Pursuing Prudence: Part III: The Meal
Jeremiah stared at his reflection in the mirror, a bloody piece of toilet paper stuck to his face where the razor had cut too deep. He couldn’t help but smile back at his own reflection. Prudence had finally called, after a week of zero communication. Jeremiah thought perhaps he had offended her at the coffee shop, or perhaps she had recognized the obvious: she was far out of his league. She wore confidence like perfume, and a little went a long way.
He peeled the tissue paper from his chin and removed the remnant of blood that remained. He took out his go to cologne. The one his friend from high school had dubbed The Lady Catcher. It had lived up to its name, and then some. In fact, every time Jeremiah wore the musky cologne, women would comment about how irresistible he smelled. He sprayed some on his neck, his buttoned up black shirt, and even squirted a bit onto his wrists. Not too much, though. A little went a long way.
With one final glance in the mirror, Jeremiah smirked, satisfied with his appearance. One thing was certain: Prudence wasn’t going to fall for the usual seduction. She was far too smart for that. Perhaps it was the chase that drew Jeremiah in. After all, he had always loved a challenge, an unconquerable puzzle, and Prudence was definitely unconquerable. She had the ability to see past his mask—his illusion of a confident man with life in his pocket. The truth was, life had a way of grinding him down to dust, eliciting his feelings of mediocrity, and much worse, proving he was forgettable.
He shook the anxiety free from his mind. This wasn’t a way to talk himself up before a date, especially a date where he planned to win over a woman like Prudence—a woman dripping with self-assurance and passion. Jeremiah exhaled and ran his hand over his face.
“Get yourself together, man,” he said to his reflection in the mirror. “She’s just like every other woman.” Except he knew that was a lie.
Prudence was anything but ordinary; she was elusive, a nonconformist, and yet attainable at the same time. Hopefully, at dinner, he’d capture her attention, even if it was only for one moment.
***
“Come in. The door is open,” Prudence called from somewhere inside of her tiny house: one of those houses where a person lived frugally to have the type of freedom that only debt-free living could afford.
Jeremiah turned the black door knob of the canary-yellow door, bright and unique—the perfect choice for Prudence. “You should probably lock your door.”
“Why is that?” Prudence asked, turning around from the sink and wringing her hands in a dish towel.
“Well, you live alone,” Jeremiah said, giving her the once over. She wore an emerald green dress with a paisley print. Her once-silver hair was now a bright crimson red. “Whoa, you changed your hair.”
She smirked. “It felt like a red kind of day.” Prudence sashayed over to where he stood. “Are those for me?”
Jeremiah forgot about the yellow and orange daisies he held in his hand. “Oh, um, yeah.” He handed them to Prudence.
“That’s sweet.” She held the bouquet to her nose and sniffed the flowers. “Though daisies aren’t my favorite flower.”
“Why not? You look like a daisy kind of gal.”
She arched one of her eyebrows. “Do I?” she chuckled. “No, posies are my kind of flower.”
“Aren’t those the flowers in that one children’s song?” Jeremiah asked. “You know the one with pockets full of posies.”
“Ashes... ashes... we all fall down,” Prudence sang. “Do you know the origins of that song?”
“Not really,” Jeremiah said, leaning against the wall closest to her.
“Children sang it during the great plague. Posies were supposed to ward off the disease, but, of course, they didn’t, and so, just like dried up corpses, the children fell down into ashes.” A glint in Prudence’s eye made Jeremiah stand up from his leaning position. “My family has a long lineage—as far back as the Ancient Greeks. In fact, the Druids were known to worship those in my family line. Actually, I come from a long line of spectacular beings.”
“Beings… The Druids?” Jeremiah stammered.
Prudence’s mouth puckered playfully. “The Druids were philosophers, teachers, and harmonious people.” The glint in her eye returned. “But most historians claim they were simply pagans remembered only for their animal and human sacrifices, but they were far more powerful than any historian could ever fathom.”
“Sacrifices…” the word trailed off before Jeremiah could finish his sentence.
“History books are often biased, claiming blood sacrifices as barbaric and pointless.” Her eyelashes fluttered. “Sometimes blood is a necessary means to the ultimate goal… reincarnation, survival, or an offering to something far more powerful than any mere mortal could comprehend.”
“I’m pretty sure that sacrificing someone who isn’t willing to die is murder,” Jeremiah said, the hair stood up on his neck.
“Death is natural, Jeremiah, as natural as breathing.” She closed her eyes, inhaling and exhaling in a rhythmic way, as though she heard some ancient song he could not. “I know I would want my last breath to mean something.” She opened her eyes and peered into his. “Wouldn’t you? After all, we all fall down. Don’t we?”
“Well, that’s a bit morbid,” he chuckled nervously. “And here I thought that song was just something little kids sang at recess.”
“Death isn’t a game, Jeremiah.” Her eyes held his and the surety in her tone made his blood grow cold. “Sometimes it’s a gift: the ultimate sacrifice.” She arched her eyebrow at him, once more, and bit her bottom lip. “Are you hungry?”
Grateful she was changing the subject, Jeremiah cleared his throat and focused on the pot simmering behind her on the stove. “Yeah, I’m starved.”
