Chapter Twelve The Unexpected
Meri
By the time the line shortened, my hand had already started to cramp.
I adjusted my grip on the pen without looking down, keeping my attention on the reader in front of me as she held out her book with both hands, her smile bright and a little nervous.
“Could you make it out to Claire?” she asked.
“Of course," I said, my voice steady and practiced. “With an e?”
“Yes."
I wrote carefully, the motion automatic at this point, adding a short line about how the magic was in her. She lit up when I slid the book back toward her, clutching it to her chest as though I had handed her something more valuable than paper and ink.
“Thank you," she said. “Your books mean a lot to me."
“That’s kind of you to say," I replied.
It wasn’t untrue. It’s just that I had said the same line so many times tonight it had lost all meaning.
She leaned in for a quick picture, holding her phone up between us, and I angled myself just enough to fit into the frame without knocking the stack of books beside me. Another smile, another thank you, another person stepping forward to take her place.
Sign, smile, speak, and repeat.
My fingers tightened slightly around the pen as the next reader approached, the muscles in my hand protesting just enough to be noticeable. I shifted my wrist, keeping the motion small so it wouldn’t interrupt the flow.
“You’ve been here all afternoon," the next woman said as she set her book down. “Are you taking a break?”
“I will shortly," I replied, which was technically true at some undefined point in the future.
Behind her, the line curved around the table, longer than it had been when I started.
Longer than it had been scheduled to be.
“Just one more question," she added quickly. “Do you always know how your stories end before you start?”
I smiled slightly, because that one came up often. “I know where they’re going, but how they get there tends to change."
She nodded, satisfied, and stepped aside with her signed copy of Ember and Ink.
The next reader moved forward.
The lights overhead felt brighter than they had earlier, the steady glow reflecting off the white table and the glossy covers of the books in a way that made it difficult to focus on any one point for too long.
Voices overlapped, blending into something that was no longer distinct conversation so much as constant sound.
I refocused my attention on the person in front of me.
The line kept moving.
Sign. Smile. Speak. Repeat.
Conversations overlapped more fully now, the distinct voices flattening into a single, constant presence that pressed in from all sides. Camera flashes punctuated the rhythm at irregular intervals, bright enough to register even when I wasn’t looking directly at them.
“You’re my favorite author," someone said.
“That’s very kind of you," I replied yet again.
“Can you write something inspirational?”
“I can try." I wrote down once again about how we could find the magic within ourselves.
My hand tightened again, the pen pressing slightly harder against the page than necessary. I adjusted without thinking, easing the pressure back down, keeping the motion smooth.
Another book. Another name. Another picture.
I lost track of how many.
By the time the line finally shortened to something manageable, my shoulders had drawn up tighter than I preferred, the tension settling in a way that made it harder to ignore.
“Last few," the author at the next table said. “I’m so glad we’re almost done for the night. As much as I adore my fans, I’m ready for a long, hot shower and room service."
I nodded and gave him a tight smile.
When the final reader stepped away, thanking me again with a level of enthusiasm that suggested he hadn’t noticed the passage of time, I set the pen down for a moment and flexed my fingers, keeping the movement small.
“That went well," Tara said, appearing beside me, making me jump.
“It went long," I replied.
“That’s a good thing," she said. “It means demand."
I supposed I should be grateful. These people were the reason I could be a full time author.
She smiled, as though that distinction didn’t matter. “We should talk before tomorrow about the next phase."
I knew what that meant.
“Now?” I asked, tired, sore, and wishing the night would end.
“I’ll keep it brief," She promised.
I stood, adjusting the edge of my dress to keep it down to my knees as I followed her away from the table and into the hallway behind the signing area. It was more private.
“This is momentum," Tara said, turning toward me once we were out of the main flow of people.
“We need to capitalize on it. The publisher is ready to move forward with the next contract, and the film interest is still strong from the studio.
They want to negotiate rights and they are being very generous with their offer. "
“I’m aware," I said.
“You don’t sound enthusiastic," Tara chided.
“I’m considering my options."
“Indie isn’t an option," she replied quickly, reminding me of our earlier conversation where she had shot down my idea. “Not at this level. It’s unstructured, unpredictable, and you’d be giving up the support you already have."
“I would be gaining control. I would be able to have creative say in the film if that’s the route I wanted to go. Plus, I could have my own schedule instead of being dependent on the publishing company," I said.
“You already have control," she insisted. “Within a system that works."
“It works for the publisher," I said. “That’s not the same thing."
Her smile thinned slightly. “You’re overthinking this. You don’t want to be marketing, scheduling, doing all this on your own. There are a lot of working pieces in the background. You won’t have the same exposure the publishing company gives you."
“It might be worth it," I murmured, rubbing my cramping hand.
She shifted her weight, recalibrating. “And the film? You haven’t given me a clear answer."
“I’m not giving you one today," I said tiredly.
“You don’t have the luxury of waiting indefinitely." She held my gaze for a moment longer, then nodded once. “We’ll revisit this tomorrow. Try to be… open."
“I am open," I replied.
