Stuck in Christmas (Holiday Magic #1)

Chapter 21

Twenty-One

I’m not sure how long I worked on my clues. The only sound in the room was the scratching of my pen on the pad as ideas tumbled out in a chaotic flurry. Pages piled up on the bed like fallen leaves, some torn and crumpled, others meticulously aligned. The walls, adorned with the inn's quaint decor, seemed to close in around me as I poured my thoughts onto the pad Bonnie had so kindly given me.

Just as I was about to lose myself entirely in the writing, a soft knock on the door rattled my concentration, echoing through the cluttered room. "Come in."

Joe entered, balancing a tray piled high with tea, biscuits, and a bottle of aspirin. "Bonnie asked me to bring you… my, my. What is all this?"

"Clues," I replied, my mind racing as I gestured to the mess of papers strewn across the bed.

He raised an eyebrow. "Bonnie told me you think this is your last day."

"Maybe not," I murmured, frustration gnawing at me. "If I can just figure out these clues. I know the answer is right before me; I just can’t see it."

Joe's eyes softened, and he stepped closer. "Sometimes two heads are better than one. Mind if I take a look?"

"Be my guest," I said, grateful for the company.

He picked up a few of the papers, scanning their contents before setting them back down. "There’s an awful lot of the name Eli on here."

"I think he’s the key to all this," I replied, hoping he would illuminate something I couldn’t grasp.

"The key to what?" he asked.

"Agh. That’s just it. I still don’t know." My frustration bubbled over.

Joe laughed lightly, seeming unfazed. "Have I told you the story about the squirrel?"

I raised an eyebrow. "I think I would remember a story about a squirrel."

He settled on a nearby chair, his tone growing serious. "I was driving one day when a squirrel darted out in front of my car. It stopped right in the middle of the road and froze. I slammed on the brakes, barely missing it. I thought for sure he’d scamper to safety, but no. He hesitated, trying to decide whether to go left, then right. Back and forth, he went for what felt like an eternity. And when he finally chose to make a run for it, he dashed right into the path of an oncoming 18-wheeler. It did not end well for that poor squirrel."

"That’s terrible," I said, feeling a twist in my gut.

"That's life," he replied simply, his eyes locked onto mine .

"Are you here to tell me I will get run over by an 18-wheeler?"

"No." His voice was firm. "But I think you and that squirrel have much in common."

"Beady eyes?" I shot back, trying to lighten the mood.

"No. Fear. That squirrel was so terrified of picking the wrong side of the road that he didn’t choose at all. And that, in and of itself, is a decision. A bad one. He let himself get so paralyzed by fear that he became roadkill."

I leaned back, processing his words.

Joe continued. "The moral of the story is: sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith and go all in. Now, I realize this is a lot to take in, but here’s the bigger question you need to ask yourself: if this is your last day on Earth, do you want to spend it cooped up in your room, in a bathrobe?"

I took a good look at the robe. It wasn’t that bad, but I had spent most of the day in it. Joe’s words echoed in my mind, creating a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Was I ready to let fear dictate my life?

I turned to look at Joe. “Not really,” I admitted.

“Then go. Take a shower. I promise you’ll feel better. You might be surprised how quickly your perspective changes.” He started to leave, almost closing the door to my room.

“Joe—”

He paused, looking back at me. “Yes?”

“Thank you. For everything.”

“My pleasure, dear. Now go.” With that, he shut the door behind him.

I only hesitated a moment before taking his advice and hopping in a hot shower. He was right. It did make me feel better, and I likely stayed there much longer than a woman with only one day left to live had any right to stay. But it was my farewell tour, and I’d spend as much time in the shower as I wanted.

Which was about two seconds longer than it took for my fingers to begin pruning. I slowly got out of the shower, wrapped my wet hair in a towel, and put the bathrobe back on. When I entered the bedroom, my eyes landed on my laptop, bright and open to the Positively New Orleans website.

Finally. Internet access!

I approached, my heart racing as I glanced at the screen. I clicked on the Top 10 stories. To my astonishment, they were all my stories. I leaned in, staring closer at the likes—they numbered in the tens of thousands. Then there were the comments. I clicked on one story, then another, each click opening hundreds of comments from readers who loved the story and wanted more just like them.

That is precisely what a particular chef told me recently.

I glanced over at my bed-turned-murder board. The words heart , 100% , and back each other up jumped out at me, igniting that spark of creativity in my soul.

I knew what I needed to do next.

I sat down and began typing. My fingers flew over the keys. This was my moment, and I felt the energy surging through me. If I only had one day left, I better make it matter.