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We stayed up on Christmas Eve and waited for him to come down the chimney…

Memories of my sister momentarily dimmed my smile, but my grandmother’s shuffling steps and weathered voice dispelled the sadness in an instant.

“Ladybug!” My grandmother, Ruby Jean St. John, greeted with a flourish and before she could sweep me into her arms, her pit bull, Lady, had other plans.

The dog jumped up, pawing at my torso with enough force to send me stumbling back a few steps on the porch.

“Hi, cutie,” I cooed once I found my footing. Lady kept jumping for a few beats before running in circles around my feet. When she calmed down, I walked right into my grandmother’s arms and sighed.

“Did I know you were coming?” She asked the moment we separated. A thoughtful expression covered her face. She waved a hand and shooed off my response before it could form. “Oh, never mind. You’re here now. Come on in and eat. We were just about to sit down.”

In all my twenty-nine years, it didn’t matter what time I arrived at my grandparents’ house, it wasalwaystime to eat.

Relief washed over me at how easily they’d welcomed me. No pitying glances or awkward silences.

I was just True. Their grandbaby, in town for a visit.

The armor I usually pulled on for a simple conversation got left at the door as I followed my grandma to the kitchen to help fix the plates.

Walking behind her through the living room, I noticed how she favored one hip, her feet shuffling more than usual.

According to my father, she’d had a fall last month and was still recovering. Her hips were already arthritic, so the added injury hadn’t helped anything. “Have you been keeping up with your physical therapy, grandma?”

That hand went up again, dismissing my words before they could turn into something more.

“Oh, please. I told your daddy about making a mountain out of a molehill. I’m just fine,” she declared, pulling the oven door open.

Lips pursed to fight a smile, I wanted to point out that wasn’t what I asked her, but then she bent down and pulled a cast-iron skillet of buttermilk biscuits out of the oven and I lost my train of thought.

God is so good, I thought as my mouth watered.

I studied the woman in front of me, noticing how easily she moved through the space and how content she seemed to be.

Hadn’t I just fled a house full of people hovering over me when I told them I was okay? My grandmother didn’t need me doing the same to her. If worse came to worse, I’d team up with my granddad and make sure she took care of herself.

So, I dropped it and went to grab the plates from the cabinet.

“How long you gonna be in town, ladybug?”

“Haven’t decided yet. Long enough to write a book?” I posed it as a question because I truly didn’t know.

Once upon a time, I was a romance author. But I hadn’t written a word in over a year. I didn’t even know if I could write anymore. I guess I would find out soon enough.

“You staying with us?”

“No ma’am, I’m gonna go to the cabin.”

When she’d passed, my great aunt Opal had left her old cabin to me and my sister in her will. Now, I was the sole inheritor. A lump formed in my throat, and I picked up my glass of water, forcing my thoughts back to the cabin.

It was on the other side of the mountain and in the middle of the woods. In other words, it was perfection for a solo writer’s retreat.

Remote. Quiet. No WIFI.

Exactly what I needed to lock in and get some words on the page.

My grandfather hummed lowly, but that response was too subdued for his wife.

“Nonsense. You can’t spend your first night in town alone. You’ll stay here. ’Least a week,” she said, like it was already decided.