Chapter 7 – dorian
seven
dorian
My phone has been blowing up all afternoon.
The McConkie sibling group chat is going wild over the recent discovery that our youngest sister got into culinary school in New York City, which is crazy since none of us knew she even wanted to learn to cook.
But what’s even more insane is that we have to be okay with her leaving Nashville and living in a huge city on her own.
Luke
Should I move to New York, too? I could be a bodyguard.
Carrie
Like Molly really wants you scaring off every hot guy she meets
Luke
You mean keeping her safe?
Paisley
She means what she said. You tried to scare off Hudson for heaven’s sake and he’s harmless
Luke
*GIF of the Hulk flinging Loki around*
Guess which one is me?
Paisley
If you’re trying to imply that you can take my boyfriend, you haven’t seen him in the gym
Luke
Except when we worked out together yesterday
As always, they’ve gotten away from the point of the conversation. I skim through all the messages before typing out my own.
Dorian
Congrats Molls. I’m so happy for you. I think you’re going to kill it in NYC and now we all have a reason to come visit.
I see the notification that Molly loved my text before I shut off my phone and slide it into my pocket.
The bookstore smells faintly of paper and warm amber.
Piper must have some sort of fragrance wafting through the building to give it this scent.
It’s soothing, and I love it. The empty space where my signing table was set up is now filled with rows of six-foot folding tables.
People have already claimed most of the seats, their laptops or notebooks out and drinks marking the spots in front of some of the empty chairs.
Anxiety begins to crawl up my body, tightening my muscles and cinching my stomach like a vise. I’m glad I skipped dinner because it would probably be greeting me again right now.
I’m an imposter. I’m not one of the greats. Why do I believe I should be up here teaching anyone like I know what I’m doing?
“Hey there, stranger,” Piper says, popping out of nowhere and giving my heart a jump scare. She notices my flinch, her eyes narrowing in response. “You okay?”
“I don’t know why I agreed to this. I’m not a teacher, Piper. I just write books.”
She stares at me. Her green eyes are thoughtful, taking all of me in as they glide down my arms and settle on my fidgeting hands. “Oh-kay, then,” she says, dragging out the word like it’s two.
Piper takes my hand and tugs, pulling me around the bookshelves with fantasy covers toward a corner that looks like self-help and cookbooks.
It makes me think of my siblings, but only briefly.
Honestly, every nerve ending in my body went hot the moment Piper’s skin touched mine.
I’m on red alert, and I don’t know how to react.
So apparently, stunned silence is the chosen response.
“You’re choosing right now to feel imposter syndrome?” she hisses, still holding my hand. I want to look down at it, but just in case she’s forgotten, I don’t want to draw attention to it.
“Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach?”
“No way. You can’t pull that on me. Did you know that my mom is a retired English teacher? I come by my love of literature honestly. And she’s also an incredible poet in her spare time. So try again.”
I didn’t really believe it anyway, so I don’t feel bad that she called me on it.
“I’m supposed to inspire twenty-five people to go out there and write a novel, but this job can be really hard.
You have to have thick skin against critics, and who knows whether anyone will even be reading human-made books for much longer at the rate AI is trying to flood us out of the market. ”
“Well, that’s bleak.”
“Yeah.” My eyes drift shut. “I’m not the man for the job.”
Piper’s hand tightens on mine, dragging my attention back to her.
“Excuse me, but did you see the line of people out the door waiting for you to sign their books the other night?” She doesn’t wait for a response before continuing.
“You know story. You understand the important things in writing and the things you can let go. These people signed up for this class because they have a dream. You are the perfect person to inspire them because you are the embodiment of accomplishing that dream. You’ve already done it. ”
Steady warmth rises in me like an incoming tide.
“I get it. You’d rather be at a keyboard than in front of a group of live people. But you are good with people, you’re charming, and you have a lot to say. Quit second-guessing yourself and just talk to them. It’s going to be great.”
