24. August
24
AUGUST
“I can’t believe it’s over.”
Bernie solicitously slid my margarita and a basket of rolls toward me. “Is she okay? Is this normal?”
“She’ll be fine.” Chick squeezed my hand, his voice low and comforting, as if he were attempting to soothe a skittish, injured animal. “It’s all part of the process.”
I picked up a roll and stared at it like I’d never seen one before. Was I supposed to eat this? “I think I might be sick.”
“You can’t be sick; I see the waitress with our lunch. And don’t start crying again unless you want to scare Bernie.”
“She was crying ?”
“Mm-hmm. For an hour after she sent the email.”
The word email had me pushing back my chair, anxiety making my stomach cramp. “What if I sent them the wrong file? I should go back and double-check?—”
Chick’s fingers clamped on my shoulder, keeping me in my seat while he replaced the roll with my margarita. “Drink your medicine, August. ”
I started to obey but hesitated before the salted rim touched my lips. How could I drink at a time like this?
“I was right there with you, and we triple-checked that file before sending what I know is some of your best work. You did the damn thing. Now take a drink and celebrate with your friends.”
The waitress arrived, her worried frown saying I probably looked close to tears, so I took a healthy swallow as she plated our table. Someone who knew me had ordered me the small appetizer quesadilla. Bernie had a Caesar salad with a side of fries. And Chick had gotten the chicken fried steak, which he stared at with equal parts hunger and horror.
“What is it with this state and these giant servings of fried food? I have extra plates for my sides,” he emphasized, “because this steak takes up one entire plate all by itself. You could feed five people with this single slab of fried meat.”
“Everything’s bigger in Texas,” Bernie told him as she dragged a fry through a small ramekin of ranch dressing. “Including the diet pill industry, some of our doctor bills and the male ego.”
“I’ll bite. How is the male ego responsible for my lunch?”
While they continued to discuss meat and men, I tucked into my quesadilla and let my news settle.
After two and a half years of research and writing and struggling through The Great Block, the last book in the series was finally done, beta read and sent to my agent with Chick’s stamp of approval. There would still be edits, the publisher might decline to offer me a contract again and my readers might have moved on to a more reliable author… But at this moment, none of that mattered.
I’d done the damn thing. Conquered my white whale. Climbed my unscalable mountain. The characters I’d fallen in love with when the series started were finally out of the purgatory I’d placed them in. Their story was finished. And the ending had been satisfying for all, including the author.
That wasn’t the only thing going my way lately .
With the remainder of the insurance check and my tips, I’d knocked out a few more things on my home improvement list. I’d had the gutters upgraded, adding leaf filters so they didn’t need to be cleaned as often, and replaced the ugly black plastic framing my empty front garden bed with scalloped concrete pavers that looked very curb appeal-y. I was even thinking of buying some juniper bushes and hydrangeas and actually planting something in the bed.
On top of that good news, the team had decided my design would go on the car, and Gene hadn’t argued about it. I’d been in shock until Chick admitted he’d let the men hear Mom’s voicemail while I was getting some desperately needed practice on the racetrack. I should have called him out for being manipulative, but I’d wanted my theme too much to be upset with how he managed it. Mom had gotten everyone on the same page a lot faster than I ever could have.
And now the same document I’d had open the day I drove her to the airport was finished and on its way to being published.
I’d have to keep telling myself until I finally believed it.
“Hot damn, I’m done.”
“There she is,” Chick cheered. “Good to have you back, sunshine.”
Bernie tossed back the last of her drink and then set her glass down with a thud, staring at me in disbelief. “This is not how I imagined you’d react to finishing your book, August.”
“Have you ever seen those Writing is Hard memes?” Chick asked dryly before I could respond. “I mean, I write alien pulp for teenage boys and men who are secretly still teenage boys, which is disturbingly easy. But August actually puts effort into getting her stories right. When we lived together, and she was in ‘the zone’? There were times I could see steam escaping from the top of her head. Times I had to bodily move her from the computer and put a plate of food in front of her, or take her to get a massage because she’d spent so long in one position, she’d actually injured herself. I’m not even mentioning that time she had to create an ancient language from scratch, because that was a weird sansween for all of us.”
