‘Makes perfect sense,’ he assured me, two little lines appearing between his brows as he concentrated. ‘What would you say the first book is about?’
‘Trust.’
The word reverberated too loudly around us. Five letters that didn’t get the credit they deserved. Whatever Joe was thinking, he kept it well hidden behind a completely impassive face but I felt something change in the air, a subtle shift in the connection between us.
‘Obviously there was also a low-key hidden theme of having incredible sex but I don’t know if you would’ve picked that up,’ I joked, trying to slice through this new tension but it was stronger than I’d realised and Joe slowed his pace, creating just enough distance between us for me to notice.
‘I think the reason the first book resonated with so many people is because you really feel Jenna’s journey,’ he said, his tone more professional, more considered. I wondered if I was meeting Creative Director Joe for the first time. ‘The reader experiences all her thoughts and feelings firsthand. It’s very immediate.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’
The high summer sun beat down on the back of my neck. Every time I took a step closer, he pulled back, either with a snide comment, a sleazy joke or a frosty withdrawal. Each attempt at vulnerability from either of us met an attempt to block. It was the only thing constant with him. Well, maybe not the only constant. His ability to make me feel like I was about to implode was fairly dependable. But if he wanted to swich to strictly professional three seconds after making me watch him lick jam off his fingers, it was no skin off my nose.
‘When we meet Jenna, she’s completely closed off but by the end of book one, she’s opening up,’ I said,matching him measured step for measured step. ‘She knows what she wants. The sequel is supposed to be about her taking the necessary steps to get it but I can’t seem to make it sing. It feels flat.’
‘You’re likely being far harder on yourself than anyone else would be,’ he reasoned. ‘What have you got so far?’
Pausing in front of the Brownie friendship bracelet stall, I peeled a stray strand of hair from my damp forehead and shrugged. ‘Nothing good.’
‘At the end of book one, Jenna had to leave Texas to go home to England,’ Joe prompted. ‘And Eric went to Alaska to reconnect with his brother.’
I chewed on my bottom lip, flushing with pleasure at how well he knew the book. He really had read it. He really had paid attention.
‘Jenna goes back to Austin to profess her love for Eric but, when she arrives, he’s still in Alaska,’ I said, looking around to make sure no one was listening. ‘Nobody’s heard from him in months, he isn’t answering his phone or replying to emails but all his friends explain to her, this is very standard Eric. But then she meets a hot bartender—’
‘Called Joe?’
‘Called Elijah.’
‘There’s still time to change it,’ he said, the first crack showing in his newly acquired professional armour. I should’ve known he couldn’t keep it up for long.
‘Eventually Eric comes back and Jenna finds herself in a love triangle between the two of them,’ I said, flicking my hands out in front of me. ‘And then I’m stuck.’
Joe rubbed at the spot underneath his chin, his official ‘I’m thinking’ move and his head bobbed from side to side as he considered the possibilities.
‘Love triangles are hard to pull off when people are already invested in the central relationship. Does Jenna fall in love with Elijah?’
‘No, he’s just a stand in.’
‘But she loves Eric.’
‘Yes but she doesn’t know if she can trust him.’ The jars of jam in Joe’s bag clanked together, the only other sound either of us made. ‘He’s the first person she ever really opened her heart to and he vanished on her.’
‘That was their deal though.’ There was a defensive edge in his voice I couldn’t miss. ‘One month together then they both walk away. Isn’t she being hard on him?’
‘But they fell in love,’ I reminded him. ‘And that wasn’t part of the deal.’
‘It never is.’
He left me behind, wandering over to a fruit and vegetable stand and examining a punnet of strawberries without me. I studied his stance, the tight set of his shoulders, tension in his neck, even his feet pointed straight forward as though he was afraid to relax.
‘You’ve got to trust your gut,’ he said when I eventually followed to stand beside him. ‘Butterfliesworks because it was real to you when you were writing. You have to write what’s in your heart.’
‘Keeping in mind the readers will tear me into pieces if she doesn’t end up with Eric?’
‘There is that,’ he admitted. ‘Still, you can’t write to order. It has to be true to you, just like the first time.’
