36. Chapter 36
Chapter 36
Lizzie
LIZZIE: I’m coming to the cities for a couple of days, maybe more. Are you around?
brOOKE: Of course. For you, I’m always around. Any special reason? Dearie Girls Weekend is in a week… so, pre-celebration?
LIZZIE: I’ll tell you more when I see you… but basically, I just found out that I have a whole family I never knew about. And Randall showed up.
brOOKE: HOLY SHIT. Are you ok???
LIZZIE: Still processing. But let’s just keep this between you and me right now, k? Because when this gets out…
brOOKE: I get it. Mum’s the word. How does Tuesday look? Wanna sleep over?
LIZZIE: Perfect.
brOOKE: Good.
brOOKE: But, holy shit, though…
LIZZIE: Yup. #fml
“What… the actual… fuck.”
I nodded at my brother, watching the same tidal wave of emotions cross his face as mine had done twenty-four hours earlier. “I know. It’s… unbelievable.”
“I feel like our entire lives were built on a lie.”
“Pretty much.”
Ethan stared at me across our corner booth at Amore Victoria, the same forkful of pasta still frozen in midair in front of him. “How are you this… calm right now?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Honestly? By this point, I’m starting to feel numb to it all.” And it was true. I only vaguely recalled dropping Bucky off with Indi and Callum or the drive down to Minneapolis that morning—much less anything that had happened on either side of it.
At one point, I’d stopped at one of my favorite indie bookstores in Minneapolis, Tropes & Trifles—managing to leave with two sackfuls of romance novels I didn’t even remember choosing (though even “numb Lizzie” had impeccable taste). Afterwards, I’d ended up at the Minneapolis Institute of Art for a couple of hours, wandering through the exhibits without really seeing—in a place that existed solely to be seen.
The one thing I knew for certain was when I woke up that morning, I couldn’t deal with facing James—at least, not yet. Not when everything in my head and heart felt like one big, jumbled mess. So I’d packed a bag, heading out long before the guys were due to arrive.
And there’d been no response from James to the text I’d sent last night until finally mid-morning, though it didn’t surprise me. What does one even say to, ‘Figuring some things out. I’ll be back.’? If that had been me, I’d probably be dissolving into a whirlpool of anxiety right about now.
But at least when I’d finally heard from him, I’d felt a glimmer of hope. Like he still wanted me, in spite of everything. He hadn’t given up, or walked away entirely. Even though technically, I’d been the one doing the leaving.
JAMES: I’ll be here, waiting for you… for as long as it takes.
How long did it take, exactly, to bring life back, when all you feel is numb? Because right before my eyes, the pages I’d already lived were being ripped out and burned, one by one—my biography rewritten in broad strokes, in a hand I didn’t recognize. So you could say I was being reborn, but in the messiest, most painful way possible.
But at least I knew I wasn’t crazy. Seeing Ethan’s reaction confirmed that none of this was normal—nor had the way forward been written yet.
Which meant, I guess, that part was up to us.
“So, have you told Mariah?”
I gave him a look, already knowing how that conversation would go. “What do you think?”
“Come on, Liz… she deserves to know what’s going on. We can’t spend our lives tiptoeing around our sister just because she isn’t the easiest person to deal with.”
“That’s putting it nicely,” I said, muttering under my breath. But of course he was right. Taking a rather large sip from my wine glass, I pulled out my phone and dialed my sister. After two rings, her outgoing voicemail message began playing. I glanced over at him, mouthing ‘voicemail’ with a know-it-all look on my face. As he rolled his eyes, I heard the beep.
“ Yeah, hi… Mariah? It’s Lizzie. And Ethan. Listen, there’s some information I found out about Grandma Cora, and our family, that we think you need to know. But I don’t want to just leave it in a message… so, can you call me back? Please. It’s important.” Hanging up, I set my phone back on the table, stabbing my fork into my bolognese. “You know she probably saw it was me and sent it straight to voicemail, right?”
“Maybe. But it was still the right thing to do.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said, sighing. “I just wish she didn’t always make things so difficult.”
Ethan shrugged. “Maybe that trait came from the Hardon side of the family?”
I reached across the table, smacking his arm. “Be serious.” But it was the first moment since GiGi’s living room that I’d felt somewhat lighter.
“So, how do we approach this with the Hardons?” Ethan asked, pushing back his empty plate.