He turned his head away from the stove and something glimmered to the left of where they stood. He turned toward the shimmering light and realized it was the glass on about a hundred frames that covered the walls in her hallway. “Whoa, those are a lot of pictures.” The hallway led to the back of her tiny house, away from the kitchen, and to where he assumed her bedroom was.
“Oh that,” she said and then grinned. “My Friend Wall.”
“Sort of like your own version of social media?” He walked over to get a better look. Prudence had snapshots of men and women, smiling, laughing, glimpses of her past. Not one picture was of Prudence. Not a selfie, or candid photo with one of her friends. Strange.
“Not like social media at all,” Prudence said, from behind him. “You know how I love to be anonymous.”
Her breath was on his neck, sending shivers down his spine, but not in a pleasant way. Jeremiah turned to face her. For some reason, maybe it was all that sacrifice talk, the fact that she was behind him unsettled him. She stared up into his eyes again, that same piercing gaze.
“Do I make you uncomfortable, Jeremiah?” she whispered.
“No,” he stammered, but the croak in this single utterance betrayed him. He cleared his throat again, and looked past her back toward the table.
She laughed again. “You’re a horrible liar.” She leaned in closer to him. “How about now?” she asked, her face was an inch away from his. The smell of patchouli wafted toward him.
“No,” he repeated firmly. His blood rushed through his veins, but just before her lips brushed against his, she pulled away.
Prudence smiled, and her teeth grazed her lower lip. “I could just eat you up,” she said, pulling away from him. “But I think I’ll wait until later.” She winked at him and danced out of his arms. “I better go check on the chili.”
“Can’t the chili wait?” Jeremiah asked, reaching for her hand to pull her back to him, but she darted away.
She spun on her heel, her lips slightly parted, seducing his senses. “I promised you the best dinner of your life, and a night you would never forget. I always keep my promises, Jeremiah.”
He stared after her, as she swayed back and forth to that same unheard rhythm as before. Her movements were intoxicating. It was as though every twist and swirl of her hand hypnotized him. His heartbeat quickened and blood pulsed through his body, enlivening his senses.
Any anxiety he had once held over the strange topics Prudence spoke about—sacrifices, ancient druids, blood, and death—all melted away, and he hoped with all his might that Prudence did in fact keep her promises, and that tonight would be a night he would never forget.
***
Jeremiah stepped closer to the wall of pictures. Hundreds of smiling faces leered back at him as if to say, “Welcome, friend.”
A chill ran up his spine, once more. The pictures were all taken in the same location, inside Prudence’s tiny house at a table set for two. Jeremiah glanced over his shoulder at a small circular table set up next to the kitchen. A yellow table cloth with white polka dots adorned the table, and two white, ceramic candle stick holders, shaped like owls, held bright orange candles, the wicks blackened as though they had recently been used.
He craned his neck to get a better look at Prudence. She stood in front of the stove, stirring a pot full of chili while she hummed a sweet melody that he couldn’t quite place. Though he wanted to reach over, grab her waist, and spin her into his arms, another part of him screamed at him to flee and run as far away from her tiny house as humanly possible. But why?
He turned back toward her wall of pictures, her Friend Wall, as she had called it, and he peered longer at the smiling faces. In each picture, an enormous yellow bowl sat in front of the friend, a generous portion of chili steamed from the bowl. Jeremiah leaned in closer. Yes, it was chili, no mistake there.
One of the faces caught his eye. A young man with curly orange hair, reminiscent of a comedian Jeremiah had once seen do a magic show in Las Vegas.
“Prudence,” he braved.
“Mm-hmm,” she hummed happily.
“I don’t mean to bother you,” he stammered, his heart racing as he formed the words. “But I think I know one of your friends.”
A clang came from the kitchen, the sound of a metal utensil hitting the floor. “You do?” she asked, behind him now. She was quick, her movements silent like a snake.
“Yes, but I can’t remember his name.” He pointed to the man with the orange hair.
“Oh, Clive,” Prudence answered, nodding her head. “He’s a hard one to forget.”
Clive... the name was familiar... Clive. Jeremiah’s eyebrows drew together. “Yeah, that’s his name, but I still don’t know how I know him. Does he live in Hood River?”
Prudence laughed. “Oh, no, Clive doesn’t live in Hood River.”
The hair on the back of Jeremiah’s neck stood on end once more. “He doesn’t?”
She shook her head. “No, silly, Clive is from California. His family owns a farm out there. You probably met him at a farmer’s market.”
“That makes sense,” Jeremiah said, even though it didn’t. He hadn’t remembered meeting anybody besides Prudence at the Farmer’s Market, which was over three weeks ago, and he could have sworn he had seen Clive’s picture recently. Jeremiah racked his brain trying to remember where he had seen Clive’s picture: at the coffee shop? No, not there. Had he read about him in the newspaper? No, Jeremiah rarely read the newspaper.
Prudence peered into his face. “What are you thinking about, Jeremiah?”
The question itself was innocent, but the chill in her eyes was unmistakable. Jeremiah shivered. “Just, trying to remember which farmer’s market Clive worked at.”
She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “All those questions will spoil your appetite.”
“I smell something burning,” he said, changing the subject.
Prudence grumbled and left the room quickly. “Oh, it’s just the corn bread,” she said from the kitchen. “Don’t worry though, only a few of the muffins are burnt.” Irritation entwined itself in her words. “We should eat soon.” This was more of a command than an invitation.
