Page 26 of 10 Things I Hate About Mistletoe

“Oh, you think so, Mr. Know It All?” She shot back with only mild irritation, and he was relieved that she really seemed to have forgiven him for his earlier behavior.

“I do, and since you said yourself I know everything, you should probably listen.” He twisted and removed her keys from the door, holding them out to her. “Don’t forget these. Good night.”

“Good night,” she whispered.

Anthony closed the storm door and headed back down the walkway to his truck. He suddenly heard the creak of the metal open again and the pitter-patter of bare feet on cement behind him. Anthony stopped and turned around with an exasperated, “Damn it, Delilah, get back ins—”

His words got cut off when Delilah launched herself against him, and he caught her, wrapping his arms around her blanket-clad body.

“I wanted to hug you but remembered I was naked under here.”

Anthony groaned and lifted her off her feet, the heat of her body burning through the blanket. He carried her back to the front door while she laughed and wriggled in his arms.

“Good god, woman, are you trying to kill me? Stop wiggling like that before I drop you.”

Delilah giggled and twisted the knob of the storm door when they reached it. Although Anthony set her down inside with a scowl, his lips twitched. “Do I have to tell you to stay?”

She held on to the blanket with one hand and smacked him with the other. “I’m not a dog, you jerk!”

“Ow! I’m sorry,” he said, laughing before he leaned closer, sniffing loudly. “Seriously, go shower. You stink.”

Anthony shut the door on her loud, “Hey!”

Chapter Seven

Delilah pulled Anthony’s blanket from the laundry and carried it into the kitchen to fold. The school was closed because of Thanksgiving this week, so there were no jobs to take. She needed to get onto the freelance website and find some writing jobs, so she’d have money coming in. She’d applied for a few open positions at various online publications but understood how competitive they were. Everyone wanted to be able to write from home, and while she’d made decent money writing for hire, submitting editorials and research articles didn’t bring her joy.

Her phone rang in the distance, and she dropped the blanket, running down the hallway with Leia barking excitedly on her heels. Delilah spotted her phone on her bed and dived across it, scrambling to answer when she saw her agent’s name flashing across the screen. Leia bounded up and proceeded to pounce on her back, mistaking her panic for play.

“Hi, Beth,” she answered breathlessly, ducking her head to avoid Leia’s darting tongue. “Stop it.”

“Delilah?” Beth said. “Is this a bad time?”

“No, I was just in the other room.” She sat up, pushing Leia off the bed. The dog sat back on her haunches and looked up at Delilah, her ears pinned back. Delilah mouthed, I’m sorry, as if the dog could understand her, before addressing Beth. “How are you?’

“Oh, getting ready to drive south for the holiday. How about you?” she asked.

“Doing laundry at the moment.”

“The never-ending battle.” Beth cleared her throat, the small, short cough a common tell Delilah had learned for when her agent had bad news. “I wanted to talk to you about your manuscript. I got an email from Rebecca Stone of Orion Publishing, and she doesn’t think it’ll be a good fit.”

Delilah’s heart sank, and she flopped onto her back on the mattress. “That’s it, right? We’re dead in the water.”

“With this series, but the good news is, she loves your voice,” Beth said cheerfully. “If you’re free, she’d like to hop on the phone with you next week and discuss some potential story ideas?”

Delilah wanted to squeal with joy but swallowed it back, keeping her voice even and calm. “That works for me.”

“Great! I’ll email you both and make official introductions, and we can set something up.”

“What about my series?” Delilah asked.

“That’s up to you,” Beth said, her tone neutral. Considerably different from the excitement she’d conveyed when Delilah first pitched it. “You can self-pub it. It’s a great idea, and the writing is on point; otherwise, I wouldn’t have taken it out. Some things are hard to sell to trade publishers, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have an audience.”

Delilah thought about the two series on her computer, numbering nine books total. Without someone to read them, they were worthless. While Delilah knew very little about self-publishing, she’d read enough articles to know it was expensive up front. She was barely getting by now; how could she afford a bunch of out-of-pocket expenses?

Still, it wasn’t Beth’s fault no one had fallen in love with her series, so she tried to mask her disappointment with pleasantness. “Thank you for trying, anyway.”

“We will find you a writing home, I promise. More to come. Bye, sweets!” Beth called out, her words running together in one run-on goodbye.