“Apples.”
“Yes, the one that’s happier than that dark thing you just brought to life.”
“I didn’t know he had one about apples. But… Was my performance terrible? You can be brutally honest.”
“No, it was fantastic!” she says, her eyes shining.
I give her a pirate’s grin. “So you can appreciate darkness.”
Her cheeks pink slightly. “I suppose I can.”
I turn my head to hide a smile and a little flutter of excitement dances through my chest. I shake my head and replace the instrument exactly as she had it set up on the stand. When I return to my seat, Colette holds out her parchment.
“Will you read it for the crowd tonight?” she asks.
I accept the draft. “I told you that I don’t want to do that.”
“But what if Quinn and Avalon insist?”
I frown. “Did they? I didn’t receive a letter.”
“No, but they might,” she says.
“If they do, I’ll consider it. I must. But until then, let’s keep this project as professional as possible. We don’t need the ignorant masses weighing in.”
She’s toying with the bronze buckle on her belt.
I narrow my eyes. “What is it? You’re not telling me something?”
She studiesher nails and licks her lips, which makes my body tighten in places. “I read to the crowd here last night. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it.”
She did? No. Blessed Runestones, I bet they booed her out of the room. “How was it received?”
“They loved it. Lots of applause and all of that.”
I huff a laugh. “That’s good, I suppose.”
“I promised them more,” she says.
I shrug. “Well, you shouldn’t have.”
“Just come with me. I told Lysandra we could read at her bookshop and get her some sales.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t attempt to guilt me. We will have at least one event at her place when we launch this book. There will be plenty of time to give her business.”
“What if I went myself then?”
“Go ahead. I wish you wouldn’t, but I can hardly boss you about.”
“True.” She stands and crosses her arms. “Now, read that, tell me what you really think, and then we can head to Two Cats.”
I nod, but I can’t be honest. I might be a blood-sucking monster, but I’m not an arsehole. At least, I try not to be. It’s not easy. I critique her changes and additions specifically, avoiding generalizations and keeping the language technical. Her writing is solid,better than mine, but the content doesn’t touch the soul.
“I want the reader to sit back and think, you know?” I ask.
Her lovely eyes pin me down. She points to the page, a spot where the female main character grips the edge of the bookshelf.
“You don’t see how this is deep thought? She’s exploding inside right there.”