“Mm-hmm,” Jeremiah murmured, his mind still focused on Clive’s picture.
Had he seen him on the Internet? Jeremiah pulled out his smart phone and opened the daily articles listed on his home screen. The loading symbol circled, trying to find a signal.
“Come on,” Jeremiah grumbled, “load already.”
“Load what?” Prudence said from behind him, again.
He shifted his shoulder, blocking his phone. “Oh, nothing,” he quipped, facing her.
Prudence held out her hand, motioning for him to take a hold of it. “Come on, silly,” she giggled, “dinner’s ready.”
Jeremiah placed his hand in hers, embarrassed that he had ever questioned her motives. So, she had a Friend Wall where she posted random pictures of people eating in her home. So what? That didn’t make her evil, quirky and eccentric maybe, but evil… not in the least.
Prudence handed Jeremiah a cornbread muffin. “You’re in for a treat. They’re my grandmother’s recipe.”
He held the muffin in his hand, Prudence’s finger lingered on his for a moment, sending tingles up his arm. Her eyes met his, and any coldness he had seen was gone. In fact, he must have mistaken the ice in her glare. He had a tendency to misread people, which was one of the many reasons he had remained single for so long.
“What are you thinking about, Jeremiah?” Prudence repeated the question, her voice husky, passionate.
“I don’t like being vulnerable,” he admitted.
She grinned. “All the more reason to share.”
“I’m not really good at this… dating that is, but I’d like to get to know you better.” He motioned toward her photographs. Maybe if he asked about her pictures, she’d be willing to tell him how she knew Clive. “Do you make dinner for all of your friends? I was kind of hoping I was more than just a friend.”
Her lips puckered up, and she drew circles on his hand with her finger. “Let’s eat first and let things happen naturally.”
“That was my intention.” Jeremiah’s eyebrow rose. “I’m just curious about your friends is all.”
Prudence let go of his hand. “Your chili is getting cold,” she said flatly.
“I didn’t mean to press you,” he stammered, hoping he hadn’t made another dating blunder and ruined his chances with Prudence.
Though tonight had been strange, he still wanted to be more than just her friend. He took the bowl of chili she held out for him, and spooned a generous portion into his mouth.
“Wow!” His eyes widened. “This is amazing.”
“I knew you’d like it.” She leaned toward him. “Do you mind if I take your picture?” The question floated in the atmosphere like fog obscuring a train signal, both dangerous and deadly.
Before Jeremiah could protest, she snapped a quick shot with a Polaroid camera he hadn’t seen on the table before that moment. “See that didn’t hurt, now, did it?” She leaned back in her chair.
“Maybe you should retake that picture,” Jeremiah said, blinking his eyes. “I wasn’t ready for it.”
“No, I think it’s perfect. I want to remember you just like this.”
“What do you mean, remember me?” Jeremiah asked. “Are you going somewhere?”
Prudence’s smiled faded. “I don’t like to stay in one place for too long.”
“Why is that?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound too desperate.
She shrugged. “I get bored quickly.”
A knot formed in Jeremiah’s throat. He knew that feeling all too well, getting bored with someone he was dating, but he thought Prudence and he had shared something deeper, something meaningful and lasting, but maybe he was wrong.
“Don’t you like your chili?” she asked.
He glanced down at his bowl, wanting to press the issue further, but hesitant to push Prudence again. Jeremiah spooned another large bite into his mouth. The flavor was addicting. “Where did you get this recipe?” He asked between bites.
Prudence tilted her head and her lips curled into a devious grin. “It’s another family recipe.”
“What’s in it?” he asked, taking another bite, and then another.
She shook her head. “A magician never reveals her secrets.” Prudence stood up from the table and walked back toward the kitchen.
Jeremiah’s phone lit up on the table; it had finally loaded. He pushed the button to open his home screen. A list of articles popped up immediately, and he scrolled down through the list.
Prudence walked back toward the table with hot sauce in her hand. “What are you looking at?
Jeremiah glanced down at his phone. “Nothing,” he said, covering the screen with his hand.
Prudence’s eyebrow rose. “I don’t like when people use their phones during dinner. It’s rude.” The bite in her tone was sharp, like a hornet protecting its hive.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he paused. “I was just checking out an article online. I think that’s where I first saw Clive.”
Her lips tightened into a thin line. “Why are you so interested in Clive?”
“Oh, I’m not really,” Jeremiah responded too quickly. “I just hate when I can’t remember something.” He glanced back at his phone. The screen was black. He tapped the button to reload the page. Jeremiah glanced from Prudence to the bowl of chili in front of her. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“This isn’t my favorite meal.” She smirked. “I told you I don’t enjoy conventional cuisine.”
“What do you mean by conventional cuisine?” Jeremiah asked.
Prudence shrugged, taking the developed photo in her hand. She glided over to her Friend Wall. The photos of the smiling faces. Clive’s face.
Jeremiah glanced back down at his phone. An article caught his eye. The same article he had read earlier that morning. The article about Clive. Clive’s picture stared back at him from the screen—that same smile and unmistakable hair. Large cap letters above the picture read: CLIVE BAXTER... MISSING SINCE JULY! Jeremiah gasped.
