Page 111 of The Nanny and the Nerd
“And it almost happened,” Delores agreed. “A young man I’d been dating brought me here to pop the question. But I had to say no because when I arrived in St. Barts, I fell in love.”
“With Auguste? Was it love at first sight?” Penny asked, glancing between the pair.
“No, no! Auguste came later,” Delores answered, patting the man’s cheek. “I fell in love with this place. It was the first time I was on my own. And I learned something about myself.”
“What did you learn?” she asked, hanging on Delores’s every word.
“It was up to me to decide who I was in this world. I was either going to be my worst critic or greatest supporter. Can you guess which one I chose?”
A warmth settled in Penny’s chest. “Yes, I can.”
“And that is where you start,” Delores continued. “For me, it was staying here in St. Barts after my ex-boyfriend left. I wrote to my parents, telling them I wasn’t coming back to California, and then I got a waitressing job on the island.”
“At the Café DuBois—where she met me—her boss,” Auguste added, coy smirk in place.
“You worked for Auguste?” Penny asked, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.
“I did,” Delores answered, gazing into Auguste’s eyes. “And the rest is history.”
The way they looked at each other was the way…she turned to Rowen. The way Rowen looked at her.
Would they have a happily ever after like Auguste and Delores?
“It starts with you, dear,” Delores explained. “When you write, you lay your soul bare on the page. Each word and every sentence is a part of you. There will always be a beginning, a middle, and an end. But the path can’t be easy.”
Penny nodded when Rowen’s posture grew rigid.
“Why not?” he asked, catching her off guard, surprised to find the man waiting with bated breath for Delores to elaborate.
“Because, Rowen, the good stuff doesn’t come easy,” Delores replied. “Nothing worth fighting for ever does. You have to work for it. When we write, we tie ourselves in knots to find the right alliteration, the perfect metaphor, the essence that remains with the reader long after they’ve turned the last page. That’s the shift—the a-ha moment! It’s the awakening. And in that space, you come to learn what’s truly important. What you can live without, and what you’ll hold on to until your last dying breath.” Delores beamed at Auguste. “And I can admit my husband is correct. Love and writing don’t exist in a vacuum. When you find love, real enduring love, it becomes a part of you. It intertwines with your soul, and it’s reflected in your work and in your life. You cannot separate the love. You can’t parse it out into bits and pieces. It simply is. But you must first learn to trust yourself and believe in your vision. That’s the foundation. Without it, love can linger, but it cannot grow.”
A ribbon of silence wove its way around the twinkling patio as if the universe needed a moment to absorb Delores’s words. Penny inhaled the fragrant ocean air. The gentle breeze lifted the wisps of hair that framed her face, and without thinking, she reached for Rowen’s hand. But he must have had the same impulse. She’d barely lifted her hand before he was there, taking her hand into his. And she was home. That was the only way to describe it. This man and his niece had taken up residency in her heart.
“That was…” she breathed.
“Incredible,” Rowen finished, tightening his grip.
“And that, my new friends,” Auguste said reverently, “is why my wife is who she is.”
Penny released a shaky breath. No kidding! The woman was electric, incandescent. Her words simply penetrated the soul.
Delores chuckled, then stood. “And now, I must bid you goodnight.”
“My wife is on a deadline, you see,” Auguste explained.
Delores sighed with a warm grin. “The life of a writer.”
It was still hard to believe she’d had an actual conversation with Delores Lambert DuBois—a conversation on the author’s back porch!
“Thank you for having us. I’ll treasure this evening for as long as I live,” Penny said, coming to her feet along with Rowen, hardly able to believe what had transpired.
Delores walked around the table, and the women embraced.
“Wherever your heart takes you on your writing journey, I wish you happiness, Penny. And remember, all our experiences, good and bad, are a gift. They mold us into who we are as women and as writers. Pay attention. Life is always teaching us something. The lessons are there. The opportunity for growth is there. And once you tap into that, the words will come,” the author whispered, then shook Rowen’s hand and bid him goodbye before disappearing into the cottage.
“I’ll see you out,” Auguste offered, ambling off the patio toward the gate.
Rowen checked his watch. “I suspect you’ll be joining your grandsons soon. When I spoke with Edgar, he mentioned you often play together in the evenings.”
