Page 105 of A Bookish Story

“Yes, he’s on a panel but not on the same day. Still, there’s a good chance you two could meet if you’d like me to arrange it.”

“Oh, no. Don’t go out of your way.”

“Surely you two are still in touch, or is Ryan doing his thing again?” Kate said.

“Doing his thing again?”

“The thing where he holes up in his house writing nonstop, shutting everyone and everything out until he’s done. That’s how his marriage failed, you know. I don’t think he’d mind me telling you, seeing how close you two became.”

My heart feels like a raw and aching muscle every time I think of Ryan and I try not to make it often for the sake of self-preservation.

“How much of a love story do you think is enough in a book that wouldn’t normally be considered part of the romance genre?”

The audience member’s question snaps me out of my daydream.

All panelists take a turn answering the question in regard to raising stakes. My answer is there can never be too much of a love story in any book. I accept that only in the romance genre can one be assured of a happy ending, but love stories come in all shapes and sizes. There are sad endings, and yes, unfinished endings.

“Contemporary, historical, cozy mystery, World War II spy novel,” I say, and then lose my train of thought when I see Ryan standing in the back of the room. “Um…yes. Give me all the romance.”

Everyone claps and Holly comments, “We are not surprised to hear Elizabeth say this!”

Ryan catches my eye and smiles. I’m pretty sure my face does a weird contortion in which I attempt a smile but look like I’m having a stroke. God, he looks incredible. He’s dressed in slate slacks and a navy peacoat that makes him look like a cross between an L.L.Bean model and a modern-day Heathcliff from the moors. His hair is long and unruly, he’s wearing what looks like a new pair of glasses, and the beard is back. He might be unrecognizable to some but I’m not likely to ever miss him in a crowd. I can hear my heart beating in my ears and I hope no one asks me another question because I’m now brain-dead.

I’ve dated in the past three months as I tried to get over him, don’t get me wrong. Well, it was one date. One. When I started getting flowers delivered every week with no note I immediately suspected Chris. But one phone call to tell him to quit doing that, and I learned he was already dating someone new. It wasn’t him. The flowers continued, mostly daffodils with the occasional daylilies thrown in. I went down the list of possible people, even suspecting Eddie, and they continued to come. Once, the UPS guy was there delivering books at the same time as the flower guy.

“I wish they would just stop coming,” I said and the UPS guy burst out laughing.

“There’s something you don’t hear often.”

He asked me out and I still wonder if it was because he assumed I was low-maintenance. It was dinner, very nice, pleasant, though he couldn’t even tell me the title of the last book he’d read. He did not have any strong opinions and wasn’t much of a history buff. Still, we planned to meet again. That night I went home and cried for hours. I did not want to see him again even though I had no real reason.

It took me weeks to figure out I’m desperately, completely, hopelessly in love with Ryan. Some romance writer, right?

What I feel for him is not admiration, it’s not friendship, it’s not a workplace relationship. I’m not overtly grateful but just the right amount. He’s not a mentor. He’s not a teacher.

I just love him because I see him the way I’m not able to see anyone else. I see inside his heart and I know he sees mine.

I’ve stalked him on social media, which in his case is pretty useless. He shares the occasional book review and photos of some of his research but continues to be impersonal and distant. I suppose it works for him. In other words, he’s given me no clue as to whether he even remembers me, much less still loves me as he once claimed right before he walked away.

But as I sit here now, waiting for this panel to end, I can see he remembers me. He remembers us.

“Thank you, everyone,” Holly announces and I realize we’re done. “If you have a copy of a book you’d like signed, please form a line behind me.”

Now I can’t leave because someone might actually want me to sign a book. The line moves at roughly the pace of a snail on antidepressants and when I look up, I catch Ryan leaving the room.

“I’m sorry,” I say as I sign a book for a reader. “I have to go, it’s an emergency.”

This might be rude but I need to get out of here. I have to see Ryan. There are things I need to know. How dare he show up here, smile, and walk away again? As I leave the hall, I take a turn and think I see the sleeve of his peacoat. He’s walking fast, like he can’t wait to get away from me. Well, not before answering a few questions!

I bump into a small crowd forming in front of an author’s booth, making my way around with effusive apologies. Eventually I follow Ryan’s back down a long hall and the groups of people around me begin to thin. We’re not near any of the action and I know he’ll hear me now.

“Ryan!” I call. “Stop!”

He finally stops, turns, and does not look surprised to see me. I, however, am out of breath.

“Hey, you,” he says as if we just spoke yesterday.

“Where…where are you going?” Hand to my chest, I try to slow my breathing.