“What’s the matter, Jeremiah?” Prudence said from behind him. Her voice no longer playful or sweet.
He turned to face her, but when he did so, the room spun, sending him off balance. Jeremiah closed his eyes to regain his focus.
“What’s wrong with me?” He asked, slurring his words together.
Prudence chuckled, leaning into him. “Jeremiah?” she sang, focusing on the syllables of his name. “Ashes... Ashes...” she taunted him.
The scent of patchouli suffocated his senses. Jeremiah’s head grew foggy, and the room blurred in and out of focus. “What... is... happening... to... me?” His throat constricted, and he gasped for air.
“Maybe it was something you ate?” She giggled, again, toying with him—a cat pawing at a dying mouse.
Dying. The word echoed in his head. His tongue swelled in his mouth... heavy, like a lifeless stone. “You poisoned me?” He forced one of his eyes open, and a sliver of Prudence’s face blurred before him.
Jeremiah felt Prudence’s breath on his neck. “I didn’t poison you, silly,” she hissed.
He should fight back, but his limbs were too heavy, and his eyes heavier still. Sleep was beckoning to him,
“Then… I’m not… dying?” he gasped the words out.
“Dying?” Prudence asked the question, and then he felt her lips close to his ear. “No, Jeremiah, you’ll taste far more appetizing if you’re fresh.”
Pursuing Prudence: Part II: The Coffee Shop
The barista used steamed milk to decorate the top of Jeremiah’s latte with foam. When she finished, a swirling heart twisted through the espresso—a sign?
He smiled to himself as thoughts of Prudence infiltrated his mind, again. He found himself occupied daily with images of her smile and the softness of her voice, so delicate yet commanding. She seemed to be a walking paradox, like a puzzle only he could solve, and there was nothing more tantalizing for Jeremiah than a challenge. No, Prudence was more than a puzzle. He searched his mind for the perfect comparison and then settled on a simple one: Prudence was like gravity, both grounding and necessary. If it wasn’t for their nightly phone conversations, Jeremiah would have floated on to another pretty face, but the mere thought of anyone other than Prudence, now made him unsettled. He hadn’t known her for more than two weeks, and already she had become irreplaceable.
Jeremiah had always teased his friends for falling in love, especially the ones who rushed into monogamy. He once chastised Jeff for moving in with a girl after dating her for only six months. “Why are you tying yourself down at such a young age?” he had asked, tsk-tsking his friend with a judgmental tongue. “Monogamy is death, my friend. It’s about as natural as Styrofoam and just as suffocating.”
What would Jeff say now? Now that Jeremiah eagerly sat in his favorite coffee spot, staring into a latte with a heart made of foam, thinking about one woman—the one woman who had fully captivated his mind... his very being.
“Jeremiah,” said the familiar, soft tinkling voice from behind him, intoxicating him.
He felt his stomach flutter… Butterflies? He’d become a walking cliché, a perfect example of everything he had once mocked. He didn’t care, though; her voice was enchanting, and he wanted it to pour over him, to bewitch him. Jeremiah turned to face her, and once his eyes met hers, he felt it, an unmistakable energy better than any high he’d ever experienced—and as a man who owned more than one hookah, he would know.
“Prudence,” he finally sputtered.
She giggled. “Are you going to ask me to join you or continue to sit there staring into your romantic latte?”
Jeremiah quickly stood, bumping the small, circular table with the top of his thighs. The latte splashed onto the wooden table top. “Well, it looks like my cup runneth over,” he said, sounding moronic, even to himself.
“Well, a heart is difficult to contain,” she joked, easing his distress. She sat in the chair opposite of him. “I still don’t understand how you can drink coffee this late in the evening. If I did that, I’d never sleep—not that it comes easy for me now.”
“Coffee doesn’t affect me, probably because I’ve built up a tolerance for it.” He sat back in his chair, sighing with relief. “You look nice... I mean beautiful.” He ran his hand through his black hair, worn down around his ears at the request of Prudence, and chuckled nervously. “Sorry, when I’m around you I forget how to form cohesive sentences.”
“I have that effect on people.” She smirked. “Or, so I’ve been told.” She leaned in closer to him, and Jeremiah breathed in the earthy scent of the Patchouli oil wafting from her.
“Do you want anything?” he asked, unable to break free from her eyes, unwilling to.
She shook her head. “No, I’m not one for conventional cuisine.”
“You’re an old soul,” he babbled. “First, you are anti-social media, and now, you surprise me with your distaste for coffee. You are a walking conundrum.”
The corners of her lips curled up; there was that coy smile, again. “I prefer enigma.”
“Of course, you do.” He found himself lost in her presence, forgetful of his surroundings, and completely surrendered to her being.
They stared at one another for a moment, words unnecessary, intrusive really. Without thinking, Jeremiah reached for her hands. They were cool to the touch, soft, and inviting. She didn’t pull away. Instead, her gaze intensified, simultaneously lascivious and intimate. He felt exposed and vulnerable, typically the time he would bail and find an escape, but not with Prudence. He desired her more, compelled by her essence.
“You want to go for a walk or something? Anything at all?” he asked, blood rushing through his veins and tinging his cheeks a deep burgundy.
Her teeth grazed her bottom lip. “Hmm, someone’s eager.” Her eyebrow arched in perfection. “Perhaps another night, though. I’d rather sit here and talk.”
