Something inside me pulled tight. Nobody ever said that to me. To most people, I was times on a board. A shot at medals. That was it.
The silence stretched for a beat, but it wasn’t heavy. It felt like she was actually holding space for me, like I didn’t have to fill it with excuses or bravado.
Then she tilted her head, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. “You know what Dory fromFinding Nemosays, right?”
That pulled a real laugh from me, short and surprised. “What, are we quoting cartoon fish now?”
“Hey, she has some great advice for when life gets you down.” And then in a singsong voice said, “Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming.” She grinned, and I couldn’t help but grin back. “Maybe that’s what you need to remember.” Her eyes turned serious. “One lap at a time. One meet at a time. Keep going until you’ve done what you set out to accomplish.”
The tightness eased, just a little. Nobody had ever framed it that way before. Not my dad. Not my coaches. And definitely not me.
I let my gaze linger on her a second longer. “You make it sound simple.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s easy,” she said softly.
For a second, I let myself imagine what it would be like if she were in my corner more often. Someone who didn’t see me as a medal count or a disappointment, but just … me.
My phone buzzed again in my pocket, but I continued to ignore it. My dad could keep waiting. Right now, I didn’t want to be anywhere but here.
I nodded my head at her laptop. “So, what’s got you typing like your life depends on it?”
Her eyes sparked as she closed the screen just enough to shield it. “Maybe I don’t want you snooping. Ever think of that?”
“Guess I’ll have to assume it’s something scandalous,” I teased, leaning forward. “Like fan fiction about a hot swimmer who spends too much time in the pool.”
She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Nope. I prefer princes to swimmers.”
“Princes?” I echoed, raising a brow.
“Yes, if you must know,” she said playfully. “Romantasy is my favorite genre to read.”
She must have mistaken my look of surprise as one of confusion because she continued. “Romantasy is when two genres, romance and fantasy, are combined. They usually have intricate worlds, lots of adventure and life-threatening moments, possibly magical elements or mythical creatures. And then woven in with all of the world- or kingdom-saving is a romance.”
I knew exactly what romantasy was, but I wasn’tabout to tell her that. I let my mouth tug into a slow grin instead.
“So, you like sword fights and forbidden kisses in dark castles.” I leaned back in my chair. “Figures.”
“Figures?” she asked, narrowing her eyes like she was trying to decide whether I was insulting her.
“Yeah.” I lowered my voice just a notch. “You’ve got that whole mysterious-heroine vibe going on. All you’re missing is the cloak and the dagger.”
She laughed, but I swore there was a flash of something else in her expression, like I’d hit closer to home than she wanted me to.
“Careful.” She tapped a finger against her coffee cup. “You sound like you’ve actuallyreada romantasy book before.”
I arched a brow, playing it cool even though my pulse ticked faster, not only because we were talking about the genre I hoped would turn into a full-time career for me, but also because of her phrasing.Careful. You sound like you’ve actuallyreada romantasy book before.It reminded me of howReadToLivwrote to me.
Hadn’t she used similar phrasing like that before? Something like,Careful. Keep saying stuff like that, and I might start expecting you to mean it.
But then again, I’d phrased something exactly like that back to her, so maybe it was just a common phrase and I was reading way too much into this exchange. I was probably being paranoid about my secret life of writing romantasy and talking withReadToLivcoming to light.
I schooled my features, putting on the familiar confident role I played all too well. “And if I had read one?” I asked, letting the corner of my mouth twitch like I was daring her to call my bluff.
Her eyes sparkled, like she’d caught the tiniest hint of mischief. “Then maybe I’d have to assume you secretly like princes too.”
I chuckled, shaking my head at her teasing. “Aren’t those books more known for their strong, feisty heroines? I’d definitely read about one of those.”
My answer seemed to surprise her. Her eyebrows lifted, just enough to make me wonder if I’d said too much. “Feisty heroines, huh? Demure and submissive isn’t your type, then?”
