“How did you even get in here?” I ask, trying to sound annoyed instead of flustered. “This area is supposed to be for authors, PAs, and staff only during setup.”
He shrugs, that smile still playing on his lips. “I told them I was with Sora Cho. I think they assumed I was one of those book-boyfriend models. The woman at the door got very flustered when I asked where your table was.”
Daphne snorts. “You flirted your way in, didn’t you?”
“I did no such thing,” he counters, winking at her before turning his attention back to me. “You look beautiful, by the way.”
The compliment sends heat rising to my cheeks. I’m wearing my “author outfit”—black jeans, a silky pink blouse that Daphne insisted brings out the warmth in my dark eyes, and my special-occasion ankle boots. My long hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and I’ve made a rare effort with makeup.
“Thanks,” I mumble, busying myself with unzipping my suitcase to hide my reaction. I refuse to let him affect me like this. The man is literally a professional at making women feel special.
Still, when his fingers brush against mine as he helps me lift a stack of books, a jolt of electricity skates up my arm. I jerk away, nearly dropping the hardcovers.
“Careful,” he murmurs, steadying my hands. “These are precious cargo.”
“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?” I shoot him a raised eyebrow.
The corner of his mouth lifts. “None whatsoever. But I’m excellent at following directions.”
Something about the way he says it makes me think of things far removed from book signings. I clear my throat. “Daphne, put him to work.”
“Gladly.” She thrusts a box of bookmarks into his arms. “These need to be fanned out artfully. Think you can handle that, pretty boy?”
“For you? Anything.” He winks, and Daphne giggles.
I roll my eyes, but can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. As annoying as it is to admit, having him here takes some of the pressure off. While Daphne arranges my books in aesthetically pleasing stacks, Forrest unpacks my swag items—bookmarks, stickers, and a handful of tote bags I splurged on—with surprising care.
“So, what are these about?” he asks, picking up one of my latest releases. “The Way We Were, huh? Like the movie?”
“Sort of,” I say. “It’s a second-chance romance about high school sweethearts who reconnect at their ten-year reunion.”
“And do they get their happily-ever-after?”
“It’s romance. That’s kind of the whole point.”
He turns the book over to read the back cover, his expression thoughtful. “You believe in that? Happily-ever-afters?”
“In books? Absolutely. In real life?” I shrug, arranging my banner on the front of the table. The light pink of my logo looks almost gray. The printers warned me the shade wouldn’t be vibrant against white, but I foolishly didn’t listen. Primrose is my entire brand—soft, subtle brushstrokes of pale flowers and wispyI love yousblending into the background. “The jury’s still out.”
“Aren’t your books supposed to reflect real life, though? Isn’t that what makes a story resonate—the truth in it?”
I pause, surprised by the depth of the question. “Yes and no. Romance novels offer what real life often doesn’t—certainty,closure, the guarantee that love is worth the risk. That’s why people read them. For the hope.”
His eyes scan the other titles displayed on my table, pausing on a stack with a soft-pink cover featuring two silhouettes against a sunset. “What about this one?Lovely?”
My hand instinctively reaches for the book, my fingers tracing the embossed title. “That’s the first in a duet. The second book,Lonely, is coming out in about two months.” I hesitate, then add quietly, “At least, it’s supposed to.”
“Supposed to?” He picks upLovely, examining the cover more closely.
“Sales weren’t great,” I confess, the admission burning my throat. “Actually, they were pretty abysmal. My editor barely had any feedback on the sequel. Just ‘it’s fine, here you go.’ Not exactly a ringing endorsement.”
“What’s it about? The duet.”
I take a deep breath, trying to find the enthusiasm I once had for this story. “It’s about a woman who thinks she’s unlovable because of a childhood trauma. She meets this guy who sees through all her defenses, who’s patient and kind and determined to show her she’s worthy of love.”
“And the sequel?”
“It’s from his perspective. His struggles, his demons. The first book ends with their beginning, but the second shows how hard it is to maintain love when you both have scars.” I bite my lip, suddenly self-conscious. “It’s about how loving someone broken doesn’t fix you. How two damaged people have to actively choose each other every day.”
