Xenia Watkins stared at the blank computer screen, her mind spinning with desperation.
The black cursor kept blinking at her. Nothing came. She never had writer's block never.
Well, until her recent breakup with David. Even now, as she lifted her gaze to the gently falling snow out the window in front of her, she couldn't quite figure out why ending the relationship had affected her so severely.
She'd never seen David as her creativity after all, he was all business.
The quintessential suit and tie guy, the corporate icon, partner in one of Seattle's most prestigious law firms at thirty-two. Had she loved him that much? Had she loved him at all?
Twenty-one years old, and you still don't know exactly what love is. And your promising career is going to die an early death because you're not smart enough to sort out your emotions.
Maybe Monica was right. Over pizza and beer at Xenia's apartment two weeks ago, she'd said, "It's sex. You've gotten used to it. Without it, you're just sort of clogging up or something. No sexual release equals no creative release. I'm sure of it."
"That's ridiculous," she'd replied. "I wrote books before David , I can write books
after him. And as you know, I'm not even sure why we stayed together so long."
"Because you need sex to create it's that simple."
Monica was a graduate student going for her Ph.D. in psychology at the University of Washington and thought she knew everything about the human mind, but in this particular instance, Xenia didn't buy it. Her best friend was usually a terrific problemsolver, but Xenia just couldn't believe her creative flow had anything to do with her sexual flow.
"A getaway," she told Monica enthusiasticaly, when the idea had hit her after her second beer. "Maybe that's what I need. Just a change of scenery. A . . retreat. Isn't that what writers do when they need to get absorbed in their work? They go on a retreat someplace quiet and secluded."
"And even if you really wanted to pursue that, I see a major problem."
"Which is?"
"You're broke. And I'm just guessing, but I don't think secluded hideaways come cheap."
Xenia had let out a huge sigh. Leave it to Monica to throw another crimp in her plan even if she was right. She had, unfortunately, spent her partial advance for the current book long ago, on things like food and shelter, and was now living off her savings account. Until she turned in the completed novel, she had to count pennies.
She'd looked up to find Monica's lips pursed, her eyes narrowed. "This is against my better judgment, but luckily for you, I happen to have a cousin with a vacation home in Colorado. He's always inviting me and the rest of my family to use it."
Xenia lowered her chin. "So you're saying?" This sounded good perfect, even ,but she didn't want to jump to conclusions.
"I'm saying I'm sure he'd be happy to let you retreat there. If you really think it would help."
"I do, Monnie, I really, really do!"
Monica had delivered one of her typical superior looks. "I still say you need a good lay way worse than you need to lock yourself up in a big, lonely house, but if this is what you really want, girlfriend, consider it done."
Looking back on that night, Xenia remembered the instant sense of relief, sureness, that this was the answer. Yet true to Monica's predictions here she sat, staring out on a beautiful mantle of Colorado powder through the picture window of a fabulous mountain home she had allto herself.
She couldn't sleep, damn it. At first, she'd thought it was worry over the book, but then she'd realized she was hot, sweating. She got up to adjust the thermostat and lay back down. Then she realized her nose, mouth, throat, were dry.
