It’s been a weird week. For a start, it’s been very cold. Like, 35 degrees Celsius below zero cold. That’s negative 31 in Farenheit for all you Imperial-thinking people.
I got Mukluks for Christmas — real authentic ones. But even at -35, they let the cold in and my feet started to chill up. I joke at work that I look like an old fashioned babushka: mukluks, a full length coat, a shawl wrapped around my head, my fur (faux-fur) collar turned up around my ears, and layers and layers of clothes beneath, as I hurry along with my head down.
Only in Canada.
I catch the bus to and from work, so standing around waiting for that bus in the morning is the most miserable thing in the world. And for some reason, the street where I wait for my bus is always a wind tunnel, even though it’s a perfectly normal suburban neighbourhood street. Even the slightest breeze at those temperatures is a serious thing.
The location where I catch the bus to come home is just as bad and for some reason, the bus has been late every day this week…except for the two days when I was delayed a few minutes, and then it came early and I missed it, and was forced to wait a horrible 25 minutes on that freezing street for the next (and only) bus to come along.
So it’s been an interesting week. It takes five minutes sitting on the bus just to get your fingers to unthaw enough to be able to type, let alone get your brain cranked up enough to start writing coherent thoughts. The cup of double-brewed hot Irish Breakfast tea I take with me in a thermos cup that I get to sip as soon as I sit down is so welcome!
It must be weather-related, too, but the bus has been strangely over-crowded this week. Every seat full and standing room only, which makes writing a challenge.
Nevertheless, I got all my blog posts caught up, and I started in on Byzantine Heartbreak, the second in the Beloved Blood Time series. That was my goal for this week, and I’m pleased to say I pulled it off despite the weird challenges.
Here’s a snippet from this week’s scribbles:
An Excerpt From: BYZANTINE HEARTBREAK
Copyright © TRACY COOPER-POSEY, 2012
All Rights Reserved
“What is it?” Ryan nudged gently.
Nayara blinked, her gaze refocusing on him. “I…it’s…nothing, Ryan.”
“What thought just occurred to you?”
She gave another tiny shrug. “Nothing.”
Ryan sat his full weight on the window ledge and crossed his arms. “You’re not really going to try lying to me, are you?”
He watched her hesitate and realized she was weighing up doing exactly that: lying to him. Stunned, he wondered what it was she was considering hiding from him.
“Give it up, Nayara. Now I know you’ve remembered, I’ll dig it out of you with whatever tools I can think to use, if I have to,” he said softly. “Especially if I think the station is in danger, and you’ve already suggested it might be.”
“No,” she said quickly. “It’s not. Not at all. It’s just the opposite. I’ve remembered, and it’s stupid. It’s actually embarrassing. It’s personal.” She bit her lip, glanced at him, then her glance skittered away and he saw she really was feeling awkward.
“Since when could you not tell me anything?” he asked.
Her gaze swung back to meet his eyes squarely and she just looked at him. No coyness. There was challenge there.
Suddenly, Ryan realized what she would not share.
His gut tightened. “You like someone,” he said, fighting to keep his expression neutral.
“No, I don’t know if I like them. I barely know them outside of business,” she said, and Ryan could see that she was picking her words with care. “Sometimes I find them most irritating.” She frowned.
“Do you at least want to give me the gender so you don’t have to keep circling around the pronoun?” Ryan asked.
Nayara’s smile was wise. “So you can build fantasies around me? Hoping it is a woman, Ryan?”
Hating it’s anyone at all, he thought. He made himself smile. “Why not?”