Chapter Two
The silence in the room stretches on for what feels like an hour.
“Ruby Jones, as in the Ruby Jones, the biggest earner on our list?” Terri repeats, as if we all don’t know who Ruby is.
“ What ?” The disbelief in Elle’s voice speaks for everyone in the room.
I do my best to conceal my surprise, and the subsequent disappointment, that Anne withheld this monumental development from me. I know basically all about every author and book on our list, but most definitely everything about all of Anne’s authors. Why didn’t she tell me?
“Maybe that wouldn’t be the worst thing. Ruby has always been a little off her rocker,” Nicole adds cautiously.
“Well, while that may be true, she sells books, so we need to get her back on her rocker,” Anne quips, her boss-voice in full effect. We exchange a look.
I’m more than familiar with Ruby’s eccentricities. She’s an older woman who lives in Oklahoma and writes trope-driven romantic comedies. She’s done cowboys, enemies, friends, co-workers, neighbors, best friends of older brothers—the list goes on.
“What is her problem this time?” Terri asks.
“According to her, we’ve been treating her like a ‘backlist author,’” Anne explains, using air quotes.
“Her last two books have been instant USA Today bestsellers. How is that treating her like a backlist?” Elle snaps. I’m glad Elle said that, because that was my exact thinking. But I’m still a little too shocked by the news that one of our biggest authors—one who quite literally keeps some of the lights on in this place—is threatening to leave, to say anything.
“She says she doesn’t feel creatively supported. Her sales have been slowly dropping over the course of her last four publications, and apparently, we’re not doing enough to ‘vary her brand in the ever-changing marketplace,’” Anne continues, once again, employing air quotes.
“Jesus,” Terri says with a groan. Nadine rolls her eyes. They’ve dealt with Ruby a bit longer than Elle and me, so they can have those types of reactions. My brain goes right to problem-solving mode.
“I’m really hitting a wall with her, and we need to come up with something new, something fresh, or we’re going to lose her.”
“Isn’t it kind of the author’s job to come up with the ideas?” Elle asks, a hesitant tone in her voice.
“It’s Ruby. We all have to be willing to compromise,” Anne says. “So, I have some small-town ideas lined up, but we really need to focus on the specifics. Ruby’s not giving me much to work with here. She basically wants us to outline the book for her.” Anne rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised she doesn’t get dizzy. “Any thoughts?” she asks the group.
Small-town romances are usually set on whimsical streets like Blueberry Lane or Chestnut Creek. They’re mostly PG and form the inspiration for almost every Hallmark Christmas movie ever produced. They’ve never been my favorite subgenre of romance. Well, that’s putting it nicely. They’re my least favorite. I grew up in a small town in Pennsylvania, right on the border of New Jersey. It wasn’t so small that I had cows as neighbors, but it was small enough that there was one high school with a graduating class of about a hundred students.
My parents are small-town people, even if they don’t like to admit it. They raised their family—well, me —there, and always talked about how much they hated it. No good restaurants, no diversity, and no potential for upward movement. Sameness —that’s the word my father always used.
“ You’re the generation that is going to make a difference out there Lucy Loo ,” my mother always said. “And you’re not going to do that here. ”
“Strong female friendships,” Terri offers.
“Restoring a house or an inn, returning home, maybe second-chance love story,” Nicole suggests, listing the plot for basically every small-town romance we’ve ever sold.
“The market is already full of those stories. What about something else?” At first, I don’t believe it’s me speaking out loud. I never offer opinions. Rarely, if at all. That’s not what I’m here for. I’m here to make sure the whole team doesn’t fall apart and blend into the wall while doing it.
“Such as?” Anne asks, clearly as surprised as I am that I’m speaking up.
That’s a great question. At that moment, with half a dozen sets of eyes staring at me, I have no choice but to go with the line of thought that drove me to open my mouth in the first place.
I have a terrible problem with keeping my mouth shut. My mother calls it “foot-in-mouth syndrome.” I’ve been working on it, I really have. But sometimes, when something pops into my head, it just comes out of my mouth.
“Well,” I say, waving my hands to buy myself some time, “what about a spin on the small-town romance? Instead of the heroine embracing her life in the small town, she hates it.”
“Why would she hate it?” Terri asks.
“Plenty of reasons. Maybe she inherits the house from an estranged relative,” I start, referencing a common inciting incident in the genre. “But she’s a big-city lawyer who doesn’t have time to fix it up. Maybe she’s bitter and the last thing she’s looking for is a small-town romance.”
“Hmm, sounds like someone else who is bitter and needs a little love in her life,” Elle adds, winking at me. I make a face that implies that I will be murdering her with a stapler after this meeting.
“Are you bitter?” Anne asks me, all heads at the table again turned in my direction.
I stare Elle down through the side of my eyes. She giggles. I take a deep breath.
“Just because I’d like to swipe through Tinder and think something other than ‘ yikes ’ doesn’t mean I’m bitter.” The group chuckles.
