Page 5 of Yours To Take
“You’re the one that brought aliens up.”
“Regardless,”—I eye him before turning my focus back to the round, checkered board—“what family drama hasn’t been done?”
“What about a family in Antarctica?”
“I don’t want to shoot in the cold for the next eight years. Next.” I throw my last dart before going to collect them. “Fifty-seven points.”
“You win. I’m done.” He hands me my beer.
“No need to be such a sore loser.” I smile around the glass as I sip on the hoppy goodness.
“I’m not a sore loser. I just hate playing darts with you.”
“Means you’re a sore loser, Eric.”
“At least my job isn’t on the line.” He gives me a smarmy grin.
“Dick.”
“After I’ve spent all night trying to help you. Tsk tsk.”
“You have given me exactly one idea.” I hold up a finger to him.
“What about one set in the West?”
“LikeLittle House on the Prairie?” I give him a questioning look.
“Do you want to be fired? Because it sounds like you do.”
“I don’t want to do something that’s already been done.”
“Hear me out.” He rests his arm on the high-top table and leans across. “You see all these family shows set in bigger cities, but none that are in small, western towns. It doesn’t need to be anything over-the-top, but I’m sure you can find some inspiration.”
I weigh the idea. “Not a terrible plan.”
“Here.” Eric pulls out his phone, taps a few buttons, and shoves it in my face. “Look at that. Five-star ranches you can stay at.”
Dixon Creek Ranch.
With a sprawling property, cabins, and mountain views, it looks like it’s straight from a Hollywood set.
“Maybe it’ll be good for me to get away for a little bit.”
“I think all the sun is getting to your head.”
I subtly flip him off, scratching the side of my face with my middle finger. “I’ve lived here most of my life.”
“Which means you need to get out. Take a few weeks and get some fresh air. That beach bungalow isn’t doing you any good, filled with all those trophies from your mom.”
It’s true. To buy anything in this area would’ve cost me my firstborn. Instead, my mom sacrificed her beach bungalow—her words, not mine—for me. As long as I didn’t touch her precious trophy room.
I rarely go in there. Her successes are suffocating on the best of days, let alone when I’ve hit a block.
“This might be the smallest town I’ve ever seen.” I flip through pictures on the website. A small town with maybe one stoplight, it looks like it’s pure Americana.
“Which means it’d be the perfect place for you to escape to. No one would know who you are.”
“I mean, look at these cabins.” I show Eric the private escapes on the property. With nothing nearby, it really would be the writing retreat I need.