I snorted. It was called conlanging and he’d done it for a few of his earlier space sagas, he just liked to tease me about it.
“And after all that effort, she has to hand off the book and let it go,” he continued. “Imagine giving birth and then being forced to toss your newborn into a mob of strangers who could love it or murder it bloody right in front of you.”
“Too graphic,” I muttered around my glass.
He pushed on. “Since she was in labor for several years instead of months this time, she may have a harder time snapping back.”
I felt a twinge of sympathy in my lady bits and looked at the only mother in our trio. “Sorry about the gestational appropriation, B. I’m well aware that actual childbirth is much harder. But he’s not wrong about the feelings. This book is the worst, but to be fair, every time I send one in, I have a mini panic attack and a short crying jag, followed by a bout of mild depression until the publisher tells me what they think.”
I didn’t share the rituals of self-flagellation I put myself through once it was on the shelves. There were times it was better to keep some of your crazy to yourself.
“Damn.” Bernie was still staring. “Well, you must love it if you willingly go through this over and over again.”
“I must.” Now that the deadline wasn’t hanging over me like the sword of Damocles, I could start to remember that again. How lucky I was to do what I loved for a living. How much I enjoyed creating worlds, and the challenge of making all the pieces fit together.
Now if only I could figure out the other puzzle currently confounding me. “Have either of you noticed anything off about Wade lately? ”
I now had their undivided attention.
“We’re not the ones sleeping with him every night,” Chick pointed out. “Are you noticing anything off about him, August?”
When Bernie sent me a worried look, I pushed aside the rest of my quesadilla in favor of my glass. “He’s avoiding me again.”
Chick shook his head. “I know you’ve both been busy for the last two weeks, but from what I can see, he spends every night and most of the day with you. He just spent the weekend under your sink, fixing your plumbing. How is he avoiding you?”
I sighed. “It’s going to sound clingy, because yes, he’s always around, but he’s been different. Maybe avoiding is the wrong word. He leaves me sweet notes in the morning and answers all my texts. He fixes my plumbing and he…” I glanced at Bernie as a blush crept into my cheeks. “We’re still having sex. But he’s holding something back. And we aren’t talking.”
We hadn’t laughed together all week. The absence was a neon warning sign, and my stomach was constantly in knots about it.
“Something is wrong with him,” I insisted, sagging in my seat. It had started the day of the Lemons meeting. Even though he said everything was fine, things hadn’t really been the same since. “Maybe he’s rethinking moving into the house Morgan found and he doesn’t know how to tell me.”
Bernie coughed and sent Chick an apologetic look. “Maybe he thinks you’re leaving soon, and he’s trying not to get too attached.”
“She’s probably right. Men,” Chick grumbled as he hacked off another bite of his steak. “I told him to talk to you, so he avoids talking to you. Because that makes sense.”
I straightened. “What did you tell him to talk to me about? And when?”
“After I shared the voice message. He was brooding about you keeping him out of the loop. He didn’t know about the theme. He didn’t know about the message. I imagine he would have been on your side about the race a lot sooner if he had.” Chick was watching me closely as he added, “I also imagine he’s thinking that means you aren’t as invested in what you two are up to as he is.”
I stifled a gasp of indignation. “I’m invested.”
They gave me matching Oh, really? looks.
“I am! I’m not making any decisions right now because I’m living in the moment. That’s all.” Why was it starting to sound like an excuse? “Anyway, I told him the day he moved in I was planning on leaving. Why is he acting differently now?”
“My brother is not a temporary fling kind of guy,” Bernie said, her expression serious. “I’m not saying he hasn’t had a few civilized one-night stands, because he’s human and has needs. But affairs with looming expiration dates he has no control over? This is his first. And because it’s you, it’s more complicated in more ways than one. I imagine it’s screwing with his head a little. Maybe he’s trying to give you space to decide if you want more from him.”
