Chapter 28

Swallowing a chunk of ice cream, he mumbles, “Luck,” and grins. “Your publisher’s secretary called the car agency I work for.” He shrugs. “I was given the job.” He bows his head slightly. “At your service.”

I smile. “How long have you been at the agency?”

“Five years.”

“Do you like it?”

He nods. “It’s honest work and I get to drive all day. Love being behind the wheel.”

I stare out at pedestrians passing along Main Street with Christmas gifts in hand.

“If I may ask, what made you want to be a writer?” he asks.

I swallow, and shift in my seat. “Sounds corny, but my mother read to us—my sister and me—before bed every night. I’d pretend to fall asleep after she closed the book and tucked us in.” I smile at the thought. “When she left, I’d continue reading under the blankets with a flashlight. I loved getting lost in stories.” I lick my ice cream. “I knew then that I wanted to tell my own stories.”

“And now you’re realizing your dreams. You get to do what you love.”