His face flushed. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me. I’m usually not this intense.”
“Pity,” she said, her voice dancing in his head.
He shuddered. Jeremiah wasn’t in control. Evidently, Prudence held all the cards, rendering him speechless, yet fascinated.
Her lips pursed in satisfaction. “You’re not used to giving up control, are you?” she asked, somehow reading his mind.
“Is it that obvious?” he asked, sighing at his vulnerability. “There’s something about you that muddles my mind.”
She leaned in closer to him, her mouth just within reach. “And now?” she murmured.
Fire rushed through him, an uncontrollable passion. His lips trembled, and he leaned closer to her, so close he felt her breath upon him
She pulled her head slightly back and whispered, “Soon.” Without another word, Prudence stood up from her chair, graceful and quiet, like a bubble floating in air.
“Wait, you're leaving? But you only just got here,” Jeremiah petitioned her with his eyes. “Stay.”
“Timing is everything, Jeremiah.” Her eyes shone with gratification.
An urge rose within him to take Prudence into his arms and cover her mouth with his, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. She had paralyzed him with her brazen charm. So, instead of jumping to his feet, instead of taking her into his arms, Jeremiah sat in a wooden chair, staring up at her, mouth slightly agape, and fixated on her confident smile.
She brushed one of her hands under his chin, tilting his face up towards her. “I’ll call you when it’s time.”
“But,” he protested, once more, but she was already near the door, and before he could gather his senses, Prudence was gone. A ghost in the wind. An illusion. And like grasping at fog, she slipped through his fingers.
Pursuing Prudence: Part I: The Meeting
Jeremiah spit his dirty chai tea latte onto the wooden table. “I am not a Hipster,” he argued, wiping his beard with a light brown, recycled napkin.
“Spoken like a true conformist,” his friend, Jeff, rebutted. “Let me check my Hipster checklist.” Jeff feigned glancing down at a clip board. “Man bun... Check. Beard... Check. Skinny jeans... Check, check. Face it, dude; you are a typical Millennial. Just another sheep in the flock.” He motioned to the rest of the crowd inside of the coffee shop.
Jeremiah observed the room full of people, most of whom were mentally checked out from society: headphones in their ears, faces stared at the blinking lights of a computer screens, and those without laptops had submerged themselves into their smart phones. Maybe Jeff was right. Maybe he had gone mainstream and adopted the Hipster motif; maybe Jeremiah had become ordinary.
A week after the coffee debacle, Jeremiah trimmed his beard down to a well-shaped goatee, keeping the man bun and skinny jeans. The beard had irritated him, anyway. Food lodged itself into the tangled hair, and regardless of how often he combed it, The Beard, as he had dubbed it, had a mind of its own: both dirty and unkempt. These thoughts bantered against his brain as he stood in line at a farmer’s market, waiting for a bag of homegrown, California avocados. Hood River, Oregon was about a day’s drive to Southern California, but on Jeremiah’s vintage blue Vespa, it took more like three days to travel there. That was a long drive for avocados, regardless of how delectable they were.
A woman spoke in a soft voice behind him, interrupting his thoughts on all things related to good fat. “Excuse me,” she said, her tone ethereal and enchanting.
Jeremiah turned around, catching a whiff of the forest floor and the earth… the unmistakable fragrance of patchouli oil. Her hair was long, curled slightly at the ends, and silver like the moon, but it was her eyes that ensnared him. The dark brown, almost black, color invaded his soul, seeing through him, or into him.
“Hello,” he managed to murmur.
Her lips puckered up into a coy smile. “Are those avocados worth the wait?” The question danced in the air, like a leaf caught in the wind.
“Yes, they’re amazing.” Jeremiah found himself staring into her eyes for far too long, uncomfortable for most folks, on the verge of creepy for him. The woman didn’t seem to mind, though. In fact, her smile deepened.
“At that price, they better be.” She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear.
Jeremiah hadn't paid much attention to what she’d said. He had been far too busy watching her perfect lips form the words. Yet, instead of asking her to repeat herself, Jeremiah shook his head—a meager attempt to return to his senses. “I'm Jeremiah,” he managed to say, holding out his hand.
“Prudence,” she answered in that same breathless tone. She placed the tips of her fingers into his open hand. Dainty. Refined.
A tingle shot through Jeremiah at the touch of her cool, soft skin. Electricity soared through his veins, something he'd never felt when touching a complete stranger. Normally, he would never shake a stranger’s hand—too many germs—but for some reason unbeknownst to him, Jeremiah yearned to hold Prudence’s hand, even if it was only by the tips of her fingers.
Prudence stared at her hand. “I think I might need that back.” She laughed.
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Jeremiah said, his face reddening.
“You never told me your name.” Prudence stared through him, again.
He paused, thinking he had just told her his name. “Jeremiah,” he repeated.
“Well, Jeremiah,” Prudence said, one of her eyebrows arching higher than the other. “Maybe I'll see you around sometime.” Her hair blew in the wind, framing her face like a Michelangelo painting—a true masterpiece.
“Wait a minute,” he called after her. Why was she leaving?
Prudence turned back to face him, her eyes reflecting rays from the sun, like glitter under a spotlight. “Yes,” she answered with a stunning, Hollywood star quality.
