Chapter Ten #2
This was Anders’s first trilogy with an explicit queer relationship at its core, and I knew he wanted to do both his characters and his fans justice.
It felt like he was putting a lot of pressure on himself to make it perfect, and I thought it was making him overthink and doubt himself.
The first book had been wonderful, and I couldn’t wait for everyone to read it.
I just hoped people loved Yael and Wren as much as I did.
The morning slipped away as we talked, and when we’d finished discussing his current draft, we moved on to book three, his plans for the future, what he’d like to write next, and life in general.
“Ah, there you are!” A bouncy voice belonging to a young man with a dreamy smile interrupted us. He wasn’t someone I knew, but Anders’s face lit up when he saw him.
“Sorry,” Anders said. “We got carried away.”
“Did you fix your plot problems? Are your boys going to behave themselves now, or are they going to keep fucking?”
“We did.” Anders reached out to take the man’s hand, squeezing it as the other man leant down to give him a kiss.
I smiled to myself. I’d wondered if there was something between them, and I’d been right.
Anders glanced at me, his expression mortified like he’d suddenly remembered where he was.
“Shit, I’m sorry. Oliver, this is Bastian Roche, my boyfriend.
Bastian, this is Oliver Campbell, my editor. ”
“Hi!” Bastian stuck out his hand to shake mine. “It’s so good to finally meet you. Anders talks about you a lot.”
I chuckled as I shook Bastian’s hand. “I’m sure he grumbles about me a lot.”
“It’s a bit of both,” said Bastian, and Anders muttered something under his breath. At first glance, they seemed like total opposites, but I’d met several couples like that, and they always seemed to have some of the best relationships.
“Grab a seat,” I said, pointing to the spare chair on the other side of the table, which currently had both our bags on it. I reached over and lifted mine away. “Do you both want a drink? Or a sandwich since it’s pretty much lunchtime.”
“Are you sure?” Bastian asked.
“Of course. Unless you’ve both got somewhere else to be, in which case, please don’t let me keep you.”
“Nope, no plans.” Bastian walked around the table and moved Anders’s bag before settling himself down. There was something familiar about Bastian’s name that was nagging at the back of my mind, and I suddenly remembered where I knew it from.
“I’ve just realised, you’re the one who took that photo of Anders at London Comic Con last year.”
“The surprise photo,” Anders said.
It had turned up in my inbox out of the blue at the end of last year from Anders with a note that a photographer he’d met had taken it when he wasn’t looking.
Anders had begrudgingly thought it might make a half-decent headshot and put pay to my requests for something more up to date than the picture we had on file.
“You like that photo. And without it, you wouldn’t have met me,” Bastian said with a grin. “But yes, that’s me.”
“Then on behalf of Crimson Star, let me say thank you because getting a new author photo out of Anders has been like getting blood from a stone.”
“That one you had was fine,” Anders said. “It wasn’t that old or blurry. I’ve seen worse.”
That was true, and we had a couple of authors who’d never submitted headshots, which made Erin, our production manager, steam quietly from the ears.
Unfortunately, since Anders was our bestseller, he didn’t get the luxury of escaping the persistent eye of marketing.
Usually, the only way to escape their nagging was to give them what they wanted.
We ordered some more drinks and some sandwiches that arrived on plates piled high with crisps and fresh salad, then the conversation turned to Heather Bay and life there.
It turned out Bastian had only lived in town for a few months, giving me the feeling their relationship was something of a whirlwind romance, but I wasn’t going to pry.
Anders had always kept his personal life close to his chest, but from just watching them together it was obvious he adored Bastian.
“Have you been down to The Sleeping Goose?” Bastian asked as he reached for his sandwich.
“I have. Some guys I used to go to school with invited me last Friday. It’s much nicer than I remember it being.”
“It was a bit of a shithole when Soren and Colin took it over,” Anders said. Then he looked at me and added. “My brother, Soren, runs it with his husband. They’ve been doing it up slowly over the past few years.”
I smiled because of course Anders’s brother ran the pub. This was starting to feel like one of those sitcom situations where everyone knew everyone else. Heather Bay might have been a small-ish town, but it hadn’t been that close-knit when I was younger. Or maybe it had, and I’d never noticed it.
“I thought the guy behind the bar looked vaguely familiar,” I said. “Is your brother blond?”
“Yeah, and bloody nosy as well. But that works well when you run a pub because you get to know everyone.”
“It’s really nice,” I said. “The reason the guys go there is because it feels safe. And the drinks are good too.”
Anders nodded. “The safe feeling is what Soren and Colin wanted most, especially because when Soren and I were growing up there was nothing for us round here. I think a few of the regulars were a bit unsure at first, but they’ve come around.
Apparently, there’s a group of them who come in every week to watch Drag Stars.
They’re all straight men in their sixties and seventies, the sort who look like they might deck you, but they’re massive fans.
Soren said one of them was in there last week talking about the fact his grandson is getting into make-up and how he’s getting him an eyeshadow palette for his birthday. ”
“That’s so sweet,” Bastian said, reaching out over the table to squeeze Anders’s hand.
“They’re trying, and that’s the important thing.”
“Have you been to the pub quiz there?” Bastian asked me. “Colin writes all the questions, and the man literally seems to have Wikipedia for a brain. It’s ridiculously fiendish. They do themed ones too!”
“No,” I said, taking a sip of my second cappuccino. I didn’t need that much caffeine, but the coffee was too good to resist. Hopefully, if my brain was going a million miles an hour, it would be too busy to spend the afternoon thinking about Lane. “I saw the posters, though.”
“You should come with us,” Bastian said. “There’s one on Wednesday! It would be nice to make our own team for once. Soren keeps pairing us up with random people, but we haven’t clicked with anyone yet.”
“That would still only be three of us,” Anders said. “Teams need to be a minimum of four.”
“Could I bring a friend?” I asked, the words leaping out of my mouth before I’d fully considered them. I didn’t even know if Lane would be interested in doing a pub quiz, but it would give me an excuse to spend more time with him.
“Of course,” Bastian said. “Bring them along. It starts at eight, but we’ll probably get there early and get a table.”
“Sounds great.”
Now all I had to do was convince Lane to come with me.