“I don’t know… I guess I haven’t had time to form a plan yet. But I think I need to go and meet Mitchum, at the very least. GiGi said he’s still living up in Dearing Creek.”
“Alright. But I’m not letting you fly solo on this, Liz. You’ve had to deal with everything alone for months. We’re in this together now. Ok?”
“Ok.” But even though I appreciated having my brother alongside me, the person I most wanted was two hours north, hating everything about the family I’d just inherited.
Was it pointless to hope that he’d ever be able to accept any of this?
“Anyway, I’m sorry I haven’t been able to make it up to the cabin all summer. The new website for that hotel brand was on a rush, and nobody on the team has been allowed time off. But now that it's wrapped, I can take a handful of days, spend some time up north. I’ve been dying to see the progress with the cabin, too. Is that ok?”
I smiled. “It’s more than ok. I’d love it. But just be warned, Dearie Girls Weekend is a week from now… so I’m booting you out before then.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve learned my lesson on that one,” he said, grimacing. “And hey, it’s about time that I meet James too, don’t you think? I need to do my due diligence, make sure he’s worthy and all that brotherly stuff.”
“Yeah, sure,” I said, giving him a vague smile—inside, my mind was back on James, wondering where he was, or what he was doing. It had only been twelve hours since I left, and already I wished I was back home with him in Dearing Creek. And yet, I could still hear the words we'd both said in anger last night in GiGi's living room:
“Those people will never be your family. The best thing you can do is walk away.”
“Is this really about their goddamn money again?”
“Does it matter? I can’t fucking do this.”
Was he sitting alone right now, wishing he could take it all back? Did he wonder how long it would take me to come back home again—or was he worried I might not at all?
He’d said he’d be there waiting for me, for as long as it took. He'd said those words, in spite of everything. I should trust in that, right?
But there was no point in driving myself crazy. Right now, my focus should be on the reason I’d made the trip here in the first place. Figuring out everything with James would have to wait until I returned home again.
“Anyway, I need to wrap up a few things tomorrow, but then I could head up on Thursday morning maybe? Does that work?”
I meandered back to reality, realizing my brother had asked me a question. “Um, what?”
“I asked if it’s ok if I head up Thursday morning.” Ethan gave me a strange look. “You sure you’re ok?”
“Yeah, sorry. And Thursday is actually perfect…I have that meeting with the publisher in the morning, and then I’ll be staying with Brooke for a couple of days. We can caravan up together.”
“Sounds good. And again, I’m really proud of you for getting that meeting, Lizzie.” His eyes, mirrors of my own, were encouraging. “It’s about damn time someone noticed how talented you are.”
I felt my cheeks flush. “Thanks. To be honest, it doesn’t actually feel… real.”
“Well, believe it… because it is .” Ethan handed his credit card to the server as he returned to the table with our bill. “This’ll be the start of something big for you, Lizzie… just watch.”
I gave him a small smile, saying nothing. But I had to admit to feeling ashamed that I’d omitted a very important detail—that this entire opportunity had been orchestrated by my ex-boyfriend.
Everyone I loved now hated Randall—and even though I was hardly a fan of his either, I needed to have my head in the game for tomorrow. The rest would just have to sort itself out later.
Which, actually, was the real story of my life.
I walked out of the elevator at Everett Publishing, smoothing my hands over my hair one last time before walking into reception. Randall was already standing there with his back to me, looking exceptionally tall and put together as always. I bristled as I realized he was chatting up the pretty blonde receptionist, until I remembered—that was Old Lizzie’s problem.
And I had no room in my life to waste another ounce of worry on Randall Price. I was here to get myself published—focused only on looking forward, not backward.
“Hi, Randall.”
He turned with a slow smile at my voice, his eyes traveling up and down the length of me in that way I used to love. Now it made me feel, well, nothing really. Amazing what four months and a good man could do. “Elizabeth. You look beautiful.”
Ignoring his compliment, I gave him a terse smile. “So, I just want to take a second to discuss how to approach this meeting with Mar—”
“Randall, so good to see you!” a voice called from the other side of reception as I saw a willowy, raven-haired woman cross towards us—wearing black stilettos and a gorgeous red sheath dress, perfectly matched to the shade of her lipstick. I suddenly felt very self-conscious, Ms. Frumpy McFrumperson , standing there in the wide legged beige trousers and dark blue blazer I’d grabbed without thinking as I’d thrown my bag together Monday morning.
