He sat down and sighed. “She wants you to use a ghostwriter.”
A laugh burst out of me. “Well, I hope you told her no.”
“I can’ttell her no. We have no leg to stand on.”
“Grady, you can’t be serious!”
“Mother, you areseriouslyin breach of contract.” He leaned forward. “Look, I’m worried about you. I know the last three years without Dad have been hard, but you are a writer. You take nothing and create an entire world for people to lose themselves in. Your readers need you. And, Mom, I think you need them. Getting back to the page, going back out on tour ... It’s time.”
A familiar pain gripped my heart. My cappuccino might be heartless, but I was not. “I will if you will.”
Grady looked puzzled. “What?”
I softened a little. My Grady and my Anthony could always do that: soften me. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you haven’t been on so much as a date since Dad died.” I paused. “And you are my perfect, devilishly handsome boy, so Iknowit isn’t because women aren’t interested.”
We both laughed, but it was a little true. I did think he was perfect. So what? I birthed him. It was my prerogative.
I took his hand across the table. “Seriously. I know we don’t talk about it much, but are you afraid to get close to anyone after losing him?”
A glimmer of recognition passed across Grady’s face. “If I say yes, will you accept the ghostwriting offer?”
I smiled. We had always been close, but Anthony’s death had brought us closer. Us against the world. Grady knew I was right; I knew that he was. I thought back to this morning and all the other mornings the past three years that I had undertaken a similar ritual only to discover that I simply could not put the words on the page. This could be my solution. Or at least a stopgap.
“I willmeetwith this writer. That is all.”
Grady stood and picked up his phone.
“Where are you going?” I called.
“Victoria is going to be so excited,” he said, turning back to me.
“I haven’t said yes,” I reminded him. “At the very most, tell herwe’ll see.”
But he wasn’t just my agent; Grady was my son. And he knew that, when it came to him, “we’ll see” almost always translated to yes.
Chapter 3
Bottom of the Mid-List
Lila
They say never meet your heroes. Which was only one of the reasons I was so nervous to be standing outside the front door of a sprawling waterfront home in Sea Oat Shores’ most exclusive neighborhood, at the edge of downtown, where the ocean and the sound meet, with a to-go cappuccino in my hand. I had tossed and turned all night about whether I should do this. No, it wasn’t what Iwanted. It wasn’t my book or my career. But I knew one thing for sure: I wanted to be a writer. I did not want to go home and milk cows and gather chicken eggs—as much as I truly loved each animal on the farm I grew up on. “Sometimes you have to fight for what you want,” I reminded myself, out loud. “Sometimes dreams take compromise.”
The door flew open, and a man with twinkling brown eyes, a ruggedly chiseled jaw, and effortless tousled hair, grinned at me mischievously. “That’s right,” he said. “It’s a long and winding road to our dreams.”
I could feel my cheeks redden. “Oh, uh ...” I stammered.
He laughed easily. “I’m sorry. I’m Grady. Nice to meet you.” He stuck out his hand. “And I get that you might be talking yourself into this. And for good reason.” He looked around behind me. “Where’s your agent?”
“Oh, well,” I started sheepishly, “I don’t exactly have one.” If I did, would I even be in this mess?
“What?” Grady asked, alarmed. He put his hands in his pockets. “Oh, Lila ... You always need an agent.”
“Yes. I’m realizing that. Thank you for that sage and well-timed advice.”
He gestured for me to walk in, following me. The floors looked to be original heart pine plank, but otherwise, the house was a sea of white upholstery.
This place was huge and gleaming and perfect, with light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the most glorious view of the ocean. I, meanwhile, was spending every cent I could scrape together from mytwojobs to afford my tiny studio with a couple of paltry windows and some secondhand furniture—and generally feeling pretty happy about it because I didn’t have a roommate! I was reminded, being here, of what I hoped to achieve one day.
