“I’d sell my soul to know.” She stands before me, looking utterly entranced, giddy with visible happiness, her eyes bright with excitement, her face glowing, and I feel the shift the instant it occurs.
My sisters and my friends were pleased for me when I told them I’d published a book and it was selling well and receiving great reviews. I hadn’t breathed a word to a living soul while writing the book, not wanting to set myself up for failure. But when my first book achieved some modicum of success, I finally told the four people closest to me. Sarah was encouraging as was Law. Tate was amused but supportive. Esther was excited for me.
But none of their reactions were anything like this.
Stevie is talking animatedly, waving her hands around and smiling, but her words don’t register over the pounding of my heart, racing of my pulse, and the longing emanating from my soul.
My eyes lower to her mouth, and I want to kiss her so badly I can scarcely breathe.
Shock renders me speechless as the thought lands in my brain. I retreat immediately, turning my back on her and striding toward my shelving unit as I scramble to get a grip on myself before I ruin everything.
“Oh god, I’m making a fool of myself and I’m rambling,” she says as I emerge from my fugue state. “I just can’t believe this.”
“I love your excitement,” I truthfully admit, plucking the special edition of my first book from the top shelf. “I was worried you’d be angry with me for not telling you. It was so hard keeping it to myself when you were talking about my books,” I add, grabbing swag from several boxes as I speak. “But I loved your honesty. Sarah, Esther, and Law have read some of my books, and they said they enjoyed them, but I always wondered if it was the truth.” I turn around with my hands full. “I love the raw feedback you gave me. It came straight from the heart, uncensored, because you didn’t realize you were speaking with the author.”
“Thank fuck I love them and never had a bad word to say. I’d die if I was critical and I’d said hurtful things to your face.”
I pull a branded box out, along with two branded bags, dividing the swag up equally. “You couldn’t have been more glowing in your praise. You have no idea how happy I went home those days knowing you loved my books.” I hand her the box. “This is for you and Garrick.”
She examines each item of swag with a humongous smile on her face, oohing and aahing over certain pieces. Her chin lifts abruptly and flames dance in her eyes. “That’s why you wanted me to bring Garrick’s book!”
I nod. “Go get it, and I’ll inscribe it.”
While trying to ignore the impulse I just had to kiss another man’s girlfriend.
Stevie takes another look around, shaking her head and smiling, like she can’t quite believe it, before she literally skips out of the room to retrieve the book.
I take a minute to compose myself, and I can’t stop the giant grin that spreads over my lips. My heart swells to bursting point behind my rib cage. If I adored Stevie before, it’s nothing compared to how much I adore her now.
Having someone believe in you is an incredible feeling.
Having someone enthusiastically support your passion is mind-blowing.
Having someone so genuinely happy for your achievements is everything.
ChapterForty-Nine
Beck
Ialmost float to my desk with the special edition book in my hand, dropping into my seat and pouring over the inscription page as I write a personal note for Stevie. It doesn’t take me long to find the right words.
“I’m still pinching myself,” she says, reappearing in the room a minute later. “This is surreal.” It shows on her face as she glances around the room again. “You should be so fucking proud, Beck.”
“I am.” I accept the book from her. “You’ll never find me bragging, but I won’t shy away from my accomplishments either. I work hard to write the best books I can. And then there’s everything that comes with publishing and marketing a book. It’s a huge effort, demanding hours upon hours of time, and I have to fit it in around my day job and other commitments.”
“When do you find the time to write?” Propping her butt on the edge of my desk, she watches as I personalize the book for Garrick.
“I write every night after I come home from the hospital, often staying up until the early hours of the morning. I don’t sleep much anyway.” I deliberately downplay that fact. “And I write and work on my publishing business on the weekends, only stopping to get groceries, work out, or occasionally meet up with people. I’m disciplined with my time because it’s the only way I can manage it.”
“You’re so inspirational.” She looks at me like I hung the stars in the night sky. “I can’t believe my friend is a famous author. Wow. Just wow.”
“Hardly famous.”
“Successful then.”
I shrug. I meant what I said. I am proud of my achievements, but I struggle to accept praise.
“Here.” I return Garrick’s book to her.
