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Isadora glanced only once to the place he occupied, hiding her smile behind her next sip of wine.

He never wavered, barely even blinked as I confessed all my secrets to the ladies at the table.

“And your parents?” Moira asked, pouring another glass of wine. “I have to imagine they’re proud.”

“Ah.” I spun my glass, fingers running over the dimples in the glass. “I’m not so sure. They sent me flowers when my book was released, but I think they had hoped I would write something important.”

“Foolish,” Wolfe muttered. “What you do is plenty important.”

“Romance is important!” Nadine cried. “How can anyone think otherwise?”

Wolfe raised a hand to Nadine and the outraged blush creeping across her cheeks. “See?”

I shrugged. “Beats me.”

“Romance is more than just…just love!” Lisette added, gray irises flaring. She looked like she’d been torn from a mirror or built from the fog rolling in off the sea. “These characters experience real life problems. Grief, loss, loneliness. Mental health. Changes both big and small. There’s…there’s so much more to these books than just sex!”

I held up my hands in surrender. “I agree, but the rest of the world is so quick to dismiss these books as nothing more than that.”

“It’s stupid,” Bianca grumbled. “My family doesn’t get it either, but none of them have ever connected to a character or seen parts of themselves on a page. They’ve never lost themselves to a storyline or rooted for someone to succeed the way we have.”

Nods went around the table.

“I learn something from every book I read,” Isadora said. “I always find myself better for having read it. Your book, Avery, made me feel hope. That even though the world is large and vast, we find our way to where we’re supposed to be.”

My eyes filled with tears. I reached out and gave her hand a grateful squeeze. I couldn’t believe I’d ever been nervous about this, that I’d ever even hesitated in coming.

Wolfe had a small smile on his face, eyes tender on the table.

“Told you,” he rumbled.

I wanted to stick my tongue out at him. Better yet, I wanted to cross the room and climb into his lap and kiss him until neither of us could breathe. The hum of his presence quieted everything inside me and set me at ease. A ‘thank you’ would never be enough to convey just what he’d managed to help me realize over these last few weeks.

I thought of earlier tonight, the way he had me pressed up to the sink. The outline of his reflection bleeding into mine until I couldn’t tell us apart.

I wanted it to be real.

I wanted us to blend, to collapse into each other, until there was no pulling us apart ever again.

“That said,” Lisette said coyly, “can we talk about the sex?”

Giggles went up around the table and I leaned back in my chair. Wolfe had done a fine job of getting under my skin earlier and the moment I’d been waiting for finally presented itself.

“Let’s,” I purred, locking eyes with him. He went wholly still. “What do you want to know?”

“Don’t,” he bit out, jaw tight. “Avery.”

“How do you even write one?” Bianca asked. “I would be blushing the entire time.”

“Not me,” Moira said. “I think I’d be delighted.”

I chuckled. “I guess it’s a bit of both. Once I have the characters fleshed out, the progression to sex feels like it comes naturally. Who’s more submissive, who likes to take charge. Which one has a filthy mouth.”

Wolfe made a desperate sound, lips pressed together until they went white.

“It’s not a sexy process by any means. Usually it’s just me with a lit candle trying to see how they move together, if the motions make sense—if they’re even possible. There’s a lot of stopping and starting, trying to make it feel seamless without making it feel clinical.”

“There is nothing clinical about this,” Isadora said, tapping the cover. “This was straight heat.”