Chapter 34
Literally under the sea
Zoey
I’m coming!” My voice echoed off the bathroom tiles as I charged out to answer the insistent knock on my apartment door. If it was Gage, he was ridiculously early for our mystery date, and I was going to give him hell for interrupting my get-ready time.
We’d spent the last two weeks most often together, and some of the time, we weren’t even naked.
We weren’t dating. But there were burgers at the Fish Hook after vigorous backyard sex or an evening stroll through the fields with Nana.
His shower now had my brand of shampoo and conditioner in it, and my fridge had his favorite beer.
Did I mention the sex? Lots and lots of glorious sex.
My God, could Gage Bishop fuck.
Between all the orgasms, doing everything in my power to make sure Hazel had the best book launch of her life, and knowing that nearly every single personality flaw I’d dealt with had a biological reason behind it, I was feeling really freaking good.
Good enough to agree to a mystery “dress nice” evening out with Gage.
It was probably a mistake. But I didn’t really care. I was having too much fun…and too many orgasms.
I was still tying my bathrobe closed when I threw open the door and discovered that the aggressive knocker was not my date for the evening.
Opal bustled past me, her cane thunking on the wood floor.
“Uh, come on in, Opal. I thought our meeting was scheduled for Monday.” Damn it. If I’d screwed up another calendar appointment, I was going to throw myself out a window.
“Relax,” she said, flopping down on the couch. “You didn’t get it wrong. I just figured since I was in town…”
“You live in town,” I pointed out, perching on the arm of the chair. “Wait a minute. You’re excited and you want to know if there’s any news now, don’t you?”
She harrumphed and poked the pink crystal ball on the end table with the rubber tip of her cane. “I’m not excited. I’m…curious. That’s all. Stop looking so smug.”
“I can’t help the smug face. I want you to be excited about this. Because it is exciting.”
“Most folks my age get excited about a new hip or a discount on perms at the salon.”
“That’s stereotyping and you know it. You have lots of interesting, adventurous neighbors over there at Story Lake Haven. But I can guarantee none of them have an offer from a New York publisher, let alone three.”
Opal pretended I hadn’t just delivered the most exciting news ever. “You got a lot of disco balls in here. What are you? Thirteen?”
“Unlike certain unnamed people in this room, I like fun.”
She harrumphed again.
“For a reasonably intelligent woman from a demanding field, I would have expected you to be less committed to the whole crotchety-old-lady vibe. You’re in your seventies, and you wrote the better part of a pretty good epic fantasy series that has three major publishers frothing at the mouth.
But if you want to wander around yelling at ‘youngins’ to get off your lawn, be my guest.”
Opal scoffed. “‘Pretty good’? Is that how you’re selling my books?”
I examined my fingernails, which I’d actually remembered to manicure in time for my mystery evening. “Actually, the editor said ‘brilliant,’ but I didn’t want it to go to your head.”
Opal slumped against the cushions. “Fine. You might as well tell me since it’s practically exploding out of you.”
“Bettis Books made an offer. A good one. Which brings us to three publishers in the running.”
“You gonna tell me what the offer is?”
“I will once all three best and finals are submitted to me Monday morning.”
“We’ve already got one publishing house buffaloed into an offer. Shouldn’t we just go with them? It’s not like I have a lot of years left in me.”
“First of all, I can tell just by your stubborn attitude that you’re going to be around for your one hundred and tenth birthday.
Second, I like Bettis, and I like the editor.
But I think we can get a better offer. Going to auction, which is what happens when multiple publishers make you an offer and try to beat each other in the process, means you get to take your pick of their best offers. ”
“What if the highest bidder is a shitty publisher with a shitty editor?”
“Then we go with a lower bid from a better company.”
“You think my story is worth all that?”
“Yes. And you should start thinking that way too. You’ve spent how many years of your life writing these books?”
“Five million.”
“You look good for your prehistoric age. These manuscripts deserve more than an eternity in a drawer. And you deserve more than to lock yourself away in an empty, monotonous retirement.”
“I wasn’t supposed to be doing it alone,” she said, studying the toes of her sneakers.
I waited, knowing there was more to come.
“I was married,” she said finally. “We met in the eighties. Alice was a biologist. We had forty good years together. Some couples build their family together, but we built our careers. No regrets. But now she’s gone and I’m retired, and I don’t even know how to go through the motions.