She thinks I’m charming? “You either have a lot of faith in me, or you’re an excellent liar.”
“Didn’t you hear me introduce you the other night? I love your books.” Her green eyes hold mine, her cheeks glowing faintly pink. “I meant every word.”
Heat pools within me, and I want to tug her close. No one can see into this little alcove, and judging by some of the dust on the shelves, it’s not visited very often either.
“Also,” she says, flashing me a broad smile and pulling her hand out of mine, “Hannah responded to my email. She’s out of town all month—and not super receptive to teaching anyway. So without you, I’d have to refund all these people, and then I’d really be in a pickle.”
I miss her hand already. But I can’t say I’m surprised about Hannah. She’s not the same person we knew back in college. Unlike Piper, who only seems to have become more amazing in every way. “Sorry you lost Hannah. It’s short notice, though.”
“Yeah.” Piper doesn’t sound convinced. “Anyway, are you ready to start? Store closed a few minutes ago.”
“Sure.”
“Chin up, McConkie.”
“James.”
“Right. D.M. James.”
I can hear her muttering my pen name under her breath repeatedly as we make our way back toward the classroom area.
Piper heads straight for the front, and I follow her, pulling out my computer and setting it on the instructor’s table next to the projector.
I almost trip when I notice that every seat is now full, but I power ahead.
“Welcome, everyone. We are so excited to have you at Piper’s Books’ inaugural writing class.
This is where dreams will come to life, and as book lover extraordinaires, my employees and I are so pleased to ride along on this journey with you.
Don’t forget that you get fifteen percent off in the store for the duration of the course. ”
There’s a quiet murmur among the group, no doubt from friends chatting about which books they’re using their discount on.
“Just show your receipt for the class at the register, and we’ll apply your discount.
Anyway, enough from me. I know you were all looking forward to learning from Philip Simmons, but he had a health emergency and is unable to join us.
Fortunately for everyone here, D.M. James was willing to step in, and now we get to learn from one of the country’s leading thriller writers of our day.
He’s humble, but don’t let that fool you.
The man is brilliant. Please join me in welcoming Mr. James. ”
Piper claps as she steps away from the central stage area in front of the students, and they join in, with a few hollers and hoots in the crowd too. We live in Nashville, after all.
“Thank you, Ms. Monroe.” I swallow each fear threatening to press up my throat and make me flee.
What I really should have told her is that I’m not writing right now.
I can’t write anything currently. So maybe I’m not the best person for this gig.
But Piper’s right, and I know story. I understand characters, dialogue, stakes…
all the components that thread together to become a book.
Each one needs close attention, so any topic I choose to focus on will benefit these new writers.
Which is overwhelmingly broad.
“Let’s start with the basics. How many of you are writers?”
A smattering of hands goes up in the air. Far fewer than I expected.
“Any authors in the group?” I ask.
No hands rise this time.
I find Piper sitting in a chair in the back beside Natalie, listening and nodding as her employee whispers in her ear.
I’ll need to stop looking at her if I want to remain focused.
This is the University of Tennessee all over again, and I’m in danger of thinking about nothing but Piper if I let myself.
My hands slide into my pockets. “First, you’re all here, so I suspect most of you are wrong.
If you write, you’re a writer. You don’t need permission from anyone to give yourself the title.
There is no threshold necessary to earn the badge.
It’s quite simple, so I’ll repeat: if you write, you’re a writer.
So I’ll ask again. How many of you are writers? ”
Every hand in the room goes up, including Piper’s.
My hands stay safely tucked away in my pockets, but my smile grows. “Great. Now that we’ve got that covered, let’s start with some basics. Who here has heard of character-driven and plot-driven stories?”
The hour goes by so quickly that I only get through about half of what I planned to cover before Piper is shutting it down and reminding everyone to use their discounts in the store this week.
I cap my pen and slide it into my bag with my notebook.
The projector Piper set up for my presentation is sitting on a slide with my author email address in case anyone has questions they want to discuss further.
