Though the words “I’m sorry” keep repeating themselves in my brain. I shake my head and breathe in the aroma of peppermint and gingerbread and take a minute to sit down at the breakfast bar with a piece of paper and pen.
I scribble out a note to speak to Autumn this week and check in with Hope’s library idea, in addition to some ideas of how to present the baking competition working with The Village Gazette to Mrs Rolph. But I feel like we need something bigger to keep the magazine afloat. As I sip my coffee and twirl my pen around in my fingers, I wonder if there is a way of making our magazine monthly rather than weekly and still have it profit. It would cut down on production and save on costs and maybe give people something to look forward to each month, so much so that they would treat themselves and not think twice about buying it.
Stretching my arms above my head I let out a little “mmm” sound, feeling excited by my idea. I then rub at my eyes and release a yawn I had been trying to hold in. The sound of tapping draws my attention to my living room window, so I pick up my coffee to go and investigate.
‘Afternoon, sunshine,’ I say to Eddie as I spot his little fluorescent body swimming around his tank. I sprinkle in some food before moving towards the window. The snow is falling once more but this time it’s not feathery snowflakes but icy pellets thundering to the ground below. I smile. I love this time of year, being wrapped up indoors with the fire going, listening to the elements outside, the house in a sort of moody yet warm and peaceful darkness.
Devon and I used to make snow forts back in the day. When the weather turned anti-skateboarding on us, we’d build forts, take all our action figures inside with us and smuggle snacks from the kitchen, not coming out until it was time for dinner or home time for one of us.
“I’m sorry” mocks me in my mind again. I turn away from the memories the snow is eliciting and decide I should probably get out of last night’s clothes and wash. A lazy Sunday in pyjamas was one thing, a smelly, icky, lazy Sunday in yesterday’s clothes was another. I deposit my empty mug in the kitchen and twist my short hair into a topknot that becomes more a half up, half down topknot as I make my way up the stairs.
To divert my brain’s attention from Devon, I run through my “to do” list. The chimney for my replica building needs whipping up, so I’ll do that this afternoon with the next batch of cookies I make. I need to start on another wall of the building in order for construction to move forward this week on my Victorian-style house. I always prefer decorating each slab before piecing them together – that way more detail can be added without icing and fondant slipping out of place or drizzling down the roof and making a mess.
The hot shower melts away the tension in my shoulder blades. I can do this. I will finish this project in time, and it will be the best Christmas fair stall Springhollow has ever seen from The Village Gazette. The villagers are already getting excited. After the flyer went out on Thursday informing every one of the Gingerbread competition, I’d seen to a few emails Friday morning with people wanting to triple check the rules, eager to get started on their entry.
I wash and rinse with both shampoo and conditioner and when I step out of the shower, my warm fluffy towel is like a welcome hug. But when I catch myself in the mirror, I don’t recognise the person before me. Something doesn’t sit right. You didn’t even say you’re sorry. The words buzz around more forcefully in my head. When I go to retreat from my own evil glare, I pause on the landing. I hug my towel tighter to my body and slowly push open the door to my office/fake storage space and immediately start rummaging through old boxes I haven’t looked through in years. This will make it up to him. This will be my apology, then I can truly put the past behind me and both Devon and I can stay out of each other’s way and get on with our lives once and for all.
When I find what I am looking for, I go to leave, but before I know it, my fairy lights are aglow and I’m scribbling and sketching at my desk like my pencil never left the paper.
11
After rolling into bed at close to midnight I barely sleep a wink. My comic book had stolen all my attention for the evening; I felt like my hands couldn’t keep up with the pace the ideas were coming to my brain, which had continued to fire on all cylinders while I tried to sleep. That and my plan for today kept spinning around my mind. I shower in the darkness and dress under the light of the moon. I dress in my sleek black trousers with long-sleeved light blue button-up blouse, eyeing up my denim dungarees as I do so, and sigh. It’s just work clothes. Everyone has a uniform for work; it’s no big deal and it makes my mum happy, I tell myself and quickly grab my mustard yellow beanie, to claim a little piece of myself.
Bundling up with my scarf and navy fleece I creep out of my house and into the freshly fallen snow. It crunches under the pressure of my boots, making me smile into my woolly scarf. I wave at Mr and Mrs Rolph as I pass the bakery on the corner of my street. Already the smell of baking loaves fills the square. I nod at Mrs Bride fiddling with her chunky keys to open the library doors. It’s early in Springhollow – the whole the village isn’t awake yet. It’s not often I witness the first signs of life but as I need to walk to the edge of the village before work, I had to make an early start.
This morning I’m choosing to follow my instinct, which is something I haven’t dared to do in a while, but with my package in my backpack I’m feeling brave. My plan is to nip to The Sunflower Inn, about five blocks from me, and see if I’m correct and that Devon and his entourage are staying there, what with it being the only inn in our quaint village. I don’t think the smaller B and B’s could accommodate the press crew. There I will leave my parcel at the front desk with Willow. That’s it, simple as that and then I can be on my way.
I make it three blocks before the clouds decide to sprinkle generous heaps of snowflakes on me. I can’t complain though. It’s a beautiful sight watching the sun come up through snow showers. The moonlight and slowly rising sun make the snowflakes glisten and give the sky a stunning halo effect that projects rainbows of colour to guide my way. I skip a little faster hoping to keep the chill they bring at bay.
Whereas the village square was blanketed with quiet this morning, The Sunflower Inn is abuzz with life. There are people on mobile phones pacing the decking and I can see a camera being set up through the reception area in the dining room. It’s a little odd seeing these sharp-suited and booted folks in the inn, not to judge, but the lack of Wi-Fi and the mobile service being spotty at best, we don’t get many businesspeople bar the few regulars who come to switch off. The people I am currently observing look far from switched off.
‘I take it you’re here to see Devon.’ Willow’s soft and airy voice snaps me out of my nosy people-watching and reminds me that I can’t hover for long because no, no I’m not here to see Devon and I don’t wish to bump into him either.
I turn my attention hastily away from watching the camera crew fiddle with lighting, to Willow. She’s beautiful with sandy shoulder-length hair that naturally waves around her heart-shaped face. Her deep hazel eyes greet me with a smile. Willow and I went to primary school together, but she always kept herself to herself, picking flowers in the school playground or sitting with her eyes to the sky, lost in a daydream. We got on well enough, though I sometimes think mine and Devon’s action-packed games terrified her. She didn’t attend our high school, her parents choosing to home-school her instead.