Frosted (a novella)

Chapter 1

Grace Luff stood in front of the sliding glass doors of her hotel suite balcony, eyes narrow and jaw set as a mug of hot coffee warmed her hands. Just outside, two Adirondack chairs were covered in several inches of fresh snow, much like the expanse of lake beyond—white and cold, as far as her eyes could see.

She glanced down at the neatly stapled packet on top of a nearby end table that read: "Agenda: Silver Wings Singles Weekend—Day One." Chewing on her bottom lip briefly, she knocked the packet off the table and into the trash can with one slippered foot.

When Grace's children had arranged for her to attend the weekend retreat for mature singles at a resort in the beloved Adirondack mountains of her youth, she had balked before finally accepting their gift. But upon waking up this morning—the dubious "Day One" of said packet—she wished she'd just stayed at home.

She knew their intentions were good, but she bristled at the idea of needing the help of a "Singles Weekend" to meet a man. Surely she would meet someone the old-fashioned way—by accidentally bumping her cart into his at the supermarket, or standing behind him on line at Starbucks. Perhaps her running club would pair her with a good-looking older man for one of her morning jogs around the Central Park reservoir. Eventually she'd meet someone who didn't just see dollar signs when they looked at her, right?

The truth, however, was that meeting someone new was challenging. The large fortune left to her by her husband made Grace suspicious of the men she met. She was never sure if they liked her for her, or if they were just interested in her fortune, and she was weary of the guessing game that came with being the widow of the late Harold Luff. Calling the inn and changing her surname from Luff to Holden, her maiden name, had been the only way Grace finally felt comfortable attending the weekend...not that she didn't like being Grace Luff, or—more accurately—Mrs. Harold Edwin Luff III. She had liked it. Very much.

Though their marriage had not been romantic, it had been one of warmth and friendship, kindness and companionship. Grace had honored her vows to the very end, holding Harold's hand as he finally drifted away, after battling cancer for five long years. And Grace had mourned him with true—if unromantic—affection.

That said, her grieving process had been atypical—instead of taking quiet moments to remember good days and process the pain of her loss, Grace had almost immediately launched into a plan to build a new hospital wing at New York Central Hospital, managing every detail of its execution, right down to hand-picking the marvelous staff, all of whom she knew by name. When the Harold Edwin Luff III Cancer Research Wing was finally completed last month, it was Grace, flanked by her step-children, son, daughter and beloved grandchildren, who had cut the light blue ribbon and opened the doors to the state-of-the-art facility.

Although Grace felt a quiet satisfaction that she'd not only fulfilled Harold's dying wish for a treatment and care center, but overseen the project on her own, she had to admit that since the opening of the wing, she'd finally felt the impact of his loss.

Staying very busy with the project for three solid years had supplanted opportunities for loneliness. In the past few weeks, that had changed. Though her children, grandchildren and activities kept her busy, a bit of melancholy had intruded on her quiet thoughts lately, despite Grace's best attempts to ignore it.

She was no longer someone's wife, and she had no important projects with which to occupy her time and avoid contemplation of her future. The questions of "Who am I now?" and "What do I want?" hovered imminent and nagging over Grace's head.

Who am I now?

Well, prior to meeting Harold, she'd been a nice girl from a good family who'd received her bachelor's degree and become a grade school teacher at a small private school in Connecticut. She'd met Harold, a financial wizard and the single father of one of her most challenging students, at a parent-teacher conference in the fall of her first year teaching. Later, he told her that it was directness—she'd gently, but firmly, made it clear that Harold's son was sorely in need of parenting—paired with kind blue eyes that had led him to choose Grace for the job of stepmother.