Page 30 of The Write Stuff

“I wish.” Casey wrinkled her nose. “You’re just … kind of messy.” Her hands moved toward my hair to start smoothing it.

She wasn’t the first person to say that to me. She wouldn’t be the last either. That was my mother’s biggest knock when I was growing up.

Why do you have to be so messy, Wylie? Have you ever even heard of a brush?

In truth, my mother actually encouraged me to be somewhat messy. She said the most interesting people in the world were messy. However, there was a time and place for messiness, and reader events were not that time or place.

“Sorry.” I finger-combed my hair, which was wild and out of control today. “Lucy stole my hair mousse so I couldn’t cut down on the frizz.”

“Your sister sounds like a menace,” Casey complained.

“Oh, she is,” a male voice said from behind me, almost causing me to come out of my skin. “Never try to reclaim your Kit Kat from her, either. She’ll do bodily harm to protect it.”

I turned quickly, my hair flying, and came face to face with Huxley. He was the last person I wanted to see. “What the hell?” I demanded, my mouth getting ahead of me. That always happened too, so nobody — including myself — was surprised. “What are you doing here?”

Huxley, who was dressed in khaki pants and a polo shirt, not a hair out of place, furrowed his brow. How was it that he looked so effortlessly put together when he likely put in less mirror time than I did, and I was still considered messy? I hated it.

“Um … this is the book signing, right?” He glanced at Casey. “Josh gave me this address and time.”

“Who is Josh?” I blurted.

“My agent.” Huxley’s lips quirked as he regarded me. “I just … I’m not being weird,” he offered as he leaned closer. Suddenly, he was all up in my space. “You just have something in your hair.” His fingers brushed my scalp, and I felt something jolt through me, straight to … someplace the jolt shouldn’t be going where Huxley was concerned. He came back with a plastic wrapper.

I snagged it and glared at him.

“Smarties, huh?” he said, shaking his head. “I remember you used to always have a pocketful of those things when we were kids. I never got the appeal.”

It was a dig, plain and simple. “Yes, I’m sure Smarties are outlawed at The Landings,” I agreed in a snarky voice. “Only Cadbury will do.” Cadbury? That was an expensive brand of candy, right? I was almost certain it was.

“Like … those eggs you get at Easter that look like they have yolks?” Huxley wrinkled his nose. “I don’t like those.”

“I happen to love them. They’re like Easter candy crack.”

He looked as if he wanted to smile, then swung his gaze to Casey. “I’m a last-minute substitute, I believe. Josh couldn’t make it down in time, so he said you would be acting as an organizer for me as well.”

Casey nodded briskly. “Yes, that’s right.”

This was all news to me. “I thought this was a signing just for me.” Did that sound whiny? I didn’t want to whine in front of Huxley. That would make me look weak.

“I’m sorry.” Casey looked legitimately contrite. “I didn’t realize you thought that. It was always a dual signing. It’s just that Margot Corning had to cancel because her only daughter went into active labor and she’s going to be a grandmother for the first time.”

Margot Corning, who wrote contemporary romcoms with absolutely no humor. They were a pet peeve of mine. Romcoms were supposed to be funny. It was right in the name. Romantic comedy. Margot’s romcoms were traumatic, however. They involved things like childhood hunger and abandonment. There was mental illness and physical abuse throughout her books. How the hell was that funny?

“We’re thankful that Huxley was around to take her place,” Casey offered. Her attention was solely on her phone. “We lucked out.” She shook her head as she read something she didn’t like. “They’re setting up your signing table wrong. I have to fix it. You guys stay out of sight for another 15 minutes. Then we’ll be good to go.”

She was gone before I could lodge my opinion on any of this. “Great,” I muttered.

Huxley didn’t immediately say anything. He didn’t even meet my gaze. He was too focused on my hair.

“Yes, I had a candy wrapper in my hair,” I snapped. “It’s not my fault. Lucy stole my diffuser dryer — and broke it — so I had to sit in front of the fan to dry my hair. I didn’t realize there were Smarties wrappers on my pillow.”

“Of course not.” He grinned, then shook his head. “I’m sorry but …” He reached over and pulled another wrapper from my hair. “I don’t want you going in front of the readers with plastic in your hair.”

“No.” I took the wrapper from him and grimaced. “I’m messy enough as it is.”

He didn’t say anything, but when I finally got the courage to look up at him, he was frowning. “Who told you that?”

I was surprised by his vehemence. “Who told me what?”