Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 130255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
“Her writing process is fascinating,” Susie continued. “I’d love to hear more about it for when I write my book.”
“You’ve been writing that book for twenty years,” Esme interjected. “And you have ten chapters. If you were going to finish it, you’d have done so by now.”
“I suppose.”
“Maybe it’s just not the right book.” I smiled at Susie. “Try something new.”
“You’re right.” She wiggled her finger at me like I’d just solved the world’s hunger crisis. “I’ll do that. And take your advice for inspiration!”
I didn’t need to know that.
Max raised his eyebrows from the door. “I’ll think I’ll leave you all to it.” He met my gaze and held it for a moment before he disappeared, leaving the door just slightly ajar.
“So,” Dawn said, turning back around and grinning at me. “What’s the best porn site?”
• • •
That was, without a doubt, the longest night of my life.
I hadn’t signed up to share porn websites with women who were pushing eighty, but that’s what I’d ended up doing. Much more to their delight than mine.
I also hadn’t drunk nearly as much gin as they had, and I was quite impressed by their ability to throw it down their necks. There was a very high chance that last night’s events may end up in this book—a quirky group of octogenarians was always a hit.
Somehow, I still had a headache.
It hadn’t been so bad after May had left. In fact, the conversation had slipped to other books they’d read and us all sharing recommendations of books we’d read and loved recently while I signed their stacks of all the books I’d written.
I’d enjoyed myself, but I was grateful to be back in the comfort and peace of Greygarth Lodge.
I poured a cup of tea and took it over to the desk so I could open my laptop and get it set up for a morning of writing. My mind was whirring with inspiration for this book, and I already knew I was putting in a pensioner book club. I would be long gone by the time any of them read this book, and it would be a fun little nugget to include for them.
Except I’d give the heroine the saucy grandma.
I smiled to myself as I looked out of the window at the morning sun glinting off the lake. This trip was turning out even better than I’d imagined with all the things I was getting inspired by, and now I was daydreaming of living in a place like this with a slower life pace.
I had my house in London, and for the price of that, I could probably get a bigger, much quieter property in the countryside. Not even necessarily here in the Lake District, but I was most definitely in love with Windermere. Everything I’d seen about the village was a complete dream, and I could imagine living somewhere like this.
Well, perhaps not this house. It was far too big for one person, and a part of me was wishing that I’d booked a cottage instead, but the view was too good to pass up.
Hmm.
Maybe I’d go into Windermere this afternoon when I was done writing and just happen to stop and look in the window of an estate agent.
For research purposes, of course.
I sighed almost happily. It was just a dream, but it was a nice one to have. The likelihood of me actually following through was next to nothing, but it was always nice to imagine what could be.
I finished my tea and got back up to feed Winston. I had to go out this afternoon anyway as I was in dire need of food for both of us, so that was the excuse I was using to visit the actual village.
“Winston, food!” I called out, giving the kibble bag a shake for good measure. I slid a pouch of meat into a clean bowl and topped it off with some biscuits. “Winston!”
Nothing.
Oh, no.
Not again.
He always came for food—it was the only consistent thing about him. Other than how often he escaped, of course, and this was usually how I found that out.
When I did the magic bag shake and he didn’t show up.
That cat was going to be the death of me. Did I have to stand on a balcony and call for him like Juliet did for Romeo? What was it going to take to keep that little sod inside?
“Winstoooon,” I sang, walking through the house. “Food! Come on, food!”
I was in so much trouble.
I rushed through the house, checking every possible space he could be in. Under beds and sofas, on top of wardrobes and shelving units, inside the bathtubs and shower units—everywhere you could think of, I looked. I even looked inside everything that there was no chance he could get into, and I probably looked like an insane person opening and closing every drawer in the place.