On this dreary day, Thea wrote sitting in the tub, her favorite place for creating stories. Writing allowed her to sink into another world while candles lit the steamy room and bath bubbles glistened.
But Thea’s story was side-tracked when a knock at the front door roused her from the fantasy world she’d created of knights and lasses and a well-spoken dragon. By the second, louder knock, she dried herself off with a towel, grumbling that she could have stayed in the tub another half hour.
The third knock was obnoxiously insistent, so Thea pulled on her jeans and sweatshirt and stomped to the door.
“Yes?” she asked, irritation noticeable in her tone. Continue reading