I’d never been a temporary fling girl either. But I’d been clinging to my stay-in-the-present mantra since he showed up at my door, too afraid that if I let myself think about what came next, this amazing moment would disappear.
In the present, I was starting to feel like myself again. I hung out with friends. I wrote and finished books. Merlin was finally warming up to me, and the full house didn’t feel as much like a spirit-draining abyss. I had great sex and slept better than I had in years with someone beside me. With Wade beside me.
In the present, thinking about leaving didn’t have the same appeal anymore, but staying felt almost as risky. What if things didn’t work out? Could I take another loss? Now, when I’d barely gotten back on my feet?
“Do you want more from him, August?” Chick asked.
“You and I have plans,” I started. He’d been so excited about being roommates again. So had I. I’d told him I was in.
He reached out to squeeze my hand. “If that’s what you want, I’m still all for it.” When Bernie narrowed her gaze on him, he shrugged. “August comes first. Always.”
He looked back at me. “I know the offer sounded great when it didn’t look like you had any reason to stay. But it seems like that might have changed recently. Or am I wrong?”
He knew he wasn’t.
“You don’t have to decide your entire future over lunch,” he finally said, letting me off the hook, “but maybe you could throw the poor man a bone until you do.”
“How do I do that? I already said he could bring that puppy home from the garage if no one adopted her.” I’d even taken to having talks with Merlin about the possibility, and how he wasn’t allowed to eat the new baby.
“Wanda,” Chick supplied when Bernie looked puzzled. “He was cuddling her at the garage. She’s adorable.”
Bernie dropped her fork, understanding transforming her expression. “You told him he could keep the puppy that spent the night peeing all over my house? He said he needed to leave her with me for a little while, but with Phoebe about to pop, I don’t have the energy to chase her around.”
He’d named the puppy Wanda. “Why didn’t he bring her home?”
I caught them sharing a significant look and rolled my eyes. “Yes, I said it. Shut up. Fine.” I pointed at each of them in turn. “You know your brother and you know men, so I need your advice. How do I get him to tell me what’s wrong and show him that I’m more invested ?”
Hopefully their answer wasn’t for me to profess the feelings I hadn’t completely come to terms with yet. I wasn’t ready to take that big of a risk. Too much had happened too fast, and a lot of it was temporary. The job. The race. Chick’s visit. I wasn’t as attached because I knew they’d all be over soon .
I didn’t want what Wade and I had to be in that category, but how could I be sure it wasn’t?
Are you seriously thinking about staying now?
The thought made my pulse race with conflicting emotions. What if I was?
“It’s about damn time,” Chick said, raising his fist to bump Bernie’s in solidarity. “We’ve been waiting for you to ask for our help.”
“I’ll text Phoebe’s friend now.” Bernie’s thumbs were already flying over her phone. “She does things with curly hair you wouldn’t believe.”
I touched my hair self-consciously. “Your advice includes a hair appointment?”
“We’re starting a new chapter to celebrate finishing your book,” Chick said loftily. “It comes with free advice, a new haircut, and making do with the nearest mall for a shopping montage.”
“Oh, Chick, no.” I hated his shopping montages. Trying on clothes in front of unforgiving mirrors while he played dance music from his phone on the other side of the changing room door? The older I got, the less I liked it. Which was why I ordered all of my pajama sets online.
“‘Oh Chick, yes!’ is what I’m used to hearing. Try again.”
Defeated, I reached for my margarita and drained the last of it, then licked the salt off my lips. “This had better be really good advice.”
Three hours later, Myrtle was full of shopping bags and I was surrounded by my own personal entourage as I stared at my wet hair in the salon mirror. I’d had a shopping montage’s worth of advice about men in general and Wade in particular. And of course, the montage soundtrack was the playlist Chick had been making for Lemons, which included everything from Rihanna’s “Shut up and Drive” to the Speed Racer theme song. My head was still spinning with information and earworms when we got to Montrose, where Phoebe’s friend worked.
