She approaches the register, running her manicured nails across the wooden countertop. “Actually, it’s what I can do to help you.”
I wait for her to continue.
“I’ve been feeling guilty ever since I ran into you at the Whiskey Sage. The writing class you asked about just seemed—it was too much, Piper. I panicked and lied about being gone. I figured you’d never know. But even Nashville is too small a town for that.” Her laugh feels forced. “Anyway, I’ve felt awful ever since, so I wanted to know if I could sign some books. Maybe do a live of me signing the books and tag the store? It would drive some business here.”
I push aside my earlier frustrations. “That’s really considerate. Thanks, Hannah. I’ll take anything you want to give.”
“I can sign most of your stock, but post about only signing a few to create urgency, then you have a bunch to sell.”
“Sure, that works.”
She looks relieved. “It really was great to see you both at that bar a few weeks ago. You know, we should do a reunion dinner. Get everyone together who’s in the area.”
Dorian nods. “That would be really fun.”
“Are you guys writing at all anymore? I can’t really teach a bunch of randoms, you know, but I’d be willing to offer you both some writing advice. Since we’re friends.”
Dorian cuts me a look. We aren’t at that relationship level where we can read each other’s minds yet, but somehow I just know what he’s thinking, because my brain is screaming the same thing. Hannah doesn’t deserve to know about our pen names. Her conceit is evident in the way she carries herself and in her newly acquired romcom fame. A small part of me wants to put her in her place and inform her that D.M. James—someone with twice her name recognition and sales—is sitting in front of her right now after recently teaching the course that’s too far below her. But I swallow those words.
“We both dabble,” I say lightly.
“Cool.” There’s a lightness in Hannah’s voice when she glances toward the table bearing brightly colored romcoms. “So, do you have any Sharpies?”
Dorian helpedHannah do a live video in the store, and she signed every book we have in stock. I helped her tuck bookmarks and character art into most of them, too. She was more than generous with her time and resources. Within three hours, we’ve had a steady stream of teens and young adults coming in for her books. Some of them are buying entire stacks.
I think we’re even now.
“You know,” Dorian says, chewing on the cap of his pen. We’re back at the front desk, manning the store and watching for Hannah Brandt fans. “I based Kiley on you.”
I look away from the register so sharply I nearly tweak my neck. “Seriously?”
“I couldn’t have you in real life, so I got to have you fictionally.”
A laugh tears from my throat. “But she’s so…beautiful.”
“Yeah.”
“And funny.”
“Yep.”
My eyebrows rise so high they’re probably getting lost in my hairline. “She’s like every man’s dream woman.”
He nods, and I’ve been with him long enough now to recognize the look in his eyes.
So I take a step forward until I’m resting against his stool, his knees on either side of me. “Man, you weresointo me.”
Dorian grins, leaning forward to kiss me. His lips are soft and warm and familiar. His strong hands hold me, which is comforting and exactly where I most like to be. I get lost here just as easily as he does.
I lean back, but he pulls me in again, not letting me get away for long. “Not yet,” he mutters against my lips.
I kiss him again. “Wait.”
Dorian stops, leaning back to look at me.
“I did the same thing to you.”
“Well, judging by the expression on your face, you didn’t paint me in as favorable a light.”
