No Room at Dragon’s Landing (Love Sync Mates, Season Two)

Chapter Eight

Boen

I hated leaving Cyrus behind at the B they needed something creamy to make a difference, but the vendor just smirked and didn’t offer anything. His eyes were strange, the pupils different…almost catlike, and his mirth at the expense of others did not impress me.

His was the last booth before the path led me back to the sidewalk, and I continued on, not enjoying myself as much as I thought I would. I’d always been pretty independent, often traveling solo without any angst at all, so why was today different?

Each shop I visited, each stand, each display, I wondered what Cyrus would think of it, whether he would get a chance in his busy day to see any of it at all. The bookstore he’d told me about featured an all-dragons display in the window. When I spotted my books front and center, I couldn’t resist paying a little visit and offering to sign a few. I was prepared to prove who I was by comparison to my author shot in the books, but as it turned out, the dragon-loving clientele made that entirely unnecessary.

“It’s B. Talon!” shouted a middle-school age boy wearing a Silas mask. When did we start selling those? “I told you he was a real dragon.”

“I am not a dragon,” I protested while allowing myself to be absorbed by the crowd. They were all pushing books at me and asking for signatures and personal notes and my life story. “Help?”

Loving my fans, I didn’t want to make any of them feel unloved in return, but I was being pulled back and forth and feared I might come to harm. Or, worse, one of them might. Just as I thought I might land on the floor and be trampled, a voice shouted over the chaos.

“Enough. Is this how you behave at all author signings? Killing the writer defeats the purpose.”

I grabbed an extended hand with glossy multicolored nails, relief surging through me. “Oh, thank you.” The crowd fell back enough to let me breathe, and I took full advantage of that to follow the hand I held back to the front counter and behind it. “Thank you again.” I was a rumpled mess, not the way I wanted my readers to think of me, but other than re-tucking my shirt and running my hands over my hair to smooth it, I didn’t have a lot of options. “I didn’t think anyone would recognize me.”

The shopkeeper’s hair was braided down her back in a rainbow of shades. Her eyeshadow matched, as did her dress and even her shoes, making her quite the standout even among the colorful fest-goers. “How could they not? These young people and even their parents are huge fans of your work. I have been trying to get you here for a signing for over a year, and I’d given up. If I’d known you were coming, I’d have been better prepared. The message from your publisher or agent must have gotten lost somehow.” She clapped her hands together and went on before I could comment. “But that doesn’t matter in the slightest. You’re here, and we’ve got this! We little bookstores don’t get the big names, usually. I’m so excited.”

I parted my lips to protest, to tell her there was a mistake, that I was only here on vacation and not at all for a signing. My publisher hadn’t made a mistake—she had. But before the first words emerged, I saw the sparkle in her eye and the happiness I could give to one of the people who spent their life in support of the work I and others like me did. So, instead, I heard myself saying, “Oh, no worries. We can put our heads together and make it work.” I ticked my head toward the milling readers. “If all you fine people won’t mind stepping back for just a couple of minutes, we will get this reading up and running!”

I did signings and gave talks at big stores after every new release, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d visited an independent seller like this. As I watched, the rainbow lady and several volunteer customers hustled, setting up folding chairs in a semicircle around a comfortable-looking chair upholstered in a cheerful cotton fabric. The shopkeeper brought a glass of ice water and set it on a small table by the chair along with a collection of pens and Sharpies, which was lucky since I didn’t have so much as a pencil nubbin in my pocket.

Becky, the rainbow lady, did not question that fact, so delighted to be honored with a signing from one of her “favorite authors of all time,” she wasn’t about to question my presence there. And, to be honest, neither was I.

Usually, I was set up on my chair with store employees and publishers’ reps handling crowd control. Now that the shoppers had had a little time to calm down, the whole atmosphere was fun and easy. I launched into my talk that I had given for this book release, took questions, and signed as many books as there were available. In short, Becky sold out.

By the time I left all my new friends behind, I was exhausted and cheerful. What a shame Cyrus wasn’t there. He might have enjoyed the laughter and fun. I had for sure.

I stopped at the bakery on the way back to the house and picked up some cupcakes frosted with a pattern of shiny dragon scales as a gift for my host. He’d been on my mind the whole day, and I hoped his had passed pleasantly as well. It was too much to hope he’d also been thinking of me.