The small, hip salon instantly made me feel both underdressed and entirely at home. It was like a young, curly-haired model convention.
Though the woman we’d asked for was busy, she’d sworn by her fellow stylist Tony, and one look at his perfectly styled natural curls created an instant bond of trust between us. This man got my hair. He wouldn’t try to feather it, straighten it or give me bangs. I could work with him.
After a scrub that included red salt and tea tree oil, as well as a wash and deep condition, he’d brought me out to his spot on the floor and allowed Bernie and Chick to sit on the small, aqua-colored sofa beside us. They’d decided Tony was their new best friend and should be filled in on everything that had been going on in our lives recently.
“That’s it,” Tony declared, though he wasn’t talking about my hair, since he was still snipping away. “This race sounds hysterical, and you’ve convinced me to make the drive and come to one of your yoga lessons, Bernie.”
“Don’t start with her advanced class,” Chick warned him. “I consider myself to be in damn fine shape, and I barely survived it. The only reason my pride is still intact is because my buddy Haywood didn’t.”
At some point during the last two weeks, Chick and Kingston had decided to work together instead of snipe at each other. They’d been visiting each team member to get a “day in the life” perspective before the race. Kingston would film and subtly interrogate. Chick would charm, guide and empathize until they both got what they wanted.
A few days ago, it was Bernie’s turn, and she’d decided to invite them to join a yoga class. When Kingston, who was a regular runner, sounded dismissive of the activity, Chick had challenged him to a yoga-off. From the way Bernie described it, Chick had been covered in sweat and shaking by the time it was over, while Haywood had been flat on his back and begging for mercy.
Part of me wished I could have seen it. The other part was just happy I was finally able to hold Warrior I without falling over.
I studied my face in the mirror. Thanks to Bernie’s torture sessions and my hours at the icehouse, I’d lost ten pounds and felt stronger than I had in years. I looked better too.
Closing my eyes, I zoned out for a little while, loving the feel of fingers tugging at my hair.
Then Bernie said, “Romance novel? I thought she was finishing a book in her fantasy series.”
I gasped but managed to keep from turning my head (I didn’t want those scissors taking a tragic detour), glaring at Chick’s reflection. “Why would you tell her about that?”
“Why wouldn’t you ?” Bernie countered. “You know those are my guilty pleasure.”
“I thought chili fries were your guilty pleasure.” Bernie gave off heroine vibes. The kind of heroine who was way too busy scaling mountains and dating twenty-something strippers to read about someone else doing those things.
Tony patted my shoulder. “I love them too. They’re my weakness.”
Chick gifted him with his Hollywood grin. “I’ve been going through them as fast as I can order them lately. But August’s is still my favorite.”
He’d started reading them in order to properly critique mine, but he’d quickly become an addict. Now that I’d finished writing, he had a list of them for me to read so we could discuss them. “Which is why she has cover art waiting in her email and a copy is with my favorite editor as we speak. ”
“What?!” I squawked, causing several heads to turn in our direction. “Sorry.”
“It’s a great book, August. Your contract is fulfilled, and it said nothing about owning the rights to your work from a different genre,” he told me. “I’ve read it and it’s thankfully very specific. I think you should self-publish ASAP. But tell me to butt out and I won’t push again.”
It was a good idea in theory. It would save me from the endless void of what-happens-next I tended to fall into while waiting for copy edits and a publishing date. But self-publishing would mean releasing without a net. Doing my own advertising. My own promotion. Tooting my own horn.
I was horrible at all of that. I loved talking to my readers and giving away books, T-shirts and e-readers. But the actual hustle needed to sell books? That was not my forte.
“I can’t believe I’m cutting an author’s hair,” Tony said with a bemused smile as he snipped away. “I used to spend weekends with my Nonny when I was in high school, practicing on her curls and reading her romance books. She loved Scottish highlanders.”
“At nineteen I started reading Nora Roberts,” Bernie confided. “That woman helped me redecorate my old house and learn to cook.”
I stared at her reflection. “Nora Roberts taught you to cook?”