Except for Hazel’s damn class, I haven’t written a word since she went into the hospital. That was four years ago.”
“Opal, I’m so sorry. That sucks.”
“It really fucking sucks,” she agreed. “I wrote them for her. After her eyesight started to fail, I’d go home and read what I’d written out loud to her every night. They might just be stories, but they mean something to me. They remind me of her.”
“And you haven’t written without her.”
“What’s the point?” She looked at me. “No, I’m literally asking you. What is the goddamn point of anything?”
I took a breath and let it out. Her pain radiated off her like a halo. “You know what the point is. I just don’t know if you can handle me saying it.”
She snorted. “You think you can say anything that’s gonna damage me?”
“Uh, yeah, my fragile little flower. So I want credit for saying this as gently as I can. I didn’t know Alice, but I bet she was really damn proud of you, and I bet she loved the stories you wrote for her.”
“So?” Opal’s tone was surly.
“So I’m wondering what Alice would say to you if she were here right now.”
Opal heaved a sigh that spoke volumes of grief, regret, and annoyance. “She’d say I should quit trying to fill the void with work and let old age take me.”
I tossed a heart-shaped throw pillow at her. “Bullshit.”
She hurled it back at me. “Can’t an old lady wallow in self-pity?”
“Nope. Somewhere deep down beyond all the layers of stubborn, I think you know Alice would love that you were sharing your stories with the world. And she would definitely tell you to quit wallowing and get back to writing so she can find out what happens next.”
Opal’s shrug was dismissive.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” I said.
“I need a drink.”
“Close enough. I’m going to drag you kicking and screaming into real life. Starting with that damn exercise class at the lake this weekend.”
“The fuck we are.”
“Save the witty banter for the page. You and I are getting our asses down to the lake for whatever workout torture they can dish out. We’re going to smile and be nice to people. And then we’re going to go to lunch and talk about your work in progress.”
“There’s no damn progress, woman. Get your ears cleaned.”
“If it’s not finished, it’s still in progress. Just like us.”
“I see your medication is working,” she observed grumpily.
“Every day until about four. Then I’m exhausted and cranky just like you. We could be mistaken for sisters.”
“I’m five foot ten, Black, and three decades older than you.”
“You can fight this all you want, but I’m not giving up on you.
You’re going to pull your head out of your ass and come back to life.
Then we’re going to finish your book. Then we’re going to start your next one.
And in the meantime, we’re going to sell your series for an embarrassing amount of money. ”
“What’s with all this ‘we’ crap?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah. I know. Stick around Story Lake long enough, and it just happens. Now, unless you’re good at ladyscaping and makeup, I suggest you go home so I can get ready for some mystery evening that had better end in a lot of sex.”
Opal scrambled to her feet.
“Heard you and that lawyer with the tool belt were fooling around,” she said as I walked her to my door.
“Having a damn good time doing it,” I said cheerfully.
“You know you could give the real thing a shot.”
“What? Like a relationship?”
“Don’t look so appalled. Even I managed to make one work,” she said.
“Yeah, well, you’ve got more going for you than an executive function deficiency and a nearly empty bank account. Now get out so I can get ready to put out.”
“Remind me to discuss professionalism with you.”
“Oh, we’re way beyond that,” I assured her with a grin.
“This feels date-y,” I accused when I opened my door for the second time. Gage grinned over a bouquet of spring flowers.
“Deal with it. The plant shop had a sidewalk sale, and these made me think of you,” he said, looking me over from head to toe. I’d gone with red, sparkly, and sexy. “Wow,” he said.
I took the wild, colorful flowers and buried my face in them to hide the pleasure of his compliment. “You know I’m a sure thing, right? I mean, every single night of the last two weeks except for the second skunk incident that we agreed never to discuss again proves that.”
“They’re pretty. You’re pretty. Let’s not overthink this,” he said, taking the flowers from me and heading into my kitchen.
“Pretty?” I struck a dramatic pose, highlighting the sequins I’d stuck to the Velcro of my wrist brace.
He put the flowers down on the counter and gave me his full attention again. “Did I say pretty? I meant beautiful, sexy, ‘knock the breath out of a man’ gorgeous.”
“Much better,” I said, crossing to him and looping my arms around his neck.
He kissed me, softly at first. With a kind of delicious familiarity that made me nervous. Then he took it to the next level of heat, making my knees weak and my blood thrum.