I squinted at him, unsure what he meant.
Owen leaned back in his chair, watching me with an unblinking stare. “I drafted the full chapter outline for my book, and I want you to read it.”
Chapter Thirty-One
The text from my mom was a blurry close-up of her, my dad, and Wes with their faces pushed together and beaming.
Package delivered. Wish you were here!
I had a feeling I’d be getting a few dozen more photos as the visit progressed, as well as a FaceTime call. I threw my phone to the far end of the futon, because I wasn’t even supposed to have it within reach thanks to my word count goal.
For the wrong book, as usual.
Einar and Zandria needed to kiss.Theywanted it (even though they would never admit it, even to themselves),Iwanted it, and I was convinced my future slow-burn readers would want it. I’d paused the story in the perfect spot during the Hamptons weekend, with the two of them locked in a fight about Zandria’s risky behavior and Einar’s tendency to be overprotective of her. It should’ve been a home-run chapter to write—I’d been waiting for it since I introduced them to each other—but my fingers wouldn’t budge.
I was sitting on the very futon I needed to be outfitting with clean sheets for my brother’s visit, determined to at least start the scene. Meredith had an appointment to check out thepotential studio space the red dress Hamptons woman had told her about, so I could work uninterrupted. I’d already nailed the cowboy chapter where Austin and Abby outlined the parameters of their fake relationship since her pregnancy was starting to show, which gave me free rein to focus my energy on the story Ireallywanted to tell.
But I was stuck.
Rather than obsess about it, I decided to focus on cleaning the apartment. It was Friday afternoon, which meant my inbox was a wasteland of nothingness, but I checked again before I started tidying up.
The last thing I expected was a reply from my agent, Celeste, aboutThe Archer’s Paradox.
The “flight” part of my fight-or-flight response won, and I jumped off the futon to pace circles around my apartment. It was close to 90 degrees outside and our window air conditioner was straining to maintain a not-so-cool 80, but I suddenly craved a hoodie. I talked myself through the various options contained in the email as I stress-walked.
A rave.
A “not feeling it, so sorry.”
An “I’ll get back to you soon.”
Part of me wanted to wait until my visit with Wes was over before seeing what Celeste thought, but I knew I’d wind up distracted until I had a read on how she felt. I dropped back onto the futon with a shaky breath and grabbed my laptop. If the news was bad, Wes could console me. If it was good, we’d celebrate.
Celeste was only a few years older than me, and she was a newer agent without any hits in her client list. When she fangirled, you knew it, and based on the number of exclamationpoints in her email, she loved the idea of Einar and Zandria as much as I did.
My eyes swam as I tried to read through her message. The final line? “Send me those pagesimmediately!”
Yeah, I was about to have the best weekend ever.
Wes was easy to spot in a crowd, even in Manhattan. He’d always had an aura around him that made people take note, long before he was a semi-famous footballer. He had a way of walking through the world that telegraphed confidenceandkindness. He was almost intimidatingly good-looking, but he was so quick to smile that it defused any nerves. He had his father’s ebony skin and thick eyebrows and our mom’s beautiful smile. Wes turned heads because of his good looks and also because his face regularly appeared on TV screens around the world.
Here in New York, it was probably due to the former. Sure, he was occasionally recognized, but when he visited he tended to bank on the fact that Barnham wasn’t as popular as Chelsea or Manchester, so he could skip his usual cap and glasses incognito act. I peered into the Saturday morning crowds streaming through Penn Station, trying to spot him before he saw me, so I could hug him into submission. We were meeting in front of Hudson News, and of courseSpeak Softlywas displayed front and center. I snapped a selfie with it to send to Nia.
Someday, I vowed to myself,The Archer’s Paradoxwould be on the marquee display table next to the rest of the bestsellers. I stared at the books, trying to visualize mine nestled among them, willing it to be.
Someone reached past me to grab a book in the center of the table. It was an obnoxious, “you’re in my way” lean thatpushed into my personal space. I frowned and moved to the side, shooting the guy a glare.
“Wes!”
I crashed into him as he laughed at my obliviousness.
“Took you long enough,” he said as he squeezed me tightly. “I’ve been standing here for like five minutes.”
I always forgot just how far away England was until we were back together again. We’d learned to ignore the fact that we didn’t connect as often or as deeply as we used to, but whenever I saw my brother in person, I was reminded how much I missed being part of his everyday life. I held him for a long time before I pulled away.
I stared at him like I couldn’t believe he was really standing in front of me.
I frowned and pointed at his upper lip. “Hold up. Amustache? Seriously?”
