Twenty-Six
Mia
The third act. That’s all that stands between me and finishing the book. Lots of readers hate this part. Some even skip it.
Sometimes it’s a breakup, sometimes not. Either way, the characters are headed to their lowest point. This is where I got
stuck last time, unable to pull Sydney and Victor together again after pushing them apart. But now I have years of experience
putting characters to the test and letting them prove they’ve learned how to love and be loved.
For the first time, I see what these best friends gain by embracing love, not just what they stand to lose. Even though I’ve
been a little distracted—okay, a lot distracted—by Gavin and the kittens, I’m midway through writing it and ready to give
the best friends their own happy-ever-after, but first I need to get through this weekend—the book convention on Friday and
Saturday, then the couples retreat on Sunday. After that, I have two weeks to buckle down and finish the book.
The first day of the signing is Friday, only two days from now, and I’ll be checking into the hotel tomorrow afternoon to get settled, but I haven’t gone over the talking points, picked out outfits, or crated up any of my swag.
Totally unlike me, but since “me” is currently sitting on my desk, making out with Gavin, it’s not the biggest shock.
I’m supposed to be sorting through stock, but he came over with pizza and kissing him turned out to be a lot more appealing
than packing. The truth is I’ve been procrastinating on preparing for weeks because I’m nervous for the inevitable questions
about the unfinished book. It’s just another stress on the growing list: a moved-up deadline, the possibility Gavin will be
moving, and the change in our relationship.
Up until recently, our friendship was something I took for granted, something steady and reliable. Part of me misses that
surety, but the other part of me is very much enjoying this current stage of our friendship.
On the desk, my phone vibrates, and I pull back with a groan. Dizzily, I check the text.
Kim: Hey, do you still need me to be your assistant for the book con?
I frown at the screen. She wouldn’t be asking unless something’s come up, but I absolutely do need help. The con is a huge
event, and there’s no way I can manage on my own. Up until recently, she was my assistant at most big events, especially in
the summer. Then she got busy with her second master’s degree program, and I hired Lydia, who also assists with shipping,
my newsletter, and administrative tasks. But she’s spending the summer in Europe.
“Everything okay?” Gavin’s cheeks are flushed, eyes bright, and I want nothing more than to go on kissing him.
“Kim was supposed to be my assistant at the book con this weekend, but I don’t think she can make it, after all.
” Sure enough, another text appears letting me know they had to reschedule a back-to-school picnic.
“I’m sure Evie wouldn’t mind filling in, but she’s signing this weekend, too, and there’s no way I can go it alone. ”
“Take me.”
I eye him. “You’ve got better things to do with your weekend. And no offense—” I slide off the desk and press a quick kiss
to his lips “—time management is not your forte.”
“Why does that matter?”
“Because one of the things my assistant does is keep me on schedule.” I put the lid on a plastic bin full of books. “I’m on
two panels, and with the long lines, it’ll be easy for me to lose track of time.”
“So I’ll set a timer.” He starts to sit in my chair but thinks better of it, leaning against the desk instead. “I’m used to
running full shifts at work.”
“Your employees have nothing on eager fans who’ve waited in line for hours.” Meeting readers in person is my favorite non-writing
aspect of my job, but it’s also overwhelming and draining at times.
“Try me.” He kisses me again, on my neck this time, his hand straying to my waist.
It’s tempting, but he’s already done so much for me this summer. “You’d be stuck inside all day,” I murmur, eyes falling closed.
“Pretty much your least favorite.”
“Being around you is my favorite.” His thumb traces the skin above my waistband, and it’s hard not to melt into him.
“You won’t be saying that when you’re juggling Post-it notes and the map of the convention hall.”
“If you can plant trees for me, I can get out of my comfort zone for you.”
“Is this your attempt at fish-out-of-water?”
He shakes his head, stubble grazing my cheek. “I never needed an excuse to be near you.” His blue eyes connect with mine.
“But I’m guessing none of this at the booth?” He smirks, but his eyes are serious.
That breaks through the haze. I want to keep things between us a little longer, but I feel bad asking him to pretend again. “Let’s get through this weekend, and I’ll finish my draft, then once it’s turned in, we can tell everyone that...” At a loss, I look to him. How will we frame it?
“That we’re not just friends anymore,” he says, like it’s that simple. And maybe, hopefully, it is.
