Chapter Ten
Oliver
I was still thinking about my kitchen hook-up with Lane on Monday when I strolled into Novel Tea to meet one of my authors for a coffee and a catch-up. The book-themed coffee shop seemed like the perfect place for a discussion about writing.
Anders Flynn was one of Crimson Star’s most prolific authors, happily writing a book or two a year, which considering they were all epic fantasy novels of at least a hundred thousand words each was no mean feat.
At this point, he was so well and widely regarded he could have easily jumped ship to another publisher for a lot more money than we could offer him, but so far, Anders had declined all other offers.
I had no idea why, but I wasn’t going to complain, considering how much I loved working on his books.
I’d been Anders’s editor for three years now, taking over when his old editor, Carrie, had moved publishers.
At first, Anders had scared me because he could be quite gruff and short, and I was afraid he didn’t like me or the fact he’d been given an editor who was much younger and more inexperienced.
But it had all been in my head, and over the years, we’d developed both an excellent working relationship and a close friendship.
Once I’d realised Anders lived in Heather Bay—which I should have done a lot sooner—I’d insisted we meet up to chat about his current project. It was so much easier than doing it via Skype, and it meant I got to escape the building work and my endless thoughts about Lane.
“Morning, Oliver,” Anders said, and I looked up from my seat to see him standing next to the table. I hadn’t even realised he’d come in.
Anders was a handsome man who’d not long turned forty, which I knew because the publishing team had sent him a birthday card.
He had hair that was greying around the temples, a strong jaw dusted with stubble, and dark glasses.
He was wearing a pale blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up over his forearms, and there was a leather bag slung over his shoulder.
He looked more like a literature professor than a semi-reclusive fantasy author.
“Hi! It’s so good to see you again. How’re you doing?” I asked, hoping Anders hadn’t noticed me daydreaming. I pointed at the seat opposite me, and Anders took it. “First thing’s first: what can I get you? Coffee? Cake? Both?”
I glanced over at the enormous chalkboards mounted behind the counter, which had the drinks menu written across them.
The long wooden counter in front of them had a display case at one end that was laden with sandwiches and freshly baked goods.
I’d only managed to grab a slice of toast before the builders had shown up that morning, and now I was starving.
“Just an Americano is fine, thanks,” said Anders.
“Sure I can’t tempt you with a piece of cake as well?”
“Are you trying to butter me up so you can give me bad news?” Anders asked with a sardonic smile. I chuckled and shook my head.
“Absolutely. It’s my job as your editor to constantly torment you.”
“Then, yes, I’ll have some cake. If they’ve got something with lemon, I’ll have that.”
“Some vague lemon cake and an Americano,” I said as I stood. “I’ll be right back.”
Novel Tea had a lovely cosy vibe with mismatched chairs clustered around wooden tables and one wall filled with floor-to-ceiling bookcases overflowing with every type of book you could think of for people to help themselves to while they were visiting.
The other walls had abstract, film-style posters of book covers dotted across them.
I’d managed to identify most of them from a distance, but there were still a few I wanted to examine more closely.
It was a place that felt warm and welcoming as soon as you entered, like a home away from home.
As I approached the counter, Spencer came strolling out of the kitchen carrying a tray of clean coffee mugs. He gave me one of his beaming smiles and slid the tray onto the counter behind him next to the enormous coffee machine.
“Oliver! What’s up? What can I get for you today?”
“Morning. Can I get an Americano and a cappuccino, please? And…” I glanced at the display case, my mouth twisting as I tried to figure out what I wanted.
There were too many options, and it was making me indecisive.
I still had some of Mabel’s Victoria sponge left, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want cake from here too.
At least they had something lemon for Anders.
“A piece of the lemon and elderflower cake please, and… what would you recommend?”
“Oh, man. It depends what you want, really. The strawberry and cream cake is lush, but so is the raspberry and coconut. But if you’re not really a fruit in cake person, the toffee cake is awesome.
Kinda sticky and sweet but, like, in the best way,” Spencer said as he pointed to each of them in turn.
They all looked delicious, but I could only choose one. At least today anyway.
“Raspberry and coconut please. But I’m definitely coming back to try the others.”
