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Now the question is… what am I going to do with that information?
Chapter Thirteen
Brynn
“How did the generator repair go? I’ve noticed that the lights are flickering a lot less since you came in,” I say.
“It didn’t need too much. Just had some old gas that I had to change out and it needed a new spark plug. It seems to be running smoother now. I should have checked on it before the storm, but we didn’t know that the storm was going to come this close until a couple of days before.”
Of course, he’d blame himself for not going the extra mile. That seems to be on brand for him the more I get to know him.
“You said that you have more to do while we’re here?”
“There are not enough hours in the day to get to everything I’d like to work on, but I want to check the clay roof shingles before they fall off and hurt someone, and I want to check out the balcony in the upstairs apartment. I don’t know when the last time that someone checked to see if any of the wood was rotting. Bart and Rita haven’t used that apartment in years, and since Rita is staying up there right now, I should take a look.”
The way that Seven thinks about Rita’s safety and the way that she makes sure that he’s fed and smiling warms my heart. He mentioned that they have a special bond, and now I’m seeing the true evidence of it from both sides.
“Take your time. I’m in no rush. I can always write if I have downtime.”
“I have a question…” Seven asks.
“Go for it," I say, skewering a piece of avocado and egg from my plate and then take a bite.
It looks like Miguel made us an elevated version of Huevos Rancheros. Not exactly a fast and easy dish that Seven requested to make our meal easier on the kitchen staff.
Each egg is served on crostini-like bread with fresh avocado, beans, the same mango salsa, and other veggies. The second the ingredients touched my tongue; I knew that Seven wasn't exaggerating Miguel's talents. His food is delicious.
“How does someone become an author who writes regency and billionaire romance books and does it full time?”
Seven takes a bite of his own food as he waits for my answer.
I smirk at the question.
When people find out what I do, it’s a common curiosity.
Not only because becoming a full-time author doesn’t seem like an occupation that you just fall into. Most people think that most authors go to college and get a literary degree before setting out to write their first novel, but since my degree is in Administration Management, it confuses a lot of people.
“I entered into a competition on a whim, actually. Applicants could submit a short story for any sub-genre within romance and I picked historical romance. The editor at the publishing house loved mine over the others that she had read. The winning submission came with a publishing deal for the book, but then they asked me to create a full series, and the rest is history.”
“Really? You just sent in a submission that you wrote for that specific contest? Had you already been shopping it around to publishing houses before?” he asks.
“No. I just wrote ten thousand words over a short few days and then sent it in. It was surprisingly easier than I thought to write. It just flowed through me. Still, I didn’t think I even had the slightest shot.”
I take another bite of food in between the questions.
“I’m impressed,” he says, his eyebrows lifting up to his hairline.
This is the most engaged that Seven has ever been in a conversation with me, and I'm enjoying his undivided attention.
Not to mention that he just told me that he’s impressed by my author's origin story. For someone like Seven, who doesn’t seem to be impressed by much, I'm honored to have him bestow any praise my way.
“So you're smart,” he says.
It’s not exactly a question but I don’t see myself like that.
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“Okay, then you're creative and imaginative, and smart.”