Just not in the direction she wanted.
I turned before she could continue, stepping back into the quieter corridor and heading toward the restrooms without looking back.
The door closed behind me with a soft click.
I moved to the counter and set my bag down, gripping the edge for a moment before letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding. My reflection looked exactly as it should. Composed and put together. Elowyn Ashwood.
But my eyes were tired and unhappy.
I reached up and pulled the wig free, the relief immediate and physical as the pressure lifted. I set it carefully into my bag, smoothing it once before closing the zipper.
Grabbing a paper towel, I wet it thoroughly in the sink, wiping away the mascara, the blush, and the red lipstick. I scrubbed until it was fully gone.
My shoulders lowered slightly as I rolled them back, the tension easing a little. The noise outside the door was still there, but it felt farther away. I pulled out my Lupe earplugs, putting them away in their case.
I stayed for another minute, just long enough to reset, then picked up my bag and headed back out.
The hotel hallway was quiet, the carpet softened the sound of my steps as I went to the elevator. At the third floor, I moved toward my room, already focused on the simple goal of closing the door behind me and having a space that didn’t require anything from me.
I was fishing in my bag for my keycard when I heard my name.
I looked up to see Aryn standing there, his key still in his hand, approaching me.
His hair slightly out of place and his sleeves rolled up, casually exposing his muscled forearms. He had black rimmed glasses on, and for a second he just looked at me, surprise registering before anything else.
I stood there, a little confused. “Aryn."
“My room is right here." He gestured to the door across the hall from mine. “Hey, are you okay?”
“I’m fine," I said.
“You don’t look fine," he observed.
“I’ve had a long day."
Aryn hesitated. “Can I get you something? Some water or something to eat? I could order room service for you."
“I’m okay," I told him, but suddenly I wasn’t. I was tired, thirsty, hungry, sore, and just done. I blinked back tears and failed. Why was I falling apart because someone was asking if I was okay?
When was the last time someone had asked me that?
“Hey, come into my room. Sit down and I’ll get you some water. You can order anything you want, ice cream, chocolate, whatever. I’ll pay," Aryn promised.
“I’m fine," I insisted as he gently guided me into his suite.
“I know you are," Aryn agreed, his voice gently. “Have a seat."
I collapsed into a chair, wiping the moisture from my hot face, wishing I could just get myself under control.
“Here." He cracked open the seal of a bottle of water, handing it to me. “What can I do?”
I shrugged, drinking some of the water.
Aryn crouched down in front of me, steadying himself by holding onto the arm of the chair but not touching me. “If you could have anything in the world right now, what would it be?”
I sniffled. “A burger. A cheeseburger with extra pickles and no relish."
“Okay." He smiled. “One cheeseburger, extra pickles, hold the relish. I’ll call room service."
“And I want to get out of this dress," I muttered.
Aryn stood up, rifling through his bag which was sitting on the bed. “Here. I have a hoodie. Will that work?”
I slowly took the hoodie from him. It was faded, soft and huge. I nodded.
“Why don’t you have a shower if you want it, or just get changed into the hoodie while I put in our order?” he suggested.
I nodded, hugging the hoodie to me as I got up and made my way to the bathroom. I didn’t bother to look in the mirror as I peeled off the heels and dress. I knew I looked a mess. I had never been a pretty crier, my nose and cheeks going red.
Aryn was going to think I was a basket case.
I slipped the hoodie over my head. It reached to my mid thighs, leaving me feeling a bit exposed. I wrapped my arms around myself, enjoying the loose softness.
It was almost as good as one of my sweaters. If only I had a pair of leggings on, it would be almost perfect.
It smelled like him. Clean soap and something I couldn’t quite define.
I closed my eyes, humming to myself for a moment, trying to get my embarrassment under control. By the time I was able to leave the washroom, room service had just delivered the food.
“I got fries too, just in case you wanted some," Aryn told me.
I sat in the chair again, folding my legs underneath me and pulling on the hoodie so it covered me. Aryn handed me my burger.
“The chef recommended this steak on a bun so I got that. There’s gravy and a couple of different dips if you like them," he pointed out.
Biting into my burger, I closed my eyes, enjoying it. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and this was one of the top burgers I had ever tasted, maybe because I was so hungry. We ate in silence for a while.
“Are your friends here?” he asked after a moment.
I shrugged.
“They didn’t make it?”
“Something like that," I said, thinking of my conversation with Tara. “We had a bit of a falling out."
“That’s unfortunate." He studied me for a second, then nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really." I took a sip of water, finished with my food. “Did you have fun with your friends?”
He smiled slightly. “Yeah. It’s been a while since we last got together. I miss them."
“That’s good." I yawned.
“I should let you rest. Thanks for having dinner with me," Aryn said.
I nodded, getting up. I hesitated. “What about your shirt?”
“Keep it for now," he told me.
I grabbed my dress, purse, and shoes. Aryn escorted me across the hall to my room, making sure I could unlock it.
He nodded once, stepping back toward his door. “Good night, Meri."
“Good night, Aryn," I whispered.