“I can only imagine.”
I watch her, waiting to see if she’s going to catch on. She’s a fan of my work, which means she’s read the books I wrote abouther. The main character’s love interest, Kiley, is a direct replica of Piper, down to her unique tinkling laugh.
There’s no way I’ll kill her off, despite what Henry Jacobsen, with an E-N, thinks is a good idea. I can’t kill off my Piper.
“I caught what Carrie said tonight about your dad.” She swallows. “You don’t have to talk about it, of course, if it’s difficult. But I was wondering how he’s doing?”
“He’s better now.” I nod along like that will lend my words truth and gravity. “He had a double bypass. They think they caught it early, so he’s watching his intake and seeing a doctor. We’re all on his case to walk regularly, which is making him grumpy, but it’s a good prognosis, as long as he listens to the doctor.”
She presses her shoulder further into mine, and I wonder if she knows she’s doing it. There’s so much couch behind her; if she wanted space, she could take it. But she hasn’t moved back. “I can’t imagine how difficult that was. If my dad went through something like that, it would have wrecked me.”
“We were terrified. He’s our rock. Or…he was?”
“Who stepped into that role?”
“My mom, kind of. But she needs one too. So we’re all kind of leaning on each other. Luke started these game nights just to get our minds off of everything and give us a night together, and we’ve kept them up. The two youngest are more hit-and-miss, but the rest of us need them.”
“It’s admirable how close you guys are.”
“I guess I have a handful of rocks.”
“Sounds like you’re a good support for them, too,” she says softly.
I don’t take compliments well, so I want to shrug it off, but I resist. The lighting is warm, and she’s leaning against the couch, facing me. I don’t know how we got here. I’ve been looking forward to the signing in her store for months, the days andweeks dragging by in anxious anticipation, until I finally saw her, and now we’re swept up in a tornado and can’t put our feet down.
But I’m loving flying beside her.
ten
piper
Since someone turnedout the lights in some of the surrounding rooms, it’s dim in here, and the vibes are cozy and warm. I’m facing Dorian on the sofa, and he’s leaning back, looking into my eyes.
We’re the right sides of the magnets tonight. I’ve been testing it since I sat on this couch. Part of me has been touching part of Dorian for the last two hours—except when one of us was standing in the center of the room, taking a turn during fishbowl—and he hasn’t pulled away once. Not even a smidge.
This man and his signals are strong. I want this moment to stretch out indefinitely. So, before he can direct me to the car and start driving me home, I ask the first thing that pops into my head. “Do you still plot villain first?”
“I don’t plot anything right now.”
“Oh, you discovery-write? Extra impressive. You have a lot of moving parts to keep track of for that.”
He swallows, and I watch his throat move. “No, I mean I’m not writing.”
My body freezes. I look toward the office door, where we can still hear the rumblings of Luke on the phone. He could come outhere at any moment, so maybe it would’ve been better to move to the privacy of a car. This feelshuge. “At all?”
“My dad’s health scare. It just…” He shrugs, looking lost.
I shift on the seat, reaching for his hand. It’s an impulse, but once I’m holding it in both of mine, I don’t regret it. The feeling of his fingers wrapping around mine sends my body down a roller coaster I’m unprepared for. “You don’t have to share, Dorian. I shouldn’t have pried.”
“You aren’t.” He stares down at our hands. “It’s actually kind of nice to talk about. I try to tell my mom, but she’s just a fountain of positivity, and that doesn’t actually solve anything.”
I smile. “She sounds lovely.”
“She is.” He closes his eyes briefly. “But telling me it’ll work out and to keep my chin up isn’t actually working anything out. I don’t know; it’s hard to explain.”
“You need someone to listen.”
His brown eyes pierce me. “Yes. Something about facing my dad’s mortality made nothing in my books matter anymore. I just can’t—it’s hard to face any of the adversaries in my books, I guess. I can’t give my heroes wounds that mean anything. None of it feels authentic. I sit down to write, and the cursor blinks at me like it’s taunting me. My mind is blank.”
