“Aye.”
“He’ll see inside your head just like you’ll see inside his, you know,” the witch warns me.
“I know.”
“It’s not easy to see the raw truth like that. That portion of the festival is not very festive, to be honest. It’s very solemn.”
“I’m all right with that. I want to connect with him. See if I have a chance. If not, it’s completely fine. I will simply be his co-writer for this short story, then we’ll go our merry ways.”
“When you put it like that…” Tully clicks her tongue like she is pondering.
Kaya laughs and rolls her eyes. “Oh, say yes. You know you want to.” She elbows me. “Tully may be reformed, but she still adores any sort of meddling.”
The witch shrugs. “She’s right.”
I clap and skip a few steps, nearly busting my arse on the slippery snow. They catch my arms and laugh with me.
The bookshop’sdouble doors creak open to a healthy crowd packed between the shelves. Fairies, humans like me, orcs, goblins, shifters, and more sit at small, round tables. Many have to stand because there aren’t enough chairs.
I recognize many faces. Tully’s minotaur mate, Argos, I think is his name? Yes, that’s right. And there’s Rom and Laini, the gargoyle weather watcher and his weaver mate. Mayor Rustion, a lion shifter with tawny, bushy hair, is there with his mate, Nisa. Nisa waves a sunset-hued hand in greeting and her pixie wings flutter like panes of thin glass behind her. There are some new faces here too. Perhaps folks I haven’t yet met who live in town or tourists who have heard about the project due to that first, um, event. This is the largestcrowd I’ve seen in Leafshire Cove.
Some smile kindly, but a couple of folks eye me narrowly like they’re here to judge me. That doesn’t bother me, but I’m also not going to put up with hecklers. I will see them right out that door and I know Mayor Rustion will help me with that—Tully and Kaya too.
I selected a short snippet that includes a poetic line from the male lead and a snarky, self-deprecating bit from the female lead. Oh. Hmm. I didn’t think of this, but… Archer and I haven’t named them yet and that might make this snippet awkward. I can name them, right? Will Archer mind? Well, if he hates what I pick, we can change it and that’ll be a fun behind-the-scenes thing for this crowd to be a part of. In fact, I’ll open with that fun tidbit.
The reading goes well.
The audience claps enthusiastically and even cheers a little at my female lead’s final quip. I’m feeling floaty and happy as I join Lysandra at the back of the room, where she’s set up a table with wine and cider for the guests. Some say hello as they take a drink or wave goodnight. I respond in kind, thinking the evening has gone remarkably well until I overhear a mean tone of voice on the far side of a giggling group of youths going on about Archer andhow handsome he is on the sketch Lysandra did for the event.
“…and he’s not at this reading either,” the mean voice says. “He probably doesn’t want to work with her.”
My face flushes hotly and I fist my hands.
“But why?” The other person says. They’re a tall pixie with blue skin like Rychell’s sweet son, Nate. The mean person must be very short with how bent over the pixie is while listening to them.
“She isn’t up to his standards,” Meanie says. “I know. I’ve read his work. It’s exceptional.”
I silently snort in my head. I’m no stranger to people hating on romance because it’s romance. I know very well that my writing is as strong as his.
“She does seem like the flaky sort,” the pixie says, making me grind my teeth. “I don’t know how she runs an innandwrites books. Maybe she has a ghostwriter and she doesn’t do any of it anyway. Maybe that’s why Darkheart isn’t showing up for their events.”
Blessed Stones! Who do these people think they are, coming to my event and hissing about me in corners? I feel tears welling.
“Couldbe,” Meanie says. “Could very well be.”
Lysandra grips my arm and shakes her head like I shouldn’t even worry about what they’re saying, but I can’t stop my chest from aching. I know I look like a flighty sort of person, what with how happy things make me and how I can’t hide anything from my face, but I have always been a hard worker, and this sort of judgey attitude really digs under my skin.
I gently detach from Lysandra’s hold. “I’ll be right back.”
Hurrying out of the bookshop, I inhale the cold, night air. I slip around the corner of the building and hide from the moonlight. The stupid tears are already coming down and there’s nothing I can do to stop them. At least I made it out here before anyone saw me.
“Colette?”
I gasp. It’s Archer.
He bends his head down and approaches slowly, a question in his glittering, vampire eyes. Gosh, he is so lovely. I wipe my eyes as best I can, but it’s hopeless. Once I start crying, I usually can’t stop for a long, long while.
“I’m fine.”
