Chuckles echo around the bookstore.
“So, now that my identity has been revealed, it’s time for you to rip off the craft paper.”
Tearing sounds bounce off the walls.
With frantic hands, I pull off all the bookish frills and stuff them in my tote bag before tearing the craft paper.
Oh.
My.
God.
I stare in shock at the illustrated cover of a tall blue-eyed hockey player and a short blonde who looks a lot like me, but cartoon style.
“Pucking Perfectisn’t a novel… it’s more of an illustrated book,” Kaz says. “Turns out, writing a book is fu—” He rubs a hand behind his neck. “Sorry about that. Hockey players swear a lot.”
There’s a collective chuckle.
“What I’m trying to say, is that it takes some skills to write a novel because it’s hard work.”
“It’s damn hard,” someone says from the back.
Kaz nods. “Thanks to the generosity of some of my girlfriend’s favorite romance authors who were so kind in guiding me in my journey as a rookie author—their names appear on the acknowledgement page—I decided to tell my epic love story in a way that would ensure I do it inthiscentury. The words, although not eloquent, are my own. I commissioned an artist for the illustrations. I tried drawing them myself, but aftera focus group with a bunch of five-year-olds who convinced me I had zero artistic talent, I gave up. I tried my hand at stock illustrations, but the end result wasn’t to my liking. My girl deserves the best. So, I turned to a professional.”
“Your girl is a lucky bitch, Kaz,” a woman says.
“I agree,” someone else says.
I laugh.Yes, I am.
“No.” He shakes his head and smiles over at me. “I’m the lucky one.”
Emotion swells my chest and my ovaries nearly explode.
“Please open the book to the dedication,” Kaz says.
We all obey.
“To the blonde bombshell who came whirling into my life and showed me I was worth loving.”
Women around me awww.
I stare up at him, mouth agape.
He offers a small smile and winks at me.
“Let’s dive into the story,” Kaz says. “Chapter 1.” He clears his throat. “Even bad days can be magical.” More throat clearing. “Once upon a time, on a beautiful sunny day, a grumpy hockey player named Kaz was throwing a party at his Hampton cottage, and a beautiful blonde princess named Harley showed up and turned his world upside down.” He turns the book around and points to the two characters. “He didn’t want to be around anyone else that day, because something really bad happened, but he couldn’t stay away from her.”
I don’t even know what to make of this.
He turns the page. “Then, there was a lot of drama that unfolded in both their lives and they lost touch for almost a year.” Kaz lifts a finger up. “But serendipity had some devious plans up her sleeve on the day she reunited them.”
For the next several minutes, I flip through the pages of what is now officially my favorite book of all time, and I’m totally inawe. Kaz is wrong. His deep, smokey voice is right up there with my favorite narrators.
I glance around the bookstore.
Some of the women are so enthralled by the story, they’re not even flipping the pages, they’re staring at him. Others have their phones out and are recording every minute of my boyfriend’s debut as an author.
