her glasses, trying to appear nonchalant. “Uh, yeah. He mentioned today that he used to work for Raven Stone. Small world is right.” She forced a laugh, one that rang too high and she hoped didn’t sound fake.

  Tad gave her a mischievous glance over his shoulder.

  Madison opened the drawer beneath the coffeemaker and began to rummage around inside it. “Well, that’s really too bad Raven Stone went under. I bet you two can share some battle stories.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” Anna pointed at the coffee pot. “Are you thinking of making more coffee? At this time of night?”

  Madison pulled out a filter and closed the drawer. “I know, I shouldn’t. But I’m so tired, and I still have a few hours of bookkeeping ahead of me when I get home. Setting up Dylan’s new company has been more work than I thought.” She paused. “Why did I offer to do his books and administration stuff?”

  “Because you love him,” Tad replied. “And since he gave up his job in the city to stay here and start his own computer company—”

  “IT consulting business.” She shoved the filter in the coffeemaker, dumped in a package of ground coffee, and hit start. “And you’re right. I’m so glad he’s staying here. It’ll get easier once everything is set up and rolling. I hope.”

  “It will.” Anna nodded, relieved she’d managed to change the subject. She slipped off her apron and
hung it on the hook on the pantry door. She checked the chicken-shaped clock on the wall above it. “It’s eight-thirty already. I should get going. I have lots of work to do too.” She wiggled her fingers in a typing motion.

  “Sounds good, Anna. See you tomorrow.” Madison replied. “Oh, and once you grab Monty, don’t forget to tie that rope around the gate again. I still have to get to town and get a proper chain.”

  “Of course.”

  “Good luck with the edits,” Tad said. He lowered his voice. “And with you-know-who tomorrow morning.”

  “Who?” Madison asked.

  “Nobody.” Anna shot Tad a daggered look, then went to the door and pulled on her jacket. “Have a good night, you two.”

  She stepped outside, enjoying the cool breeze against her hot cheeks, then closed the door behind her. She trotted down the steps toward the stable to grab Monty from the dog kennel. Just as her feet hit the wood-chipped path, her phone vibrated in her jacket pocket. She stopped and pulled it out, then squinted at the screen.

  A text from her mother blinked at her. King Construction is hiring several data-entry clerks. I emailed you the link for the application. You wouldn’t be working in my department, so there’s no conflict of interest. Call me, and we can discuss you moving home if you decide to apply.

  A second later, another text popped onto the screen.

  I highly suggest you apply, dear. It’s a foot in the door, and you don’t have many options right now, do you?

  Anna frowned. She could practically hear her mother’s condescending tone. She had never supported Anna’s move to BC, and as soon as Anna and Jace had broken up, Vanessa had given her the I told you so speech.

  Losing her book deal had only been another reason for her mother to push her to move back to Calgary and get a real job. Anna shuddered. The last thing she wanted to do was live with her mom, even for a few months while she found a new place. And she had zero desire to climb the corporate ladder, which would give her even less time to write.

  No, she wanted to be an author. To make a living connecting with people through her stories and sharing her creativity. Giving people an escape from the everyday stresses of life, a fantasy world to slip into even when times were tough. That’s what she was meant to do, she could feel it inside her. And she’d been so close. She’d had a taste of it, and she wanted more. She needed to rewrite her book and get it published.

  I’ll answer her later. Anna shoved her phone in her pocket and started down the path. After I get my work done on The Wicked Moon tonight. If I can get this book right, Mom would lay off. She’d see that I can do this and make my own success.

  I can put in the work and do these edits—even if it means completely changing the story.

  Chapter Seven

  Matthew’s breath steamed in the early morning air as he lowered the tailgate of the old red Ford truck. A dozen beat-up antique milk canisters stood in rows inside the box, some with dented sides and rust lining the edges of others. Marshal had picked them up the evening before from the Johnsons’ farm for their mom, Paula, and Matthew had decided to take the spare truck to drop them off for her on his way to the inn.

  He figured he’d leave the canisters on the patch of brown lawn next to his parents’ shed and be off, but the sound of a door banging closed came from the log house behind him. He turned and called out a greeting to his mom, who walked toward him with a hitch in her step, still in her fluffy pink housecoat and a pair of rubber boots. Dolly, her white toy poodle, pranced at her side.

  “Mom, are you okay? Why are you hobbling along like a lame horse?” Matthew asked.

  She reached his side and ran a hand through her cropped grey hair. “Oh, it’s nothing really. I had an incident at Christine’s yoga class last night.”

  “Yoga?” Matthew cocked his head. “Wait, doesn’t she run the bookstore?”

  “Yes, but she has a yoga teacher who comes in on Tuesday evenings,” Paula replied. “It’s more of a beginner class for us old ladies who are intimidated by the studio downtown. And we have tea after. It’s quite nice.”

  “So how exactly did you injure your leg doing beginner yoga?” He remembered the yoga class in Toronto that Brittany had taken him to, which mostly involved laying in a corpse pose listening to wind chimes. “Don’t you just sit there, pretending to meditate?”

  She gave him an exasperated look and waved her hand. “No, dear. That’s not all we do. I was attempting to do a shoulder stand, and I fell.”