“So, what would you do, if you had to live in a small town?” Anne asks, leaning forward in her chair.
“Turn back around,” I say jokingly.
“Be serious, I’m curious about something,” Anne says. I squint my eyes at her, wondering where she’s going with this.
“Anne, I grew up in a small town, remember? I left for a reason.” I shift uncomfortably in my seat.
“I know, I know, but you have no desire to ever go back?” she presses.
I shrug my shoulders. “The change of pace might be nice for a few days, but then I’d probably end up complaining about the lack of restaurants—or the fact that there isn’t a Starbucks within ten miles.”
“What if there was a dashing young gentleman?” Elle adds, looking as giddy about this scenario as Anne.
“There wouldn’t be,” I reply flatly.
“Why not?” Anne asks.
“Because that’s not real life.” Elle knows how much I want to believe in those sorts of notions. Unlike me, she’s always believed in happily ever after. But it’s just been so long since anyone has been genuinely interested in me, that I’m starting to think that the whole idea is a trap.
“What if it was?” Anne shoots back, a mischievous grin on her face. I scrunch my brows. I genuinely cannot make out where she is going with this.
“What if what was?” I ask.
“What if it was your real life?”
“Wait, what are you talking about?”
“What if I sent you to a small town?”
I give her my best “ have you gone mental? ” look and assess the rest of the room’s reactions. They look as confused as me—except for Elle. Elle looks entertained.
“Don’t say no right away,” Anne starts.
“No.”
“Lucy!” Elle scolds. I widen my eyes at her.
Anne leans her elbows on the table and sets her pen down for the first time since we entered the room. “I just think that the character of a burnt-out, big-city girl moving back to a small town could be a solution to the Ruby issue,” says Anne, smiling.
“I’m not burnt-out,” I protest, crossing my arms. “Just because I want to live in a place where I can get a Diet Snapple, same-day delivery, and a bagel that isn’t sold in a plastic bag in the grocery store, does not mean I’m burnt out.” But being overworked and underpaid in the most expensive city in the country might , I add in my head.
“I’d say it’s called having standards,” Callie pipes up, nodding at me. I shrug in her direction.
“So, let me get this straight. You want to ship me off to a small town?” I ask, turning back to Anne.
Anne purses her lips. “Well, I’m just saying that I’d like to see the end result of an editor going to a small town to believe in love again.” I let her reference to me as an editor rather than an assistant slide. Maybe my promotion isn’t so far back in her mind after all.
“I believe in love. I get paid to believe in love.”
“That’s the spirit,” Elle says sarcastically. I stick my tongue out at her.
“So, Lucy goes to a small town? To do what, exactly ?” Terri asks.
“Why are we assuming that I would have to be the one to go? Maybe we should focus our attention on Elle,” I offer.
“I’m not as bitter as you,” Elle replies, scrunching her perfect button nose. I scratch my temple with my middle finger.
“Plus, Elle is not as much of a strong-armed city girl,” Anne rebuts, winking.
“I’m not disagreeing with you, but I did elbow a guy in the gut on the subway yesterday,” Elle interjects, raising her finger like she’s making a valid point.
“Yeah, alright, settle down over there, Rocky,” Anne mocks. She turns her gaze back to me. “I’m more interested in the idea of a bitter—”
“Hey!” I whine.
“Sorry— allegedly bitter, hardcore city girl going to a small town.”
“And what would that actually entail?” I ask skeptically.
“Getting to know the locals, scoping out the romance scene, appreciating nature, all that shit,” Anne adds.
“And you’re somehow going to turn that into a romance novel?” I ask.
“Well, I’m hoping , Miss Tinder-Never-After, you’re going to turn it into a small-town rom-com. You might be inspired by the scenery, or some charming townies,” she muses. “And from there, you’ll have a whole universe to base a series around.”
“Maybe there will even be a single, handsome local who will lure you away from the big city for good,” Elle muses.
“I’m sure there won’t be,” I say seriously.
“So, you’ll do it?” Anne practically jumps out of her chair.
“Do what? This is all hypothetical!”
“Listen, my in-laws have a house upstate. They rent it out most of the year. Let’s say you go up there and work remotely from—” Anne pauses for a moment, glancing down at the calendar in her notebook. “Memorial Day to July 4th. See what you can come up with.”
I look at her like she has seventeen heads. “Let me get this straight,” I say taking a deep breath. “You want to pay me to spend a month at your in-laws’ lake house?” Anne grins. I look around at the rest of the team. All eyes are on me. “No one else thinks this is crazy?”
“Frankly I’m bummed that I don’t qualify for this work trip. I sure didn’t get an offer like that when I was an assistant,” Nicole mumbles.
“Ditto,” Elle adds.
“Lucy, you still have quite a few vacation days to use,” Anne reminds me. I mentally grumble about how far it’s gotten me. “You can roll them in with the trip, take some time for yourself. And anyway, we need to demonstrate that we’re doing everything we can to get Ruby her next bestseller. It’s going to take a big gesture of commitment, and this might be it.”