I promised to email everyone the slides we didn’t go over if they wanted them, and pens began to scribble furiously.
I’m sure I’ve got twenty-five requests hitting my inbox right now.
“Mr. James,” a middle-aged man says, pushing his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose as he approaches. He’s wearing a jacket over a pearl-snap button-up and cowboy boots. “You are so inspiring. Thanks for taking the time to come to our class.”
I read his name tag. “Thank you, Todd.”
He shakes his head. “I have to admit, when I learned you were going to take over for Mr. Simmons, I was pretty disappointed. Never been a fan of your work, you know?”
My smile turns stiff, but I keep it in place. This is nowhere near the first time I’ve been in a situation like this. But usually I can hide my face behind a screen.
“But you really inspired me tonight. I just want to go home and write. I’ve been working on this book for six years. It’s nearly ready for readers, but not quite there. I just need it to be perfect.”
“I’m glad you got something out of the class.”
Todd reaches for a handshake, so I give him one. He’s quickly replaced by a woman with long, voluminous curls that remind me of Jessica Rabbit, only this woman is blonde. Her lips are bright red, and she flashes a set of startlingly white teeth at me. “That was amazing!”
“Thank you, Lori.”
“You should give motivational speeches for writers. Is there a place that offers things like that? Because I really think you could inspire a lot of people.”
I know what’s happening here. These people have never been to a writers’ conference before, or anything like it, and this is the first time they’ve been taught about creative writing. I’m not saying anything unique. This information isn’t groundbreaking, but it is new to them.
“That’s kind of you to say,” I tell her.
She steps closer, choking me with a cloud of perfume. Lowering her voice, she looks up at me through lashes that look too long to be natural. “I’m looking forward to the next three weeks, Mr. James.”
I want to take a step back, but there’s a bookshelf behind me. “That’s…uh…”
Piper catches my gaze, her eyebrows up. She must see my panic, because amusement immediately crosses over her face.
She navigates toward me, clearing her throat.
“Okay, everyone. I’m sorry to cut this short, but Mr. James has to be on his way.
We can work more Q&A time into next week’s class now that we know there’s a need for it. Thanks for coming!”
The crowd that gathered behind Lori immediately begins to disperse.
Except Lori. Her finely manicured hand squeezes my bicep. “I’ll email you tonight.”
I stand beside Piper as Lori walks away.
“That sounded like a promise,” she mutters.
“Or a threat?” I ask.
Piper smothers a laugh.
“You could have saved me sooner.”
She shrugs. “How was I supposed to know you wanted to be saved?”
“You’ve known me for how many years, and you believe that’s my type?”
“She’s beautiful.”
“She is,” I agree, my eyes never leaving Piper’s face.
She seems to take this as a challenge, because she locks on to my eyes like we agreed to enter into a staring contest. This woman is determined to take home a gold medal. “Then what are your other criteria?”
This is extremely loaded. I could hold up a mirror, but Piper would probably freak out.
Besides, in the years since college, she could have totally changed.
Physically, she is even more beautiful than she was at twenty-one when I last saw her.
Her laugh is still musical. Her ambition is inspiring.
The way she cares about people has always been something that drew me to her.
“I don’t have any,” I finally say. “I just want a connection.”
“Waiting for your soulmate?”
“Maybe I already found her, but I’m waiting for her to figure it out.”
Piper laughs again, and I want to catch the sound in a jar like my siblings and I used to do with lightning bugs. “That sounded like a line. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting.”
I hold her gaze for a few seconds, careful not to contradict her in any way.
“Thanks again, Mr. James,” someone calls near the door.
“See you next week,” I return, not taking my eyes off of Piper. Her cheeks are mottled red, which is quickly becoming my favorite color. Then I walk away to clean up, leaving those thoughts in her head to mull over. Last time I asked her out, she thought it was a business dinner.
Next time I ask, my intentions are going to be impossible to miss.