“Loretta, what a pleasant surprise.” As she closed the gap between them, Randall leaned in for the customary air kiss I’d always found so insufferable. But I noticed her lingering there a touch longer, making me wonder if the two of them had some sort of history.
Again, absolutely did not care. The only question I did care about? Where was Mark, the guy we were supposed to be meeting?
As the two separated, Loretta noticed me standing there, her eyes giving me the once-over before extending a hand with a slight smile. “You must be Ms. Blake. I’m Loretta Everett, CEO of Everett Publishing. Randall’s told me a great deal about you and your… work.”
Slanting a confused glance over to Randall, I forced a smile before shaking her hand with a firm grip. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Everett. Thank you for making time in your schedule to meet with me… I’m sure you’re very busy. But I must admit, I’m a little confused. I thought we’d be meeting with Mark Hammer?”
“Our acquisitions manager?” Loretta waved a hand dismissively. “When I heard Randall Price had a fledgling author he was recommending, I knew I had to take the appointment myself. Especially as we have some other matters to discuss ourselves,” she said, looking at him pointedly with the hint of a smile.
Randall nodded, returning her look. “We’re very lucky she was able to fit us in, of course… Loretta’s reputation in this industry is unmatched.”
“You flatter me, Randall,” she preened. “Follow me, please… and Molly?” She glanced over to the receptionist. “Please hold all of my calls. You do remember how, yes?” Molly nodded, now looking anxious as we followed Loretta down the hallway.
You and me both, sister.
Entering her lavish corner office, I wondered what the hell dimension I had just stepped into. The entire space—with vast windows, dark wood and gold accents—was decked out floor to ceiling in minimalist luxury, punctuated by the glass-topped desk at the center, and high-backed leather chair positioned behind it.
Lowering herself into her throne as Randall and I took seats across from her, Loretta zeroed in on me. “So, Ms. Blake… Randall tells me you have a degree in creative writing and have been working on your craft for years—but this would be your first official book. Is that correct?”
“Well, yes… technically speaking. I’d previously written a few novellas as well, though none were ever published.”
“I see. What was the premise of these… novellas, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Trying to ignore the familiar tingling feeling as it spread through the length of my fingers, I continued. “They were mostly… contemporary romance stories.”
“Ah. Interesting .”
“But Elizabeth has moved far beyond romance tales, Loretta,” Randall interjected, shooting me a look. “As I mentioned, she’s been hard at work on her novel focused on The Great Depression. It’s really quite good.”
“Yes, I’ve read a handful of pages… I would agree, there’s some potential there,” she acquiesced, giving Randall a smile as though he were attending a slightly inappropriate parent/teacher conference. Then she redirected her gaze back to me. “What is it about this topic that most intrigues you?”
For a moment, my mind went blank. C’mon, Blake… you can do this. “Well, I grew up hearing stories from my grandmother. Her own mother and aunt had a tough life growing up in the thirties, pretty much having to raise themselves. It’s what inspired me to make a relationship between two sisters the focal point, really. They’re the heart of the story.”
She studied me for a moment. “Relationships are what interest you most, then?”
God, this felt familiar. “Well, yes. But the historical aspect is important as well…”
The numbness was spreading to my face now. She can see right through you, Lizzie.
“Hmmm.” Loretta allowed her gaze to linger a few seconds longer, before glancing down at the stack of papers before her—containing printouts spanning my writing career over the years. One student award, a couple of published short stories featured in my university’s literary magazine, and this, the first few rough chapters of my abandoned novel.
But where was the heart in any of it? Especially in the story of the two sisters—whose relationship I’d barely begun to write, much less figure out. The only reason I could even call them ‘the heart of the story’ was because everything else in it felt dark and lifeless. I still had no idea who those characters were, or why they even mattered.
Looking at that pile of papers, though, one thing was clear—everything that I’d written so far on a professional level, from those submissions to my time in marketing, had come from a place of technical precision, expectation, reader manipulation, and fear of judgment from so-called literary experts. Along with so much damn doubt.
And because of it, I’d spent so much time convincing myself that a true writer didn’t write about things like romance—at least not one who wanted to be taken seriously. I’d talked a big game about being inspired by my grandparents’ love story, but at the first sign of trouble, I let both my own romantic failings and the past cast a shadow over all of it.