“And what would you do without an assistant for a month?” I ask Anne, tilting my head knowingly.
“I did work in the industry for a number of years before you came along, Lucy,” Anne says with a sassy tone.
“You can’t even use the printer,” I deadpan.
“ Irrelevant ,” she scoffs. “And I’m not suggesting that I wouldn’t have an assistant. You would be working remotely.”
“I think a break from the city would be good for you,” Elle says, probably thinking about our conversation from this morning. “And I would happily do any printing for Anne while you’re gone.” Elle and I lock eyes and it is so clear how excited she is for me. It almost doesn’t make me mad at her for supporting this idea and making me the center of attention at this meeting. She knows how much I hate that.
“We’ll iron out all the details before you go, but the summer is slow for us. The timing is perfect.” I turn my head back to Anne and try to think of some way to respond. “Just promise me you’ll think about it.”
I’m not sure what to say. A month alone in a lakeside cabin? Anne has shown me pictures of her and her wife Penny at her parents’ place, and it’s cute, but I haven’t spent time at a lake well—ever. The last boat I went on was a Carnival cruise.
I take a beat to consider this. Anne wants to pay me to basically work from vacation? Has she completely forgotten all the unspoken rules of publishing?
I continue sitting there, speechless, while everyone begins filing out. Elle is the last to leave, winking at me as she disappears from view. I shake my head. I think this team has all collectively gone to the zoo today.
“The only way I would do something like this is if there was a promotion at the end of it.”
It happened again. My mouth acted as a completely separate entity from my brain. I never say things like this. I’m not the one who says what she wants, I’m not upfront and brutally honest, I leave all those qualities to Elle. When I say something like that, it comes off as judgmental or harsh.
My mouth opens to retract my statement, but I quickly close it. What if I was that type of person? Someone who had the courage to ask for what I wanted?
Ironically, my lack of a filter has just answered that question for me.
“You must really want a promotion, huh?” Anne says, crossing her arms.
“Well, yeah, I thought it was fairly obvious,” I say, my voice trailing off. I feel a drop of sweat trail down my temple and I try to subtly wipe my forehead. A knot has formed in my throat and I curse myself for not bringing any water into the meeting.
Anne sits back in her chair and crosses her arms. “You’ve worked here for three years, of course, it is obvious,” she says bluntly. She tilts her head at me, putting her tongue against her cheek before she continues, “Shall we negotiate?”
I let out a quiet breath. I can do this. I like Anne. She’s not that intimidating, right? I can make the best of this situation.
This is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. Sure, I never expected it to materialize like this, but this can be my chance to prove to Anne that she should have promoted me a long time ago. I can outline a book. I can find inspiration for Ruby and convince her to stay at Heartwarming. If there was ever an assignment that was perfect for me—besides the fact that it involves going to a small town where the closest sign of civilization is a Walmart—this is it.
“I can see your brain spiraling. Don’t overthink this,” she warns.
Clearly she’s never met me.
“Anne… I don’t even have a car,” I blurt out.
Anne studies me for a moment before responding. “Penny and I have two cars. You can drive mine upstate. I’m taking some time off between Memorial Day and July 4th so really Penny and I can share.”
“You trust me to drive your car?” I ask bluntly.
“Are you a bad driver?” Anne probes, one perfectly-shaped eyebrow raised.
“Not at all, but—”
“Then there you go. Next?”
I blink furiously trying to regain my composure and decipher the alien that has clearly inhabited the woman who used to be my boss. “Right,” I say, clearing my throat. “How—how would we consider this trip a success?” I ask awkwardly.
Anne nods. “Good question. Let’s say by the time you leave you’ll have fleshed out two love interests and maybe five supporting characters. And that includes an outline of your fictitious town—what it looks like and what brings the locals together. You should also recommend ideas for dates or meet-cutes, Ruby will love that,” Anne says. “Also, I wouldn’t tell anyone why you’re there—they might shun you. When people ask, just say you’re on sabbatical.” When I finish scribbling notes in my book, I find Anne looking at me expectantly. “So, you’ll do it?” she asks.
I take a deep breath. “Well,” I say hesitantly. I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants and try to regain my nerve. Anne nods to urge me on. “If these criteria are met and I find inspiration for a new series, Ruby approved, of course, there would be an opportunity for advancement upon my return?”
Anne takes a deep breath. After a few awkward, painful, soul-crushingly silent moments, she finally speaks.
“Sure. Yes.”
Sure ? Did she really just say sure?
“If you manage a successful outline, then yes, I’ll see what I can do on the promotion front. But this isn’t a vacation, Lucy. I know I don’t have to explain to you how catastrophic it would be for us to lose Ruby.”
I swallow hard. “Understood.”
“Wonderful!” Anne exclaims, clapping her hands together.
“Yes, wonderful,” I echo.
Small Town U.S.A. here I come.