“We’re out of sticky notes.” Gavin squats down next to where I’m seated at the signing table so I can hear him in the crowded
convention hall. The two-day event kicked off this morning and will wrap up on Saturday evening, but I checked in to the hotel
last night to get settled in. Gavin had to open the garden center this morning then took the rest of the day off to help.
He dressed up for the occasion in a button-down shirt and gray chinos paired with low-top Chucks. With his glossy hair freshly
trimmed, and the sleeves he’s rolled up to his elbows not doing a thing to disguise his muscles, he looks more than cover-model
worthy.
But I need to focus on the issue at hand, not ogle my former friend. We pass out sticky notes for readers to write their names
on while they’re waiting in line, and the last thing I want to do is misspell someone’s name.
“There are more in the clear storage bin,” I say through a smile, cheeks stiff after a couple hours of this, then finish my
signature and slide the book back toward a beaming reader. So far, I’ve been able to deflect questions about the next book,
and I hold out hope that today will go off without a hitch.
“I checked there, and there aren’t any. Not in the crates, either,” he adds.
I’m sure there are, because I checked everything off on my laminated packing list. But I’m too distracted to tell him where
to look.
“Meghan with an h ,” the woman in front of me says, lifting her badge with her pronouns and first name in front of me. But it’s too late, I’ve already written Megan . “Don’t worry about it,” she says, waving me off, but I’m not about to let her cart around a book personalized with the wrong
spelling.
“Gavin, can you pass me another copy of Rosette ?” This is the last one we had on the table.
“Uh, and that would be where?” He’s glancing around, hands in his pockets, as if the book will appear out of thin air. My
assistant would know exactly where to look, my sister, too, because she would’ve taken notes when I explained everything in
painstaking detail. Gavin had just tapped his temple and told me he’d remember.
Except now he doesn’t, and since he’s the one who brought in most of the supplies while I set up, neither do I. “Um, in whatever
box the rest of the series is in.”
“It’s fine,” the woman repeats, with a nervous glance at the winding line.
“No, really, I insist.” I swivel on my folding chair, the metal digging into my seat bones after two hours of signing, and
see Gavin digging in a bin of what’s clearly just bookmarks and stickers. “Never mind.” The words come out terse, and I paste
on a smile. “I’ll find it.”
I start rummaging through the storage bins. Gavin stacked them in orderly rows, but the problem is, it looks like he put the
books on the bottom. “Why’d you arrange them this way?” I mutter, hoping only he can hear me with all the ambient noise in
the convention center.
“Heaviest things go on the bottom. That’s Warehousing 101.”
“Except we’re not in a warehouse.” I lift off the top box, and he goes to grab the second, our arms bumping. But this time
it feels less like chemistry and more like we’re out of sync.
“Maybe a neighboring table has some sticky notes. Do you mind asking?” I make sure to keep my tone level. None of this is
his fault, and he’s doing me a huge favor.
“No problem.” He bends in and drops his voice. “You’re doing great. Everyone’s here for you, and they don’t mind a wait.” With that, he’s hurrying off, and I feel my shoulders relax. We’re still us, Gavin and Mia. We have each other’s backs, and he believes in me, even when I’m stressed and cranky.
With a deep breath, I open the next bin, and to my relief, it’s the right one. I redo the inscription for Meghan, adding a
personal note and a few extra pieces of swag.
When Gavin returns fifteen minutes later, his hair is mussed and his badge is askew, but he brandishes the sticky notes overhead
like a victorious hero. “Mission accomplished,” he says above the din, and the whole line of people clap, with more than a
few appreciative glances thrown his way.
“That’s some real romance-hero stuff,” the woman in front of me jokes, and I nod, hoping my smile doesn’t look as smitten
as the warm feeling in my chest.
“They’re just friends, Emma.” Another woman steps up next to her, and I recognize her in an instant. Gavin’s boss. This must
be a member of the book club she was talking about.
“Just friends, huh?” the first woman says. “Now I see why you saved Victor and Sydney’s book for last.” She gives me a knowing
look, but Faye nudges her.
“Hush, you,” Faye says.
My hands grow cold. I open the book and swipe my Sharpie in quick strokes, then thank her and pass back the book.
“Sorry.” She casts a glance at the line behind her and drops her voice. “I probably shouldn’t have gone there. Too many romance
novels, I guess.”