  “That seems—” he paused, biting back the word ridiculous— “a bit advanced for you.”

  She straightened her shoulders and tightened the belt of her robe. “It’s not. I’ve been doing yoga for a few months now. But I’m fine. I only twisted my ankle a bit.” She peered around him at the contents of the truck. “You brought the milk cans! They’re perfect.”

  He pulled one of the canisters to the edge of the tailgate and patted the top. “Marshal grabbed them last night. Where do you want them?”

  She wrapped her housecoat tighter around her, then walked unsteadily toward the shed with Dolly at her heels. “Your father made room in the shed. They can stay there until tonight when the girls come over to help me clean them up.” She pulled a set of keys from her pocket and unlocked the door. “They’re going to be fantastic decorations for the Starlight dance. We can take off the lids and put dried flowers in them—”

  “Mom, you sure you should be hobbling around like that?” Matthew gripped the closest canister’s handle and heaved it to his side. “What did Dad say about your ankle?”

  “Oh, you all worry too much. I’m fine.” She shooed Dolly aside and pulled open the shed door. “Do you like the name, Starlight dance? It lets people know right away where it’s at, and it suits the theme of the Christmas tree lighting and our transition from autumn to the holidays.”

  “Umm, sure. It sounds great.” Matthew entered the dim shed, the only light coming from the window. His dad had taken out the lawn tractor and moved it, probably into the garage. Their tools and yard supplies were lined in organized fashion on the shelving units, exactly like his father’s clinic in town.

  He shook his head. Nothing changes around here, does it? His parents were the only people he knew who had a spotless shed and a leafless lawn, even in November. Their hobbies had always consisted of cleaning and nitpicking the yard. As a kid, his Sunday afternoons had been filled with yard work. Not he’d minded that much. Chore time had always faded into games of tag or hide-and-seek in the trees that surrounded the property, he and Madison goofing off while Marshal complained that they needed to get back to cleaning out the compost bin or whatever job they’d been tasked with. He chuckled at the memories, then set the canister next to several neatly coiled hoses, and returned outside.

  His mom stood at the tailgate, eyeing the canisters with her hands on her hips. “What time do you have to be at work?”

  Matthew strolled up next to her. “Eight. Why?”

  “We better get these unloaded quickly, or you’re going to be late.”

  He glanced at his watch. “It’s only seven-thirty, Mom. I’ve got more than enough time.”

  She narrowed her blue-eyed gaze at him. “You should always be at least ten minutes early. Maybe even fifteen. It’s only your second day on the job.”

  Annoyance sparked in Matthew’s chest, but he pushed it down. She’s just worried. Exactly like she was when he was fourteen and failed one math exam, and she spent the next three months hovering over his shoulder as he studied.

  He took a deep breath, then rocked back on his heels and gave her a crooked grin. “Come on, Mom. I worked for a professional publishing house for four years and always managed to make it on time.”

  She gave him an irritated look, then reached into the truck box and tried to pull one of the canisters toward her. It caught on the ridge between the tailgate and the truck box and rocked precariously.

  “It’ll be quicker if I help. You don’t want to look
bad to Rodger and Katie, or your other coworkers.” She paused. “Speaking of which, Madison mentioned to me that one of the inn’s kitchen workers is an author at Raven Stone. Or at least, was before the closure. Have you met her?”

  “Yeah. She’s working on the barn project too.”

  He thought of how Anna had finally softened and given him that smirk when she’d changed the radio channel in the truck yesterday. And before that, her big brown eyes boring into him as if he were her enemy. He hated that she didn’t like him. That she held a grudge, and maybe had a good reason to do so.

  He’d been trying to think of ways to make it up to her, to make her feel better about working together. So far, all he could think of was offering to help edit her manuscript. That would mean spending more time with her. Getting her email address. Maybe even her phone number. He shifted uneasily at the thought. As appealing as all that sounded, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to get that close to somebody he found so attractive. After what Brittany had pulled . . . I’m overthinking this. Anna’s nothing like Brittany. I could tell that right away. And what’s wrong with being friends?

  Paula clucked her tongue. “That’s too bad. The closure has affected so many people.” She adjusted her grip on the milk can and tried to slide it again.

  “Hey, let me get it. Okay?”

  She jerked on the milk can, and it tipped toward her. She fumbled, but Matthew stepped forward and caught it before it could fall.

  “Mom, it’s not a big deal. I’ll be on time. And if I start running late, I’ll give Rodger a call so he knows what’s up. We’re only working on cleaning out a bunch of old farm equipment.”

  Paula crossed her arms, looking like a pink tea kettle about to boil with her flushed cheeks.

  Matthew sighed and rubbed his chin. I should have left it at “I’ll be on time”. But seriously, I’m an adult. She doesn’t need to get after me as if I’m a teenager with my first job. He straightened the canister, then lifted it from the truck. “It’s all good, Mom. Don’t worry so much.”

  Paula’s face fell. She uncrossed her arms and tightened the tie of her housecoat. “I can’t help but worry, Matthew. You took off across Canada—at eighteen no less—to make it in the big wide world. And we thought you did. We were so proud.”