“Can I…” Jeremiah’s words fumbled around in his mouth, tripping over each other. “Can I call you sometime?”
Her eyebrow rose, again, and her lips curled up into another coy smile. “Sure.”
Prudence reached into the multicolored patchwork bag draped across her body and pulled out a business card. She placed the simple white card into his hand, and her thumb brushed against his wrist, lingering for a moment.
“You're a chef?” Jeremiah stammered, recovering from her touch, once again.
Prudence nodded. “Maybe I'll cook you a meal sometime.” She turned to walk away and then faced him one last time. “Call and tell me how the avocados are.”
“They're fantastic. I promise,” he said with a grin.
She gave a little wave before turning back toward the crowd. Jeremiah watched as her flowing skirt fluttered in the breeze. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something magnetic about Prudence. Something altogether magical. Something that called to the very marrow in his bones. Whatever that something was, one thing was certain, Jeremiah was smitten.
Guess Who’s Back? Back Again…
Friends, I am so sorry for how long I have been away. The problem is… I am a teacher, and, if I’m honest, teaching right now is… well… absolute chaos. There is so much going on and not enough hours in the day. I’m also finishing up a novel, as I’m doing all of the stuff and things for teaching. Yes, I know… I’m creating some of my own chaos. I do this far too often.
Since it is my favorite month, and I have been gone for far too long, I decided I would let you all in on some spooky festivities I have planned for Halloween weekend. In case you didn’t know, I am teaching a creative writing class for my middle school students. Honestly, how would you know that? I haven’t updated y’all in forever, but back to my creative writing class. Well, my students and I were reading “The Landlady” by Roald Dahl, and my lesson called for them to rewrite the ending however they saw fit. (A challenge many embraced whole-heartedly, I may add.)
My students loved this story because it is subtly grotesque, and it lends itself quite well to new stories with similar villains and themes. As my students were writing their own masterpieces, I remembered that I had written a short story inspired by this frightening tale about six years ago. So, I opened up my manuscripts on my computer and read a few pages to my students. I can happily report that they were enthralled, y’all.
As many teachers tend to do, I stopped reading at a particularly riveting scene, but also because my story was in need of a good revision. Many of my students whined and complained. One actually asked for the link to the story, so he could continue reading. Another asked if I would put it online for them to read on their own time. That’s when an idea buzzed in my head.
On Halloween weekend, I will post this spooky little suspense story, inspired by “The Landlady,” in three parts. Part one will go live on 10-29-21 at midnight. Part two will go live on 10-30-21, at the same time. Finally, part three will be available on 10-31-21 at… you guessed it… midnight.
Hopefully, y’all will enjoy my strange and unusual tale, as much as I enjoyed writing it. Who knows? Maybe it’ll inspire you to write your own version of “The Landlady,” and I certainly hope it does.
May this story make your spine tingle and linger long after it ends. Because, let’s face it, the best stories never leave us when they end. In fact, the best of the best stories forever hold a permanent place in our minds. Whether we want them to or not.
Until next weekend… Let the spooky times commence.
Taking a Break Since I’m Back2School
Hey, all you lovely readers, I’ll be taking a break from my blog until about mid September since I’m back at the grindstone helping middle schoolers learn the written word. Please enjoy a picture of this grammar pun to set the mood for the upcoming school year. Don’t worry, it’s on the house. Much love and blessings sent your way.
Finding Hope
This past January I prayed for a few words to be the focus of my year, and one of the words that filled my mind was a word I had been writing about for a year—HOPE.
When I think about hope, faith goes hand in hand, so it made sense that this would be a word given to me to center my year around. What’s kind of mind-blowing is that this word is found in two titles of my books that I finished last year. This was well before I had said that prayer in January, and what I was not prepared for was the influx of reminders each day of this majestic word. Hope was every where I turned… literally.
I’ve seen women wearing shirts about hope, signs in trash cans (I legit found a HOPE sign in a trashcan on Saturday), letters signed in hope, text messages from friends telling me they have hope for me (typically on days when I was low and they had no clue), Bible verses read at just the perfect moment, and so many other examples of how this word has inundated my life. There are far worse words to encircle me, I know.
So, dear friend, I thought it would be awesome to dream with you and share my hope for the rest of this year. If my dreams come true, blessed be, and if they don’t, I know I will grow from the experience.
I hope to sell a few books by the end of the year. (This has been a long time coming, and I truly look forward to the moment this comes to fruition. My amazing agent and I are working tirelessly to make it happen, and I have faith that it will.)
I hope to be at a healthy weight and able to run a half marathon within a year. (This is something I’ve tried to accomplish for years, and I finally feel I’m on track to make this a reality.)
I hope to finish my current romance by October and begin the third book in the series. (This will happen. It’s as simple as putting words down on a page, or so I remind myself daily.)
I have other hopes and dreams I’d love to come to pass this year, but these are my top three, for sure.
Hope has filled my days for more than a year. I see it in the flutter of a butterfly wing, in the embrace of my doting husband, in the anxious anticipation of my older children to begin their lives as young adults, and in the simple smile of my youngest son as he navigates his final year of middle school (in-person). Hope springs fresh each morning. All I have to do is open my heart to the possibilities of dreams realized. Yeah, that’s a beautiful place to begin.
