"Ah, so you think I'll turn out to be a total dick, and you'll never be able to read me again, is that it?"
"Something like that." I shrug, taking an experimental sip. The coffee is actually good. Strong. "In my experience, heroes rarely live up to the name. Why risk a good thing?"
"You consider me a hero?"
"What? Hell no."
"You're so full of shit."
"Whatever. Why don't you like meeting readers?"
He leans back against the island. "I did a meet and greet at a major bookstore a few years ago, and the store decided to do this big giveaway. Anyone who bought the book was entered to win my entire backlist. Things got out of hand. People were pushing, trying to get to the front of the line. I felt like a goddamn sale item on the rack, and that was before it turned into a brawl. A reader ended up with a nasty head injury. I haven't done onesince," he says, his voice soft. "I didn't sign up to be the reason people get hurt."
"I didn't know that," I whisper, watching his face.
"Not many do, but I decided then and there that I wouldn't do another book event. I'm just a motherfucker who writes. Meeting me or winning my books isn't worth all that," he says.
"You know that wasn't your fault, right?"
"They were there to meet me. Whether it was my fault or not, I still bear some responsibility." He meets my gaze, and I can tell he means it. He'd rather never do another book event than see someone else get hurt trying to meet him.
And honestly, I'm not sure what to do with this information. I was prepared for his reason to center himself, whether it was justified or not, but this isn't that. This is him, taking a step back to protect people who matter to him.
"Why do you want me to speak at your book club so badly?" he asks.
"For the same reason that everyone at that event was so eager to meet you," I say, holding his gaze. "You write women like you understand what it's like to be us, and I've got an entire book club full of women who could use a little encouragement from someone who sees them clearly."
"There are a thousand female authors better suited for that than I am, Jasmine," he says. "They don't need a man to build them up. No woman does."
"You're right. They don't. But you aren't a man to them. At least, you aren't just a man," I clarify. "You're an author who writes women just like them, women they adore. That's who they need. It has nothing to do with you being a man. It has to do with the way your words make them feel and the pieces of themselves they see in your characters. You make people feel seen, River. You know how rare that is?"
"It's what an author is supposed to do."
"No, it's what a good author does," I disagree. "There are thousands of books out there that readers fail to connect with because they just can't relate to the characters."
He stares at me for a long moment. "I'll concede that point," he finally says. "But I still don't think I'm the right person for the job. In fact, I think the right person is standing in front of me."
"What? Me?" I laugh incredulously. "I'm not an author."
"You don't have to be an author to connect with people or to move them, princess. You're smart. You're eloquent. You're passionate. And you very clearly care a helluva lot. I'm guessing you already make your book club feel seen in ways you don't even realize."
Do I? Maybe. But that's part of the job. The other part is bringing in authors to talk…and I'm not an author. I don't even want to be an author. I prefer reading, thank you very much.
"I still think you should do it," I grumble. "It'd be good for them, and it'd be good for you to see that not every event ends in chaos." I eye him pointedly over the rim of my mug. "You can put safeguards in place to ensure that nothing like that happens again without enacting a strict 'no public appearances' boundary."
"I'll consider it."
"What?" I gape at him. "Seriously?"
"Yes. Seriously."
Well, holy shit. I didn't see that coming. I honestly figured he'd keep refusing until hell froze over. And honestly? I wouldn't have blamed him, not now that I know the reason. I hope he changes his mind because he deserves to see that not every event ends that way, just as much as readers deserve a chance to meet him.
"Thank you," I say, trying not to make a big deal out of it so he doesn't change his mind.
"I still want that date."
"Um…no."
