Page 10 of A Very Barrie Christmas
Not yet. I still have a few weeks.
Don’t dawdle. You want your novel front of mind before the holidays.
Before the holidays? Yeah, right, Juliet scoffed. She’d be lucky to make her original deadline. No way would she voluntarily turn in her chapters sooner.
I’m working on it.
Good. Proud of you, sweetheart.
Juliet’s stomach twisted as she texted her mother good night, knowing she’d been less than forthcoming. But as nauseous as she felt withholding the truth, she couldn’t admit her struggles or self-doubts. She needed to maintain the illusion. To fake it until she made it. The cost of failure was too high.
Before the book deal, her mother barely ever spoke to her. Even as a child, Juliet felt more like a nuisance to her parents than a source of pride—an inconvenience that got in the way of their literary genius. Then she’d taken a behind-the-scenes position at a nonprofit, and their opinion of her sank even lower. Such a waste of potential, they’d said.
But now? Now, everything had changed.
For the first time in her life, her parents respected her. They were genuinely proud. And they made an effort to spend time with her, to get to know her.
After years of existing in their shadows, she finally had a real relationship with her parents. And she’d do anything to hold on to the deeply coveted connection for as long as possible.
Even if it meant relying on a miracle.
CHAPTER 6
NATE
Nate strummed his fingers on the upholstered arm of the wingback chair, concentrating on the crackling logs in the hearth. To keep his mind from wandering to Juliet, tucked away in the study, he tried to conjure small talk with Frank. Tried and failed. The man had mastered a nonverbal language composed entirely of grunts, growls, and grumbles.
Nate breathed a sigh of relief when Beverly returned from the kitchen with a steaming cup of black coffee.
“There you are.” She handed him the stoneware mug. The smooth ceramic instantly warmed his hands. “I brought you a few cookies, too, in case you change your mind.” With a smile, she set the plate on a small side table. It wobbled with the added weight. “Oh, dear. I keep meaning to ask Luke to take a look at this rickety old thing.” She repositioned the plate until the tabletop balanced.
“Looks like a wonky leg,” Nate noted with an appraising glance. “I can fix that for you with the proper tools.” Turning to Frank, he asked, “Got any sandpaper or a file?”
“Out back, in the shed.”
“Oh, you don’t need to trouble yourself.” Beverly waved a hand. “You sit and relax.”
“It’s no trouble. It’ll take me two minutes.” He stood, eager to help out. “Would you mind holding on to this for me?” He passed back the coffee mug.
“Are you sure?” Beverly still didn’t look convinced.
“Honestly, I’d love to fix it for you. It’s the least I can do for all your hospitality.”
“But—”
“Let the boy help, Bevy,” Frank interjected, hobbling to his feet. “I’ll show you the shed.” He lifted the walking stick hanging off the back of his chair and gestured for Nate to tag along.
Nate moved the cookies to the coffee table, grabbed his new project, and followed Frank down the hall into the kitchen. Frank opened the back door, letting in a rush of cold, damp air and the loud rumble of raindrops. “You’ll find everything you need in there.” He pointed to an unassuming toolshed situated beside a large refurbished barn. “The shed, not the barn. The barn’s where we roast.”
“Got it.” Nate nodded, making a mental note to ask Frank for a tour of his roasting process at some point during his stay.
“There’s a light switch inside on the right. And here.” Frank removed an umbrella off a hook by the door. “Bevy would want me to give you this, even though a little rain never hurt anyone.”
Nate grinned. “I can make a run for it.”
Frank gave the same grunt of approval Nate heard when he’d asked for his coffee black and returned the umbrella to its resting place.
“I’ll be back soon.” With the table snug in his grasp, Nate darted down the porch steps, across the yard, and into the shed. He flipped on the light. A single overhead bulb flickered to life.
