Sophie thought. “It was right after I confessed to him that my preferred fantasy trope guy is a guy like him.”
“The plot thickens,” Donna said.
“How?” Sophie asked.
“He’s showing signs of a guy who is scared and is in retreat mode.”
“If he’s afraid of anything, it’s that I’m going to fall in love with him, and he doesn’t want to have to deal with that.”
“If that’s the case, the guy’s an idiot. You’d be the best thing that ever happened to him.” Donna glanced Stone’s way and waved.
He jerked his chin upward in response.
Sophie’s phone vibrated against the wooden bar. She swiftly answered the unknown number. “Hello. This is Sophie E. Clark. May I ask who’s calling?” She hoped it was one of the prospective book boyfriends, ready to confirm an interview. Another step forward in her quest.
Silence greeted her. “Hello. Can you hear me?” Sophie repeated, frustration creeping into her voice. The lack of response was annoying, given her tight schedule.
Nothing.
She glanced down, the screen dark and unresponsive. “Must have hit theoffbutton by mistake,” she muttered, though a niggle of doubt lingered—had she charged it last night? Shrugging the whole thing off, she refocused on Donna. “Sorry about that. Now, where were we?”
“You’re going to change your reading habits so you can find common ground with a guy who has changed the way he dresses to please you but doesn’t like you in a boyfriend way.”
“His new wardrobe was necessary for him to fit in during my interviews. It has nothing to do with him secretly trying to impress me, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
Donna leaned in. “Speaking of fitting in, do you have candidates for all your boyfriend tropes? More specifically, do you have one on board who is willing to spill his secret to the woman who buys him at auction?”
Sophie groaned. “I’m still in search of that unicorn. I didn’t really think it through when I added it as one of my boyfriend tropes. Real guys don’t just give up their secrets for a goodcause. But it’s too late to unring that boyfriend-trope bell, so I’m searching high and low for one.”
“What’s your backup if he doesn’t materialize?” Donna asked. “What trope will you use instead?”
“Backup plans imply doubt,” Sophie replied. “I refuse to harbor that stuff. I’ll find him, you just watch.” Her confidence was as much a shield as it was a spur driving her forward against the odds. Just as those who’d doubted her ability to make a living daydreaming had spurred her into proving them wrong.
Sophie’s phone buzzed again, breaking her train of thought. She grabbed it, hoping for a connection this time. “Hello, you’re speaking with Sophie E. Clark. To whom am I speaking?”
There was a brief silence, then nothing. Frustrated, Sophie tapped her phone, checking the signal. Dead again. “My off button must be trigger-happy.” A flush of irritation, joy riding right beneath her skin, made the room seem suddenly hot. She pulled at her shirt collar for air. “They’ll call back if it’s important. Now, where were we?” She resisted an urge to glance Stone’s way.
Donna tilted her head thoughtfully. “We were discussing the idea of you stepping outside your comfort zone with a thriller.”
“I have always been a bit intrigued with the genre. I mean, what’s not to love about a category that inspires James Bond-like characters?”
“It’s interesting you should say that,” Donna said. “I can’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, there’s a deeper lesson here.”
“Lesson?”
“Perhaps the unexpected—like Stone—could end up being what you really need, not just in your reading choices but in life.”
Sophie blinked, taken aback by Donna’s insight. She swirled the ice in her drink, considering. “You mean to suggest that someone as different as Stone might actually be good for me other than as a one-night stand?”
“Yes, exactly.” Donna’s voice rose with enthusiasm. “Think about it. Stone might be from a different world, but he’s shown dedication, he adapts quickly, and clearly, he cares about your safety. Aren’t those qualities valuable?”
Sophie chewed on her bottom lip, her gaze drifting toward Stone. He was now quietly speaking with the waiter, likely about security logistics, but his posture was relaxed, and there was a gentleness to his demeanor that she hadn’t noticed before. “Maybe,” she conceded softly to Donna, “but it’s not like he’s interested in the things I am. Our worlds barely connect. Heck, he goes out of the way to make sure we never touch.”
“Sophie, maybe it’s not about shared hobbies or even similar pasts. Maybe it’s about balance, about what you can learn from each other,” Donna argued gently, reaching out to touch Sophie’s hand. “You’re always writing about these ideal traits in your columns, but real relationships—those are built on complementing each other, not mirroring.”
