Page 59 of A Bookish Story

That a lie. Unlike so many other authors, apparently I dream big. Then I realize I should say something far more important.

By the way, I’m no longer getting married. Sorry I lied. It’s been six months now, but that’s why I’ve gone IG silent. Chris decided he wanted to join the Peace Corps instead of getting married. I thought he was being magnanimous but he actually met a woman at the coffee shop we frequented. And he went with her. So, there you have it. I’m a romance writer without a man. Is that an oxymoron? Also, please forgive me.

I revise the email about three times, more than I ever do with Holly, but I finally hit send.

Now, I need to thank Ryan. Properly.

I sit on the chair beside Ryan to get his attention and eventually have to clear my throat for him to look up. “Your generosity. It’s more than I could have hoped.”

“You mean from a guy who went on a rant about romance books?” He smirks. “You’re working for me; I have to pay you. It’s the law.”

“But you didn’t have to pay me this much.”

“Does this mean your situation will be better now?”

“It’s as if a year’s worth of savings dropped in my lap.”

“Good. I don’t think it’s fair what your ex did. I’m glad I can be the one to help fix it.”

“Get ready, professor, because a hug is incoming,” I warn him with a twitch of my finger.

“O-kay,” he says slowly, drawing out the word. “But not necessary.”

I expect this to be deep in the awkward zone of human hugs but I’m going to do it anyway. I’m already sitting next to him, so all that’s required is to move closer and throw my arms around his shoulders. I don’t even have to move all that close, turns out. Somehow the distance between us has lessened and the hug is easy. Effortless. That’s when it occurs to me Ryan leaned. He leaned in for the hug and it’s the same lean we discussed the day on the beach, when a man is interested. Does he even realize he leaned in? It’s probably my loneliness that’s reading a lot more into this. Maybe, for once, my mother is right.

The hug takes longer than I expected, as his embrace is warm and firm, his arms pausing to linger on my waist. I don’t want to stop touching him and at this moment it has nothing to do with his generosity. It has to do with the way he smells of fresh clean soap and rays of sunshine. I have to stop, eventually, and I do, but not before there’s a small moment between us when I pull away.

I catch something in his gaze I haven’t seen before, which, in any other man, I’d call desire. Longing. But I’m sure this is more of my active imagination working. I simply have a ridiculous crush on a man who’s attractive, knows how to apologize, loves books, and is generous to boot. I need to leave it at that. Perhaps technically he’s my dream man, but this can’t go anywhere so it’s best to squash this fantasy.

I abruptly stand and walk to the other side of the table “I better get started answering those interview questions for the podcast. They sent them ahead of time.”

Ryan shoves a stack of papers toward me. “That’s what I’ve written so far, the stuff Kate hates.”

“She did not hate it, but I’ll take a look.” I flip through the pages, anxious to read.

“And after that,” he says with a bit of a smirk. “You might want to start plotting the sequel to the book. I’m not telling Kate, but if you can write something similar enough to what I wrote, I don’t see why you can’t be the one with the next contract. Elizabeth Brogan doesn’t have to be a one-hit wonder if you’d like to continue writing under the name.”

I try to imagine taking over as Elizabeth Brogan in perpetuity. It wouldn’t be any different from authors who take on a nom d’ plume. It would be the opportunity of a lifetime, and I can’t refuse to consider it. If I do, it comes down to being too precious. I don’t want to copy his voice and that would never work anyway. But if I don’t at least try to write the sequel I so desperately want to happen I’ll never forgive myself. I’m obviously not going to convince him to do it.

“What if we do it together?” I ask.

His brow furrows. “Do what together?”

“Write the book. The sequel.”

He groans. “Not me. I thought you would be happy about this.”

“Hang on, you haven’t heard my suggestion. I’ll do the hard work, but I just want your input. I’m awful at plotting a straight contemporary so you can edit, and I’ll write.”

He seems to consider it then shrugs. “Long as I don’t have to write it.”

We both get to work and a couple of hours later, I’ve finished answering the questions for the podcast and trying my best to make my boring life sound fascinating. It’s not easy but fortunately I write fiction.

“I have to run an errand,” Ryan says as he’s gathering his keys and wallet. “If I’m not back in a couple of hours, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“When you get back, I’ll have my comments on your pages.”

“Great,” he says and is out the door.