Page 10 of A Bookish Story

I quickly give him directions and while I wonder what could possibly be so urgent, I rush to tidy my corner of the world. I’ve worked my magic to make the inside of my space cozy, filling it with bright colorful prints on the walls and flowery pillows on the faux love seat. The one bookcase I could fit in here is stuffed with papers and books of all genres.

Ryan arrives sooner than I anticipated, and I’ve only just completed the second draft of my resignation speech. I could use another read for proper word choices. When resigning from an award-winning author, I’d like to use the strongest words. Irritation pours through me, but I open the door and there he stands with a plastic bag from Chef Chu’s.

“I have your soup.” He hands it to me, then gives me a long look, like he’s seeing me for the first time. “You look…different.”

Maybe it’s because I didn’t primp for this meeting. “Of course I look different.”

“Yeah, that’s not it.” He cocks his head, studying me. “Something’s changed. You’re not, you know…” He draws his arms in a circle to encompass all of me. “Happy.”

He doesn’t think I look happy because I’m wearing ratty jeans with holes in the knees and a loose gray T-shirt? This is a new setting, so naturally I look different. Perhaps more fearsome and intimidating and in full control. Like a lioness in her den. It occurs to me I should have dressed properly for the speech I plan to give him, but I’ve spent all the time on the speech itself. It’s good, too, and I think I’ll get all the points across. I’ve started with a brief history of romance since history is his jam, including Jane Austen, often believed to be the first romance novelist.

Ryan scowls. “You remind me of war-torn France. Kind of sad and…defeated.”

“Gee, thanks. You sure have a way with the ladies.” I wave him inside. “It’s good that you’re here. We need to talk.”

“Yeah, no doubt about it, someone punctured a hole in your happy bubble.”

Oh, he has no idea. Two of his kind have popped my happy, but at the moment he will bear the brunt of it all. For all of the patriarchy. For all mankind.

“What’s this emergency? What’s so urgent about research that it can’t wait until Monday?”

“It’s…another type of emergency.” He drags a hand through his hair.

I wonder when he stopped combing it back like in the video and whether I should tell him the beard makes him look older, more seasoned. Now that he’s clean shaven he looks younger.

“Are you stuck in a scene? A bit blocked?”

“I wish it were that easy of a problem. That’s not it. This is something…well, it’s something I can’t do. I couldn’t do it in a million years. It’s…impossible.”

I smirk. “I see…and you think, of course, that it’s possible for me. Because I’m a woman.”

“Exactly!”

“You better not need help with your dry cleaning.” I cross my arms.

He blinks. “Why would I need help with that?”

“Never mind. I’m glad you’re here. You and I have a little problem.” I gesture between us.

Closing the distance, I place one hand on each of his shoulders.

This near to him, I realize that though of average height, he looms over me. I stand on tiptoes and strain to meet his eyes. They are an interesting shade of dark and icy blue and I’m determined to ignore the fact there’s a deep sadness in them.

“You said some terrible things and I’m having a tough time forgiving you.”

“When? I don’t think I cursed, but the last time you were in, when I was arguing with my agent…it’s because this…well this problem I have is primarily her fault.”

“What’s her fault?”

“The reason I need a woman.”

I quickly remove my hands from his shoulders and quirk my eyebrow. “You need a woman.”

“No!” He throws his hands up. “Not like that! I don’t need ‘a woman.’”

“You better not. At least not around me.” I shake my finger at him.

“So.” He runs a hand down his face. “I can see this isn’t going well.”