Page 11 of The Write Stuff

“I’m not sure she ever said a name,” Brody replied. “Just that she wrote romance.”

I wrote romance. Yes, you heard that right. The son of Eleanor Ambrose opted to write romance, not science fiction. She’d taken it as an insult, but I’d been strategic when picking my niche.

Romance was the top-selling genre for a reason. Almost all of the authors were female. Or they were men pretending to be female. I opted for the opposite. I put my face and real name on every book. That actually excited the female readers because it was rare. I’d become something of a sensation in contemporary romance circles, and that had resulted in big advances. I wasn’t sorry about my choice. I was, however, plotting a pivot to another genre. I planned to keep writing romance — it was far too lucrative to walk away from — but I was going to use my position as one of my publisher’s buzz-worthy authors to negotiate a second pen name when I was ready.

I just needed to decide what else I wanted to write. I hadn’t figured that out yet. The only thing I could say with absolute certainty was that it wouldn’t be science fiction. I would never say this to anybody, especially my mother, but I hated all things starships. I didn’t get it. Give me a good murder mystery or post-apocalypse story any day of the week. Science fiction, though? Ugh.

“Do you know what subgenre?” I prodded. It wasn’t that I was worried I would be in competition with this woman — I was outselling everybody at present — but I needed to know if she was the type who would try to cozy up to me for a blurb or something. I hated those people.

“I don’t know.” Brody solemnly shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I assured him. “I was just curious.”

“I’m pretty sure they’re already inside,” Bree said. “We’ll find out shortly.”

I followed them up the stairs — it seemed stairs were an issue almost everywhere in Savannah, which brought up questions of accessibility — and kept a polite smile on my face as they explained we were joining a party to the hostess. We were directed to the right, and when we turned the corner, I lost my breath.

The woman sitting at the table with Bella Oakley and Nathan Cooper, who I recognized from several New York mixers, was breathtaking. She was skinny, but with a few curves in the exact right places. She was dressed in black pants with strappy sandals, something I only saw because she was showing something on one of the sandals to Bella.

She had a white camisole on under a long cardigan. It wasn’t a bulky sweater cardigan, however. It was light and flowy, and it sort of fluttered around her as she shifted back and forth from one foot to the other.

Her hair was what really drew me in. It was long, a rich sable brown, and it fell past her shoulders in waves. It looked silky, and when the light hit it in a specific way, it almost sparkled. Her face was another showstopper. She had high cheekbones and a soft nose curve. She wore minimal makeup, and her eyebrows were dark, offsetting her petal pink lips.

She looked up to show off a set of bunny brown eyes, and that’s when I froze. I recognized those eyes. I would have recognized them anywhere.

“Huxley,” she said on a gusty exhale.

I froze at the sound of my own name. This couldn’t be happening, and yet it was. “Wylie.”

We stared at one another like gunfighters about to draw. This was the O.K. Corral.

“Uh-oh,” Bree said from my left. She’d obviously tracked that this situation was the exact opposite of normal, and yet she seemed confused as to why. “Who … ?” She focused on Wylie, then looked back at me.

“Crap,” Nathan said. I’d yet to meet him in person, although he obviously knew who I was. He had a reputation for being blunt. If any situation ever required a blunt individual, it was this one. “What are the odds?”

“The odds of what?” Bella asked. She looked like a deer caught in headlights. I recognized her from interviews she’d done with Nathan after they’d fallen in love. People had been tickled by their love story since it followed the plot of a romance novel. She didn’t look particularly lovey-dovey now.

“Hey, guys,” Brody said quietly as he stepped closer to the table. “I don’t think anybody realized that their new friend was not going to get along with their other new friend. Let’s take a breath.”

“What’s happening?” Bella hissed. She wasn’t subtle in the least, although she probably believed that she’d lowered her voice. “I know something very bad has happened, but I don’t know what.”

That was enough to have me clearing my throat. I would not let this situation get away from me. The one thing I had going was that this would nip Bree’s matchmaker instincts in the bud. She wouldn’t dare try putting me with Wylie. I mean, it was Wylie freaking Dixon. What was she even doing here?

For a moment, just a split second really, I heard my mother’s voice.

In a few years, every guy you know will be salivating over Wylie.

She’d been convinced that Wylie was going to mature into a heartbreaker. She’d been right. Wylie was the most attractive woman I’d ever seen in real life. Sure, she was the daughter of the devil — at least in my mother’s world — but the daughter of the devil had grown up to be hot.

That didn’t mean I was in the mood to reforge old bonds.

“It’s fine,” I said, finding my voice. It was a little rustier than I expected, but otherwise I sounded strong and in control. That was what I was going for, so I continued. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Definitely not,” Wylie said. Her voice was more of a squeak, and I felt sorry for her, although I had no idea where that inclination had come from. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Everybody is fine.” She was babbling and likely didn’t realize it. For some reason, that relaxed me.

This Wylie might have looked like a model — seriously, where had that body come from? — but she was still the same old Wylie. She was awkward and weird, and she said ridiculous things.

“Will somebody tell me what’s going on?” Bree demanded on a wail. “I’m going to explode from the tension that is flying around this table.”