The HOPE sign I found in the trashcan on Saturday.
A Much Needed Break
I struggle with taking time off. In fact, if I’m not working on something, I have a tendency to feel unproductive. So much so, that even when I’m on vacation, I take my writing with me. Though I still worked on editing while on my vacation, and I did write half of a chapter, I made the decision to stop and be present with my husband and thirteen-year-old son. Honestly, it was the best decision I’ve made in a long time.
This year has been a rough one. If you’ve been reading my blogs, you know that I lost my dad and grandfather within three weeks of each other. Through the process of grief, I realized I need to change a lot about my life in order to live it well. First, I want to spend actual quality time with my family, and not just sit in the same room while working on my laptop, scrolling through social media on my phone, or watching murder documentaries on HULU. Next, I know I have to change my emotional eating habits and exercise more (bleh… but yeah). And… finally…. well… I still have loads of work to do on self love. So, putting my WIP (work in progress) aside for a few weeks was tough but oh so necessary.
My son will be eighteen before I know it. I know this because he is our baby, and our other children are now young adults. Pretty soon he won’t want to go on a two week road trip with us. Pretty soon he will be far too captivated by his friends and dating. Pretty soon my husband and I will be the OLD farts he has to put up with. Pretty soon is coming fast, y’all, and I’m not ready.
So, I put my laptop aside. I listened to Harry Potter in the car with him. We ate loads of incredible food. Spent time with family and friends we consider to be family. We went to Niagara Falls, Alexandria Bay, the Hershey Factory, Gettysburg, Roswell, and so many other amazing places. We laughed about nonsensical things, told horrible jokes, dreamed about lake houses, and so much more. It was one of those vacations I will pull out of my memories and mull over when I am no longer cool to him: oh, the teenage years are real, dear friends.
These past two and a half weeks were nothing short of majestic, and I feel so blessed to have had these precious moments with two of my favorite guys in the world, but the vacation is over. It’s time to get back to work. Characters are poking about in my brain waiting to talk. Stories are twisting in my mind. Worlds must be created, y’all, and it’s time I begin again.
Tomorrow… I promise. :)
My Favorite Places and Moments:
Saint George, Utah where we had an awesome dinner with family who always find the time to fellowship with us and make us feel loved, known, and seen. Thank you for your constant support and encouragement.
Keystone, Colorado where the adults tasted incredible beer, and we all savored some of the best pizza we’ve ever had before at Steep Brewing and Coffee Company. I also got to meet a future author who has books in her soul just itching to get out.
Hays, Kansas where some of my favorite people on this planet live. Thank you for showing us around your little slice of heaven and for dreaming about all things books, storefronts, and bees with me.
Abilene, Kansas where my current romance is set. We met the raddest store owners of Ortus Cafe who gave us a tour of their building, including their personal home. I will have to launch a book there one day soon… wink, wink.
Cooperstown, NY where newfound family lives. Thank you for all of the memories we shared. My favorite times were chilling on the boat and listening to the water lap around me. Thank you for loving us so well.
Gettysburg, Pennsylvania where I realized once again how terrible hate really is, and that a house divided can never stand.
Knoxville, Tennessee where friends were willing to eat a really late dinner just so they could see us, again. Thank you for the hugs, laughter, and belief in my journey. Until next time…
Niagara Falls, NY
Coffee Break Book Reviews: Sunday Rain by Rosie J. Pova
Do you love bold coffee? How about a good book? What if you could combine the two for a much-needed break? Then, come enjoy some magic bean juice with me as I present this week’s episode of #CoffeeBreakBookReviews.
This week, I interviewed #picturebook #author, Rosie J. Pova, about her #PB, Sunday Rain. This darling book is about a boy named Elliott who uses his imagination to find new friends in a new neighborhood. If you’re interested in reading a sweet book about new beginnings, friendships, and creative play, then this is the book for you. Click the link below to get your copy of Sunday Rain. You won’t be disappointed.
Now, sit back, take a sip, and enjoy.
Thanks for watching. Don’t forget to like, share, and subscribe. Tune in next time for another episode of #CoffeeBreakBookReviews.
TTFN… Ta Ta For Now!
Buy the book by clicking https://www.amazon.com/SundayRain
Follow the author at www.rosiejpova.com/blog.
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The Less of These…
A bee lay unmoving on the sidewalk in front of me. I walked past it, thinking it was dead. Then, a still, small voice whispered in my head: move it. I grabbed a stick, walked back to the bee, and held it in such a way that allowed the bee to climb onto the stick. Slowly, I walked over to a honeysuckle bush, put the stick on the bush, and the bee crawled onto a flower. The bee looked exhausted, as though it had given up hope, and I could totally relate.
I am in the habit of moving snails whenever I see them on the sidewalk, as well. I pick them up, walk toward wherever they're traveling, and place them safely out of harm’s way. One of the things I detest most is seeing a crushed snail on the ground, but I hate it more when I’m the one who accidentally smashes it underfoot. Needless to say, I am always on the lookout for passing snails. You see, animals, insects, and frightened living creatures have a way of finding me. My family can attest to this. In fact, if I pass away before my husband, he has vowed to move snails to safety, and I think that is a beautiful way to honor my life: to pay homage to the less of these… the tiny lives that cannot possibly repay a good deed.
