Knock, knock

I’d been up half the night with a sick toddler intent on emptying her stomach, repeatedly. Needless to say, I was a bit tired by the time I got the rest of the kiddos off to school. I did a little writing and when munchkin woke up, I took her to the living room couch to watch Dora while I tidied up. I was a bit surprised when my doorbell rang. I glanced at the clock. Too early for the mailman, so… sales man? I opened the door and froze.

There on my doorstep stood a man who put the G and the O in gorgeous. Clean cut, intelligent dark eyes, romance-cover worthy features, dark suit and a briefcase that screamed expensive Italian leather. I’m pretty sure I stammered hello while I fought not to wipe my mouth in search of left over éclair chocolate, and stood there cursing my lack of make-up, my pj bottoms and huge sweatshirt. Oh, and my ex’s too-big slippers that I use when I take out the garbage. (which I’d just done)

He smiled and said. “I’m looking for *insert neighbor’s name*”in this slightly accented voice that would have sent shivers down any hot blooded woman’s spine. Melt-in-a-puddle divine. I managed to tell him that she was next door *lucky !@#@$*, smiled, said you’re welcome to his thank you and shut the door. But you see, I’m a romance writer, so it wasn’t as simple as that. In the 10 seconds it took to complete the entire interaction, I’d created half a dozen scenarios, even deciding on what kind of heroine would be best for the part. God knew he was already the perfect romance lead. Sigh.

The moral of the story? Put some make-up on and brush your hair, you never know when inspiration will knock on your door?

LOL. No. No moral, but a guilty secret, this guy will end up in a book somewhere, I’m pretty sure. You see, I have a guilty little secret, sometimes live vicariously through my heroines. Do you?