“Well, not since I got my first publishing contract. But I’d rather write than have my summers off. Anyway, a teacher’s salary is hardly enough to make ends meet in New York. Plus I have to do something productive or I get stir-crazy. Before the books, I wrote obituaries.”
“What?” he said with a laugh. She was such a happy little thing he couldn’t imagine...
“Yeah, it was a little depressing. But I did take joy in helping people express the essence of their loved ones. It was rewarding in that way. But I’d much rather be writing a story—of any genre.”
“So is the goal a career as a novelist?”
“I definitely want to keep writing books, but I don’t know if I’ll ever give up teaching kiddos. I love it. If I could work during the school year and write a book each summer, that would be my ideal life.”
“What about after you get married and have kids? Or is that not in the forecast?”
“Oh yes, I want all the above eventually. I guess I’ll have to reassess at that point. That seems like a long way off though. I’m nowhere near that kind of relationship, and marriage and family are such important decisions—not ones I’d make lightly. What about you?”
“What about me?”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re thirty-one—that’s not exactly young. Don’t you want a wife? Kids? Is there anyone currently auditioning for the part?”
The image of Amanda soured his thoughts. “Yes, yes, and no.”
“You’ll find her eventually. Caroline thinks I’m too picky. She’s tried to set me up about a million times. What was your longest relationship?”
“Just over a year.”
“What happened? Or is that too nosy? If it’s too nosy, just tell me to mind my own business. Also, now that I’m writing romance, I should inform you that anything you say may be used as fodder for my story.”
“You won’t want to use this story. It ended badly.”
She winced. “Ooh. I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard. How long ago was the breakup?”
“More than a year ago. I’m over it, over her. Life goes on.”
“Have you dated anyone since?”
“Not really. Decided to skip the whole rebound relationship.”
“Probably wise. Those usually don’t turn out well, or so I hear.”
The sun must’ve set on the other side of the house, as it was growing dark. The sky over the ocean had darkened, and fireflies were beginning to flash in the yard.
She slapped at her arm. “Well, the mosquitoes have come to visit—they love me, so that’s my signal to retreat indoors.” She stood.
Rio stood and shook, making her tags jingle.
“It was nice talking to you, Sam. And if Mary gets back with you, let me know, no matter the time of day or night. I’m dying to see how this turns out.”
“Will do. Good night.”
“Night.” She navigated the barrier and headed toward the door, Rio on her heels, then turned suddenly. “Oh! You never said—what’s your favorite book?”
He hesitated. “It’s not some high-brow classic novel...”
She rolled her eyes. “I write genre fiction, Sam.”
“The Firmby John Grisham.”
“Aah.” Her lips split into that wide smile. “And just like that we have something to talk about tomorrow.”
Fifteen
