Chapter 10
“What’s your favorite snack while writing?” Liv picked a random question from Kate’s list.
“Er, cheese?” Kate said, working her way through a huge bowl of pavlova.
Nish wrinkled his nose. “Too sweaty.”
Kate paused to think. “Mint Imperials?”
“Too old lady’s handbag,” Liv said.
Kate sighed. “How am I ever going to get the big stuff right if I can’t even answer a basic question?”
“They’re just sound bites,” Liv said. “Stop stressing over them so much.”
“Say biscuits,” Nish said. “Everyone loves biscuits. Or cookies, if it’s a U.S. interview.”
“Just not pink wafers,” Liv said, giving her the side-eye.
Hearing about the international publication plans had changed the game a little for Kate, upped the stakes.
She’d already received her signing-on payment and used some of it to clear her credit card, so backing out wasn’t an option, and in truth, she didn’t want to.
This was the most exciting thing to happen to her in as long as she could remember, a step back toward a creatively fulfilling life.
Whether it was a good idea or not remained to be seen, but she was moving into the spotlight and hoping like hell she didn’t die of stage fright.
“This one’s trickier,” Liv said, scanning the list. “What inspired you to write the story?”
“Money?” Nish said, gathering up their empty dessert plates.
They both shot him a look and he shrugged, laughing to himself as he loaded the dishwasher.
“I think I’m going to relate my answers to my actual life as much as possible.”
“Isn’t the book about a playwright who falls so madly in love with a beautiful actress that he can only ever write lines for her, and ultimately her star eclipses his, then she dies an untimely death?”
“Well, obviously I’m not saying the story relates directly to my life,” Kate said. “But the essence of the love story, the emotions, the sudden loss. I mean, I won’t say Richard died or anything, but you know what I mean.”
“He will the next time I see him,” Liv said.
Kate let her sister’s threat go. “I just mean I’m going to draw on what’s happened to me for authenticity.”
“Is there really no way you can ask the original author some of this stuff?” Nish said, spritzing cleaner onto the kitchen counters.
Kate shook her head. “No contact, that’s the deal.”
“Have you tried to guess who she is?” Liv said. “I’ve started scanning the books in the supermarket.”
“The only thing I know for sure is they don’t usually write love stories,” Kate said.
“I’m dying to find out,” Liv said. “What even made her write a book she never wanted to publish?”
“You both seem sure it’s a woman,” Nish said. “Could be a bloke.”
“You think?” Kate was unsure how she felt about the idea of it being a male writer.
She’d related to the story from a feminine perspective; did it make a difference if it came from a male heart?
Did they break the same way? “I’d not really considered it could be a guy,” she said.
Not beyond Charlie, anyway. Liv had dismissed the idea, sure no guy capable of cheating could write so fluently on the subject of true love.
“Why, because we’re all Neanderthals, incapable of feeling emotion as deeply as women?” Nish’s cheeky smile took the sting from his words.
“Umm, no,” she said. “I guess it’s because I related so closely to the story, I just assumed.”
“And because they’ve hired a woman to represent the book,” Liv reasoned.
“Classic subterfuge,” Nish said, rubbing his hands together.
“No, it’s a woman.” Kate shook the idea loose before it stuck. “One hundred percent.”
Liv slid her finger down the list on the table.
“Favorite drink when you’re writing?”
“None,” Kate said. “Remember that time when Alice was little and she knocked that glass of squash all over my laptop? The P key never worked again, and trust me, you need that letter more than you could imagine.”
“When you need a P, you need a P,” Nish said, making both of them roll their eyes. “I’m here all week,” he said. “Coffee anyone?”
Kate nodded, relaxing on her chair and turning her face up to the late-afternoon sun slanting through the kitchen skylight.
Liv and Nish’s kitchen was always cluttered and warm, a place of safety and sanctuary.
Thinking back, her own pristine kitchen had never felt this enveloping, a place of industry rather than comfort.
She felt a pang of worry that Alice hadn’t grown up in a home like this, but then pushed it aside.
She was fine. Alice always knew she was loved—Richard might have decided he didn’t love Kate anymore, but he adored his daughter.
“I better go, actually,” she said, glancing at her watch. “I might try and catch Alice before she turns in for the night. I still haven’t found the right time to tell her about all of this book stuff.”
Nish boxed up the rest of the pavlova. “Take this with you. No one here appreciates my cooking the way you do.”
“You’re my favorite brother-in-law,” Kate said. “Even if I had a dozen of them, you’d still be the best one.”
“Yeah, you’re right there,” he said, scruffing her hair as he placed the leftovers in front of her.
She laughed, but she wasn’t lying. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard Nish raise his voice; he had an abundance of patience and was a lionheart when it came to his family.
If she had to field any questions about relationship goals and inspirations, she wouldn’t need to look any further than this kitchen.