Page 6 of Plotting Summer

I glare at the phone like it needs to understand how intensely I resent the interruption. But then I see the name on the screen: Tala. Of course it’s her. My sister is on a three-person list of permitted callers (along with my mom and my best friend, Jane) when my phone’s set to concentration mode, and her second attempt to reach me might mean it’s important. Like it was last fall when I didn’t answer either of her back-to-back calls only to find out hours later that Grandma had been admitted to the hospital with a heart scare. I haven’t ignored a repeat call from Tala since.

Reluctantly bidding my state of flow farewell, I accept Tala’s call. “Hey! Is everything okay?”

“Do you have a minute to video chat?”

Her tone is light, but I’m also aware she doesn’t answer my question. “Sure.” I exit concentration mode and the phone immediately beeps with the incoming video call.

When I accept it, Tala’s dark eyes and rosy cheeks fill the screen. It’s uncanny how much we look alike—down to the similar smatter of freckles across our nose and cheeks—except my chestnut brown hair still hangs to the middle of my back while Tala recently chopped hers off just below the chin. Drastic hairstyle changes must be a step in her postpartum recovery because she’s undergone one after having each of her three kids.

She lifts my newest nephew, Lucas, into view, setting him against her shoulder. “Are you still working?”

My gaze flits to the flashing cursor on my laptop before I stand with the phone in hand. All the muscles in the lower half of my body protest the movement. “I need to take a break anyway.”

“I totally interrupted you, didn’t I? I can call back later.”

“Really, you’re fine.” I mosey into the kitchen and open the fridge. When deadline mode hits, I rely on meal kits to lessen any food-prep required as well as visits to the store, so there’s unfortunately not many options for a quick snack. Instead, I snag a can of Diet Coke to distract me from my hunger for the time being.

“What scene are you working on?”

“The final kiss.”

Tala brightens at the news. “So, you’re basically done?”

I manage to not roll my eyes at the all-too-familiar sentiment and take a swig of carbonated heaven. I can literally feel my dopamine stores rising as the bubbly liquid slides down my throat. “Not all romances end at the final kiss.”

“But they should.”

Though the creative in me cringes, I’m grateful my sister is a summation of most of my readers squeezed into one blunt package. Between her and Jane, I know exactly what my audience wants and when I’ve deviated from it.

Lucas wiggles on Tala’s shoulder like a pudgy little caterpillar searching for his next meal, and she gently pats his back until he settles.

“He’s getting so big,” I say.

She peers down at his tiny hand clutching her shirt with a look of complete adoration. “I can’t believe he’ll be three months on Monday.”

“Three months already?” It’s not until the words are out that I realize my mistake. I hold my breath, waiting to see what she’ll do with my admission. I’ve not come to see them since my brief visit to the mainland hospital when Lucas was born. And I’m entirely aware of what a terrible person I am, being that I live less than two hours away.

“Yep.” She pauses briefly, and I’m certain she intends to mention my worst aunt ever status. “When do I get to read this new book of yours?”

My shoulders relax with her mercy. Tala is literally a saint. “As soon as I’m done writing it. Like always.”

“No guess when that’ll be? I fully intend to clear my calendar for the entire day to binge read it.”

I can’t hide my delight at her declaration, and I’m partially still relieved at having dodged a shame bullet. “I should have it finished in the next few days, but I also need to double check that my main male character’s arc is sufficient.”

“I’m sure he’s perfect.”

“That’s actually what I’m worried about. I want to make sure he isn’t too perfect.”

Tala’s brows lift. “Isn’t that the point? Women have to deal with men falling short of our ideals constantly—the last thing we want is to spend our spare time reading about another guy that disappoints us.”

“Hey, now.” Heath walks into view and carefully grabs Lucas from Tala. “That comment felt a bit pointed.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” Tala tosses the burp cloth at him with a smile. “I was speaking in general terms.”

He chuckles. “I’m pretty sure I heard an us, we, and some ours in there.”

She looks back at me, her smile intensifying. “Capri, please assure my husband that my ideal man is one who eats my leftovers without asking and donates brand-new items to the island charity raffle with zero reservation.”