I thought I’d been living my life as a self-proclaimed hopeless romantic. In truth, I’d let myself stop believing because I was afraid. Because I’d lost hope .
Even still—I wanted to believe all of it was real. And I wanted to believe that I’d found it for myself. With everything that had happened, could I even find my way back?
“Love stories are magical, Lizzie girl. They give us hope. Because all of us, regardless of who we are or where our stories began, need something to believe in. And all of us are worthy of being loved,” Grandma Cora’s voice echoed through my mind, saying the words I’d heard countless times before. The statement in itself was romantic, an ideal about love I’d grown up believing in. Those stories had made me believe perfect, infallible love was possible—not just possible— probable . I’d thought my grandparents were living proof.
Until they weren’t.
But her words sounded different to me now. There was a rawness to them that only came from having gone through it all yourself—the highs and the lows, the unimaginable joy and the searing pain. From screwing it all up, to finding your way back again to what truly mattered. It takes courage and strength to live out our stories—but the grace comes when we can learn to love each other and ourselves through all of it. Especially the messy parts.
Like my grandmother… James… and even me .
That was true love, real and relatable. Those are the stories that mattered, that people needed to hear. And now I realized—it’s what I should’ve been brave enough to share with the world all along.
My mind was brought back to the present by Loretta’s pen tapping against the glass surface of her desk as she finished reviewing the paper in her hand. I wondered how much pressure it would take before the flaws became visible there, too.
“So, is this the sort of work we can expect if we were to sign you, Ms. Blake? Literary fiction, with a focus on social commentary?”
I hesitated for a moment, glancing between her and Randall. I knew the answer both were expecting. What kind of an idiot would shoot themselves in the foot in a moment like this?
Taking a breath, I shook my head. “Actually, no. The style of writing I’m looking to focus on is in creating stories about realistic relationships. Something that the reader can see themselves in that will give them hope. Stories… about love.”
Loretta raised an eyebrow, considering my words. “It sounds as though you intend to write… romance novels, Ms. Blake.”
I let the smile spread across my lips. “Yes, Ms. Everett. That’s exactly what I plan to do.”
Randall leaned closer, muttering, “Elizabeth…” like a warning from under his breath. I ignored him, my eyes locked with the CEO sitting across from me, feeling the numb and tingly sensations within me suddenly begin to dissipate. And for maybe the first time ever , I hadn’t a shred of doubt.
It was Loretta who broke eye contact first, glancing over to Randall. “I thought you said she was a sure thing, Randall.”
“She was… I mean, she still is , Loretta.”
“What we had discussed was creating a strong lineup of new and promising authors, spanning the most important genres.” Her red lips pursed. “And already you’ve faltered with the very first candidate, Randall?”
I looked at him. “What is she referring to?”
He held up a hand to silence me, turning back to Loretta. “Give me until tomorrow, and I’ll present a suitable replacement to you. Already, I have at least half a dozen promising authors lined up who’d be thrilled to write anything you ask.”
But she was shaking her head. “No, I need time to think—we may need to pause this relationship before it goes any further.”
And then it all made sense. This had never been about helping me. As always, it was only ever about Randall. And based on how he was scrambling now, it was pretty clear he’d been promised some sort of monetary kickback in whatever arrangement they’d put together.
Had this happened a few months ago, I probably would’ve been destroyed. But now? All I felt was relief, like I’d finally been freed from my cage.
For too long I’d let imposter syndrome take the wheel, trying my damndest to seem interesting and impressive, just so I could feel worthy of an accomplished and cultured man like him or part of an industry like publishing.
But as I stared at him now, my ex was starting to look less like the handsome, polished professor—and exactly like a man I never should have wasted my time with in the first place.
Because Randall Price had never loved anyone but himself. And I’d always deserved better. It just took me too damn long to realize it.
Standing up, I gave the two of them a brief smile. “Well, I wish you both the best of luck with all of that.” As I grabbed my purse and started towards the door, I heard both rise from their seats.
“Elizabeth, hold on just for a moment, ok?”
I turned, cocking my head slightly as I looked at him. “You know what, Randall? I don’t think I will. And please make sure to lose my number, won’t you? I assume you remember how.”
And damn, it felt amazing, walking away from everything in that room.
Because finally, I knew exactly where I was headed.