“Awesome. Great choice.” Spencer began to pull out some plates. “Did you want large drinks or medium? And did you want cinnamon or chocolate on the cappuccino?”
“Er… large. It’s Monday. And cinnamon please.
” I was exhausted from spending all weekend reliving my hook-up with Lane in excruciating detail.
We’d agreed this was just going to be something casual for the summer, and now all I wanted was to drag him into my bedroom and keep him there. I felt like a teenager all over again.
“No problem. I’ll bring everything over to you,” Spencer said. “You’re with Anders, right?”
“Yeah. Do you know him?”
“Sure! He comes and writes here sometimes, and he always brings us a couple of copies of his books for the shelves. They’re freaking awesome. Have you read them?”
“I have,” I said, biting back a chuckle. “We actually work together. I’m his editor.”
“What? That’s so awesome!” Spencer’s excitement was on par with a dog being showered in tennis balls. “We can talk about books next time you come to the pub. You’re coming again on Friday, right?”
“Maybe.” I hadn’t been asked yet, and I hadn’t wanted to presume the invitation extended to more than one Friday. But Spencer seemed to think it was a given, like joining them once meant I was part of their group again.
“Sweet, I’ll see you there. Oh, are you okay to pay for these now? Do you have a loyalty card?”
I paid for our drinks and cake and headed back to the table with another two stamps on my Novel Tea loyalty card. Somehow, I didn’t think it would be long before I’d earnt both the free hot drink and the free slice of cake.
“Sorry,” I said as I slid back into my seat. “Spencer and I were chatting.”
“No worries.” Anders, who’d been scrolling through his phone, set the device face down on the table.
“So how’re things? How’s the writing going?” Anders was currently drafting the second book in his latest epic fantasy trilogy. He’d only finished the edits for the first book at the start of the year, and I’d been surprised when he’d said he wanted to jump straight into writing the second.
“Good. The drafting is going a little slower than I intended. I’ve got too many plot threads, and it’s trying to balance pushing them all forward with the character arcs while making sure it doesn’t feel like a second book,” Anders said.
I saw a frown forming behind his glasses as his eyes narrowed with concern.
I nodded. In my experience, Anders always found the second book in the trilogy the hardest, and he wasn’t the only author I knew who did.
It was always a balancing act to make sure it didn’t feel saggy or just a way to get from A to B.
It needed to have its own drama and tension as well as an engaging plot.
Anders was one of the best authors I’d worked with, so I knew he’d figure it out, but that didn’t mean his concerns weren’t valid.
Whether they’d written two books or twenty, every author needed a second pair of eyes and someone to bounce ideas around with. The authors were always too close to their projects, and that made it hard for them to see the wood through the trees.
“Want to talk it out?” I asked as Spencer arrived with a loaded tray.
The piece of cake he put in front of me was enormous with mountains of pastel pink icing and topped with raspberries and coconut shavings with the same sandwiched between thick layers of golden sponge. “Oh my God, that looks amazing!”
“Cheers,” Spencer said. “I was hoping it’d turn out okay.
Mina’s teaching me to make them.” He shrugged like it was no big deal, but it was clear from his expression how much my words meant to him.
If he actually were the golden retriever he reminded me of, he’d be doing a full-body wiggle of happiness.
“Okay, let me know if you need anything else.”
He strolled away, and I turned back to Anders, who’d pulled a leather notebook out of his bag. “Right. Book. What’s the problem? Who’s not doing what?”
Anders’s lips twitched into a smile. “Well, to start with, Yael keeps getting distracted by Wren, and the two of them seem more interested in each other than the plot.”
“So they’d rather kiss than save the world?”
“Something like that.”
“I’m here for it,” I said. “But they are going to need to get out of bed at some point. Talk me through what your thoughts are so far.”
Anders opened his notebook to a list of bullet points in beautiful cursive, and I realised he’d come prepared to ask for help. This was why he was one of my favourites.
We soon became lost in our conversation about the novel, trading plot ideas back and forth as we reshaped some of Anders’s ideas into something that would fit the direction the characters were taking.
We knew where we needed the two men to be by the end of the novel, both emotionally and physically. It was just getting them there.