Traci Oliver may be a best-selling romance author, but for the first time in her writing career she can’t type a word on the blank page. Book number fifty is supposed to be her best ever—her golden book—but inspiration joined her husband in the grave. How can she write about love with a shattered heart?
At the precise moment of the anniversary of his death, a knock on her door changes everything.
When characters from her books take on human form and tell her that they’ve come to help her, she doubts her sanity. Are they real, or has she lost her mind?
Her doctor says grieving is a process, but she never dreamed that part of the process would bring her heroes to life. She wonders if all people experience this kind of thing, or is it a weird phenomenon reserved solely for romance writers? Truthfully, the only hero she wants in her life is her husband, and she can never be with him again.
One of my favorite treats for as long as I can remember has always been popcorn. When I really think about it, popcorn and I have quite the history.
I can still envision the silver popcorn popper Dad used to use. It made the best popcorn! Of course, my grandpa had something to do with that. He farmed popcorn in Illinois. To this day, I don’t know enough about farming to understand how corn can be specially grown for popping. But Grandpa had it down to a science. His corn kernels would pop up huge and rarely left behind un-popped kernels.
On cold Idaho winter nights, Dad would pop up some corn and dump it into a large rectangular baking pan that we’d all scoop bowlfuls from. I can close my eyes and see the flickering fire in the fireplace. But it was the popcorn that made the night special.
I even remember the first time I saw one of the newfangled see-through poppers. Their plastic dome was tinted an orange-yellow color. Probably for effect. And when I grew up and got married, I owned one. I’d learned the skill of putting three kernels into the heating oil. When those three popped, it was time to add the rest. I also mastered the recipe from my mom for caramel corn. After popping several batches of corn and filling up a large bowl, I’d pour on the caramel made from butter, brown sugar, and corn syrup. Sticky and yummy!
Popcorn isn’t nearly as fun anymore. Microwaved popcorn eventually replaced my popper. But now that I’m getting old and sentimental, guess what I asked for for Christmas? You got it. An old-fashioned popper. One that I can watch and wait for my tasty treat. I think I’ll try mixing up a batch of caramel again, too. And if Santa doesn’t bring me one, I’ll buy one. My grandson needs to experience the same joy I had. Wonderful memories in a simple snack.