An hour later, after we’d eaten an amazing dinner with O’Malley visiting us on his own timetable, then heading off on his own once again, we’d shared the bare bones of our childhoods. Jules knew that I didn’t have contact with my parents, and I could never measure up to their beliefs in what I should have been. I knew her parents were kind but absent-minded and that her mom had a flair for the dramatic.
I was wandering her living room while she got her kitchen in order just behind me. I’d tried to help, but she’d insisted she wanted to box up lunches for the week and then was going to let the rest of the dishes soak. The past two hours had flown by as I found that we had a startling number of similarities, from the little TV we did watch, to music, to a fondness of concerts at small venues, to the fact that we both loved nonfancy food: tacos, pizza, burgers being the favorites. And while I couldn’t lie and say I wasn’t attracted to the woman, I could easily see a friendship developing. For now that was more important.
Browsing her bookshelves on a far wall, I noted that she had a mixture of what looked like cozy fiction, some mysteries, a lot of romance, and a plethora of what appeared to be books about writing. Interesting. I wondered if she wanted to write something or if they were left over from some class she’d taken in undergrad.
I picked up a book with a green cover that was book one in a series called Sleepy Valley. Checking out the shelf, it seemed Jules had several in this series by an author named Jules Jenkins. I flipped over the book to read the description on the back. Something dropping pulled my attention back to the present, and I looked up see Jules standing a few feet away, her phone at her feet.
“Hey, you okay?” I asked, looking from her phone to her face, which wasn’t flushed at all but paler than looked normal. She seemed frozen. “Jules?”
She looked at the book in my hand, then back to me. “Umm.” She cleared her throat and seemed to sway on her feet.
I took a few steps toward her, then gently tugged her toward her couch, pushing her to sit before she fell. I scanned the area for her water, saw it on the island and headed across the small space to grab it, then moved back to her before she could speak. I sat down on the opposite corner of the couch from her and turned to face her.
“Jules, you good? Feeling off?” She’d been fine moments ago; I wasn’t sure what changed. Then I noted that her horrified expression seemed to be focused on the book in my hands. I looked at it again, then back to her. “Is there something wrong with this book?” I asked quietly, not wanting to spook her but at a loss as to what was going on.
Jules looked up from the book to meet my eyes, her own watery. Well, this was a hell of a way to end what had been a great evening, making the woman cry. I put the book down between us, wondering what I had done but not wanting to do anything more to hurt her.
She took a deep breath and seemed to gather strength from some internal well before reaching out to take the novel in her hands, gripping it tightly. “Noah, I know we don’t know each other well, but I need to tell you something because the universe is clearly giving me some signs today that this secret needs to come out.” Her gaze drifted away from me to the windows as she spoke, as if whatever she had to say was too much if she was looking at me.
I noted internally that Ivy would be a big fan of Jules listening to the universe but didn’t speak so she could have her space to figure out what she wanted to say. She took her time,relaxing her grip to allow her finger to almost reverently run over the author’s name on the cover. When she did it again, I took a second glance at it. Jules Jenkins. I met Jules’s gaze once more and then snagged on the author’s first name. Jules.
I met her anxious but determined expression. “Um, do you know this author?” I asked as gently as I could, my gut telling me the answer before she could speak.
She took a deep breath, then gave me a slow nod before whispering, “You could say that. She’s me.”
Chapter 9
The Weight of Lies
Jules
I lay in bed, unable to sleep. Dinner had been excellent, surprisingly. My friend groups over the years had typically been small but leaned toward female. And sure, I’d had relationships with guys over the years, but none of them had ever been my friend first. In hindsight, that might be telling as well.
The evening with Noah, had been… unexpected. I was still attracted to the man. I would have to be dead not to be. But as much as I’d like to find out what the man’s lips felt like on my own, I’d also enjoyed just getting to know him.
That was rare for me—with men or women. I just felt like I was missing the ability to get to know people easily. It took quite a bit of time before I was comfortable with someone, which was why I’d disappeared into novels since I was a kid. Fictional friends were far easier. Noah, however, was proving to be an anomaly, as were the women of Highland Falls. Here I felt freer to be myself than I ever had. And Noah? He was easy to talk to and made me feel comfortable… Well, that had been true until he found my books.
Shit. Shit. Shitty shit shit. Turning to see the man standing with my baby—the first book I’d ever written—had been mind-blowing as my world threatened to turn on its head. My stomach seized up; my hands stopped working as I dropped my damn phone. I’d thought I’d faint until he’d luckily clocked my panicked state and pulled me over to the couch.
I’d briefly debated staying quiet and denying that anything was going on, but after an evening where I felt like we were building a foundation of friendship, that didn’t sit right. I wasn’t a liar. I knew that sounded like a load of crap considering most people didn’t know IwasJules Jenkins, but I’d never been confronted with anyone talking about my books tomein person. So it was a lie of omission I’d been okay with until earlier.
I’d known I needed to tell my family for a while, but since the publication of my first book, I’d created an ever-changing set of benchmarks and swore I’d spill the beans once I reached them. At first I’d thought I’d tell them when I earned out on my book. Once that happened, I’d thought I would when I had a certain number of reviews. Then was the benchmark of when cracked the top sellers on Amazon upon a release. After meeting that, I’d reasoned with myself that I would when my income from writing was higher than my actual income. Now I was approaching that threshold, so I needed another goal or I needed to bite the bullet and find the guts to tell my parents and Lou. Would they be fine with the news? Likely. But the idea that they wouldn’t be…
Earlier in the day, I’d felt so conflicted not speaking up in the group-text thread about the book club that when presented with Noah in front of me, not even knowing the quandary he was unwittingly throwing me into, I was just done. I hadn’t had it in me to continue the subterfuge. I don’t know that he’d understood why I had been so freaked out. Hell, I don’t know if anyone would get it, and I hadn’t really had time to explain. It was a combination of impostor syndrome—no matter the sales, Istill felt like I didn’t know what I was doing—and the way people treated romance books as well as their authors. Would I still bemeonce they knew about my side job that was on the way to eclipsing my real one?
My admission had just left my mouth when Noah’s phone rang. He’d glanced at it, seen that it was Ivy, and immediately answered. She’d been at his house because Addie had left her current prized stuffed animal at his place and sworn she couldn’t sleep without it. He’d apologized to me and taken off to meet her and locate the important stuffie.
Fast-forward to me in bed, staring at the ceiling, questioning the life choices that had landed me there.
“Mrow?” O’Malley was making biscuits on my stomach as he stared into my eyes by the light of the moon. His judgment was strong, damn cat. I swore he could somehow read my mind. The misogynists of the late 1600s thought cat ownership was a sign that a woman was a witch, but I think they missed the real power in that relationship. Surely the cats were the ones that knew all. And fuck them for persecuting women anyway.
“I know, I know,” I said, rubbing a hand over my face. It was not the time to spiral on women’s place in humanity. Not now. There were two people in this world who knew my secret identity—Noah and Kylie. I had a frightening premonition involving Kylie meeting Noah. She’d have a lot of things to say; mainly I could envision her telling me to “hit that.” Yeah, subtlety was not her strong suit.
Mental note—pray they never met when Kylie came to visit.
My phone vibrating on my bedside table pulled me out of my spiral. I picked it up, nerves flooded my belly when I saw Noah’s name.
Noah:Crisis averted. We found Addie’s elephant, and Ivy has headed home. Do you want me to come over to finish our conversation?
