“Well, no. It’s not my typical read.”
Oh.
“Right. Sure.”
“No.No.The genre or whatever isn’t usually my thing, but I’m familiar enough to tell that it’s good. Really, really good. Like, I was on the edge of my seat, but also I had to go back and read multiple chapters again because it was just so… I don’t know, real, I guess? And intense, and… Just holy crap. I just wanted to live in those moments there with James and Sir Henry.”
Great, well. That… That’s… I havenoidea what to do with that. But I guess he really did like it. A lump seems to have formed in my throat. And I’m not sure I trust myself to speak. It’s not like I haven’t gotten good reviews before. But this is different. Because it’s this book. Because it’s this man.
When I’m silent for a minute, he chuckles awkwardly. “Anyway, yeah, so that’s why I didn’t get back to you sooner. Oh, and also… Marty and Raj invited me to dinner, and I couldn’t think of a way to politely refuse.”
This startles a laugh out of me. “It is almost impossible to say no to Marty and Raj. They are very persuasive when they want to be.”
“Excellent cooks too.”
“Samosas and latkes?”
“Samosas and latkes,” he confirms.
“Oh, they like you.” Knowing my neighbors, this actually makes me suspect that they are attempting their own sort of wishful matchmaking between Owen and me. They’ve beenkeeping an extra eye over me since Luca moved out. I don’t say any of this, though. Obviously.
“I like them too.”
“But hey, George, seriously. The book is incredible. I know it’s a work in progress, but I really, really,reallywant to know how it turns out.”
God, this is thrilling. It’s exactly the response I’d want to a book. Too bad it’s to one that isn’t even supposed to exist.
“I promise you’ll be the first to see it if I ever accidentally write the rest of it.”
“What? No. George, no. You have to write it.”
I sigh. “Look, I’m glad you liked it so much. I appreciate that more than you know. But trust me, no one wants to see fluffy, sentimental,periodromance from the guy who wroteBalls of Steele.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I kind of do. Trust me, alotof market research goes into publishing. People want the Sebastian Steele guy to write more Sebastian Steele.”
“Then use a pen name,” he says, like it’s no big deal.
“I can’t just—” Actually, I really hadn’t thought of that. Hmm.
“Or go to another publisher or do whatever you need to, but you have to write this book.”
“Because you absolutely have to know what happens between James and Sir Henry,” I joke.
“Well, yes.” He laughs, “But also because I thinkyouneed to.”
A chill runs down my spine. How did he do that? I feel completely, baldly, seen. It is both thrilling and terrifying.
I clear my throat, but even so, when I try to talk, my voice comes out funny. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll think about it.”
“Well, I should let you go.”
I want to protest, but I have no particular reason to keep him on the line. “No, yeah. You’ve spent the whole day reading my book. I’m sure you could use a break from, well, me.” I chuckle.
There’s a pause on the other end. Then he laughs softly. “Yeah, maybe. Goodnight, George.”
I hang up, and I’m alone again in the still silence of the cabin. I look down at the phone, still in my hand, screen dark now.
