She pulled the kitten in and nuzzled her soft head beneath her chin.

“That’s it Miss. I’m done with daydreaming and reading.”

As if in agreement, Emily leaped from her lap to the floor and curled around her legs.

Nem picked up Pride and Prejudice with one hand while balancing her empty coffee cup on her plate in the other as she walked to the kitchen.

As much as writing a book was a daunting thought, impossible and even foolish, the idea wended its way into a recess in her imagination and stuck like a prickle. Prod as she might, she couldn’t dislodge it.

Nem glanced over her shoulder as she placed the crockery into the sink. “You want lunch?”

A hungry kitten looked up at her in grateful acknowledgement. She pulled open the fridge door but quickly realized there was no cat food. Darn. She didn’t love the idea of facing that weather.

A glance out the window told her the rain had eased at least. That worked even if it was cold. A walk in the chilly air was a good way to shake silly thoughts and little Emily needed her lunch. She put on her jacket, wrapped a scarf around her neck and pulled a beanie over her ears before opening the door.

Emily continued to follow her every movement as if she knew this somehow involved her.

As she pulled the door closed behind her, Nem caught sight of the kitchen table and again saw herself in a fantasy future sitting there reading over her finished manuscript. This idea sure was as stubborn as Scarlett O’Hara. She paused for a second enjoying the flight of fancy.

“When I come back, we’ll start on our best seller. You come up with a story idea,” she said to Emily.

The creature meowed an acknowledgement, then turned, tail whipping behind her, and walked toward the sofa.

“No, you’re right. That’s just plain stupid. Maybe crazy. Your namesake would tell me, Sorry, being great at reading books doesn’t make you great at writing them.”

And the diary? flashed through her mind.

No, that couldn’t help. Its power was in delivering good luck not the ability to write a good book. She had no experience and no education in writing.

No, she wasn’t an author. She wouldn’t know how to begin a novel. Nem couldn’t even imagine selling a single copy if she wrote one, no matter if she had all the luck in the world on her side. She a famous author? Now that was a laugh.

48

The diary was a significant discovery. That day in the café three years ago, he recalled it in her possession. Even before that time. His attention wasn’t focused on such an inconsequential detail. Why would you note an everyday item like a book unless you had foresight? He thought Orelia had written something inside, but that was his first mistake. He’d made so many with her.

He recalled now she’d used the book the same way as she had with the homeless man. That poor guy was him, a sitting unlucky duck, unknowing, naïve.