Annette was the organizer of this little event. I pictured her as a wide-eyed intern type who thought all authors loved one another, when the opposite was true. I hated more authors than I liked.
“Not Annette.” Nathan wrinkled his nose. “Bree.”
Why did he have to say her name? “Doesn’t the name Bree remind you of a horse?”
“I’ve never really thought about it, but sure. I’ll look up what it means.”
“It means noble or strong,” I blurted.
Nathan arched an eyebrow. “You looked up her name?”
I’d walked right into it the trap. There was nobody to blame but myself. “I … look up names for my books all the time,” I said evasively.
That was true. Since I wrote high fantasy, I created new names by mashing old ones together all the time. I would look up the parts to make sure they fit.
“Oh, right.” Nathan bobbed his head in understanding. “Because so many of your characters are named Bree.”
I ignored him. “Let’s go inside.”
“I asked you a question.” For once, Nathan wasn’t backing down. Normally, he was like a kid—easily distracted. He was different tonight.
“I told you I went to her house to drop off the bill for the cart,” I replied.
“Yes. Did she pay the bill?”
“I don’t have the final bill to forward to her yet. Monday.”
“Right. Monday.” He looked thoughtful, which only served to make me more uneasy. “Will you take the bill to her house when you get it?”
“Well, I have to get it to her somehow.” Why did I feel so defensive? That wasn’t like me. I was normally the high-strung but quiet type. Now I sounded as if I was one shrill word away from turning into a tween girl.
“You could email it.”
“I don’t have her email address.”
“Text it.”
“I don’t have her phone number.”
“You could hire a courier to take it to her.”
“She lives a quarter of a mile away. That’s a waste of money.”
His triumphant smile squeezed my insides. “You and she have an interesting energy,” he said innocently.
Oh, I should have known he was going to take it to a weird place. “Yes, hatred is a weird energy,” I replied drolly.
“You definitely want to hate her,” he agreed. “I’m not sure you actually do, though.”
He was exhausting. I had no idea why he was my best friend. “You’re seeing something that’s not there.”
“What if I’m not?”
“Listen, she hates me just as much as I hate her. Whatever you think you’re seeing, you’re not.”
He studied me for one more beat then shrugged. “Let’s eat,” he said, starting for the door.
His capitulation felt too easy. Since I didn’t want to continue this conversation out in the open where anybody could see us, I opted to follow. “Yeah, let’s eat.”