Last Thursday, I found a crying duckling on my morning walk around the lake. I sat down to make sure it was okay, and it climbed into my lap. It had to be about six weeks old, and it was cold, shivering, and terrified. My husband and I researched how to help an abandoned duckling. Google informed us that we needed to walk around the lake as the duckling cried. If it’s mother heard it, she would promptly charge us and receive her duckling back. Though I wasn’t looking forward to meeting up with an angry mama duck, I really wanted to help this sad, little sweetie.
We spent over an hour searching, and though we found geese families, there were no duck families to be seen. That’s when we decided to take the little duckling home. We needed to keep it safe and find it a home. As my husband and I cared for yet another sweet creature, we decided to give it a name. Though we had no clue if the duckling was a boy or a girl, Sawyer was what we landed on. Sawyer is a bit androgynous, and it reminded me of the ducks near Tom Sawyer’s Island at Disneyland, or what used to be Tom Sawyer’s Island.
For two days, we tended to Sawyer, and with the help of an amazing friend, we found him a home on Saturday. The family was so excited to welcome this baby into their flock, but Sawyer needed more care than they could give. They were able to give Sawyer another safe place to land at a duck rescue in Lake Elsinore, California. Over the past week, my husband and I also found out that Sawyer was an “Easter” duck. These are ducklings sold at places, like Kahoots, during Easter. Many families purchase these duckies, and then drop them at nearby lakes. This is a thing, Dear Reader, and you may be as shocked as I was when I found out.
The woman who dropped off Sawyer, and another duckling that I did not find, said Kahoots told her it was okay to drop the ducklings at a pond or lake when they are six weeks old. This woman has been dropping ducklings at my lake for years. Yikes! Though I am angry with her naivety, I am grateful that, in the end, she did do right by Sawyer. She helped take him to the duck sanctuary and paid for his placement. I don’t type these words to shame this woman. I type them to remind you that little things, and tiny creatures, matter. At least, they matter significantly to me.
So, what does all this mean? Why write this post to begin with? I write it because, a year from now, I’d like to remember the day that I saved a duckling. A year from now, I’d like to see that I took the time to help something less fortunate than me. A year from now, I hope this woman will no longer drop off “Easter” ducks at my neighborhood lake. In fact, she may even teach others not to do the same. Who knows? She may become an advocate for the tiny creatures who cannot repay her kindness. In the end, isn’t that what matters most?
Think of me the next time you see an exhausted bee or traveling snail, and perhaps, sweet friend, you will help them along their journeys, as well. Perhaps, you will also make the time to help the less of these.
Finding Inspiration: How to Make Time for What You Love...
I wear many hats. I’m a Christian, a wife, a mother, a sister, a daughter, an aunt, a teacher, a blogger, a YouTuber, an author, an at home chef, a housekeeper, a friend, and the list goes on and on. I don’t know about you, but I get tired of doing all of the stuff and things. Sometimes, okay oftentimes, I feel like I’m spinning too many plates at once, and the thing I love the most, writing, gets pushed to the wayside. There have been many days where I don’t feel like writing. Many days when I’ve felt too overwhelmed, too exhausted, too anxious, too (insert emotion here). Once again, this list goes on and on.
So, how do I carve out those precious moments to put pen to paper, or in this case, fingers to keyboard? I wish I could tell you I’ve found a way to extend the day to twenty-five hours. I wish I could give you some miraculous solution, as though I took a magic tonic and BOOM… all the words came to me in a flash. But, then I’d be lying to you, and I don’t want to mislead you in any way, friend.
The fact of the matter is there are moments when I force myself to write. There are moments where I sit at my computer and just type words. Today is one of these moments. I wish I could say that once I get in the groove, brilliant words emerge from my thoughts, but that’s not often the case. Most of the time, I ramble on and on in some nonsensical manner, and I go back through my blog posts and edit the crap out of them. (Well, isn’t that a fine picture to behold.)
The same goes for my books. How do I write with such a jam packed schedule, especially on the days where I don’t feel inspired to write? I’m afraid the answer isn’t at all inspiring. In fact, all I do is write. The practice of writing a little bit every day (at least 500 words) puts me in the habit of writing. I remind myself that it's okay to have an off day, but it isn’t okay to give up on my dreams. It isn’t okay to push my happy place aside because I have “too much to do.” Sound familiar?
What is it that you dream about, Dear Reader? What is a goal you have been pushing aside because you lack time or inspiration? What if I told you the best way to start is to START? Just do it. Inspiration doesn’t come to us like a butterfly fluttering around our heads. That’s a fairytale. Inspiration is more like an angry toddler who refuses to take a nap. You just have to be consistent with it, regardless of how hard it kicks and screams, and voila, a habit forms.
It really is that simple, or difficult, depending on your mindset. So, how do I complete books with all of the chaos spinning around in my life? I sit down in front of a computer, and I type words onto the blank screen. Some of them are great, some of them are terrible, but all of them are necessary: the good, the bad, and somewhere in between. Yeah, they all matter because writing matters to me.
In closing, make it a point to carve out time for yourself. Start at the beginning. Take small steps toward your goal. Just keep swimming, as Dory would say. Time will pass by, anyway. You may as well do something you love while you wait.