I’d seen her at a few conventions, and she’d never even said hello to me.
“Her books did. Fully half of every book she writes is filled with people preparing food while discussing how to fight a big bad,” she informed us with a grin. “Or decorating houses and painting cabinetry while being stalked by serial killers. It was all so detailed and interesting, and of course, sprinkled with small bursts of sex, usually with the woman on top. As she should be.”
“She does give great mystery,” I conceded, because who hadn’t read Nora? “I was never any good at that. And my story is nothing like her work, B.”
Chick nodded. “That’s true. Less decorating and cooking. Bigger bursts of sex in multiple positions.”
“I like the sound of that,” Tony murmured, sending an interested grin in Bernie’s direction. Or Chick’s. From my vantage point it was hard to tell.
But Bernie definitely looked more intrigued instead of less. “I may have started with Nora, but I’m currently into the kinkier end of the spectrum. Lots of motorcycle bad boys and hockey players. One series I stumbled onto was a free read about farmers in Nebraska, of all places, having BDSM threesomes. So dirty. I ate that up like candy.”
“Nebraska, you say? I’ve always wanted to go there,” Chick said with a wide smile. “But August is right that this might not be your cuppa. It was inspired by a tall, gorgeous family man who works on cars, appreciates strong women and is so together he’s the definition of competence porn. It’s hot as a wildfire and funny as hell but…”
“But I don’t want to read about my brother. I hear you. Doesn’t mean I can’t tell all my friends and students about it when it’s published. He might get a lot of new female business at the garage.”
I didn’t like the sound of that.
Tony set aside his scissors and turned my chair around to face him. “Time for styling,” he said, bringing a few bottles over to his tray. “You wrote a romance about her brother ? Color me intrigued. Do you have a pen name and are you going to put it on BookTok? If so, I’ll share it.”
“Ohmygod.” I covered my face with my hands as BookTok kept reverberating through my skull. I had a hard time taking selfies, and they expected me to make one of those clever, funny little videos? “Can we stop talking about this? ”
“She’ll be fine,” Chick assured them. “She sucks at social media and suffers from a raging case of imposter syndrome. She’ll get over it.”
“You’re making it sound like an STD,” I muttered through my hands as Tony started coating every curl on my head with product.
By the time he finished drying my hair with a diffuser and scrunching here and there with a look of concentration on his face, they’d discussed more authors than I’d ever heard of and debated the new alternatives for promotion, since some rich asshole had broken Twitter and ruined everyone’s fun.
Tony was remarkably social media savvy.
Maybe that’s why I hadn’t objected when he took a little electric eyebrow trimmer to my brows and the spot on my chin that we never spoke about in public because it grew hair now and please let’s forget I ever said anything about that.
Ahem.
“There we go.”
Chick whistled. “That’s my sunshine. Look at you, beautiful.”
Tony turned me back toward the mirror and…wow. I hadn’t seen that woman in a while.
The changes weren’t that dramatic. My hair still curled to my shoulders, but it looked healthier, bouncier, and there wasn’t a trace of frizz in sight, despite the humidity. The cut also made my face look a teensy bit younger for some miraculous reason I wasn’t going to question.
I smiled at Tony. “I love it.”
“You look amazing,” he said with a gratified expression. “You’ll need to come back every three months and use the leave-in conditioner I’m going to sell you. I’ll give you a discount if you sign a book for me.”
“Deal.”
Bernie tipped her head to the side as she stared at my curls and then pulled her long braid over her shoulder. “Do you cut wavy hair too? I’m thinking it might be time for a change.”
I snickered. “I must look good,” I told him. “She never lets anyone touch her hair. She trims it herself.”
If Tony’s horrified expression was any indication, his potential romance with Bernie was DOA.
I bought the conditioner and made an appointment for three months, and then we were back in the car, with Bernie behind the wheel again.
“I can’t stop touching it.” I said as I felt the springing curls bounce in my hand.
“That’s what we want him to say.”
Bernie laughed at Chick’s quick comeback. “Funny, but seriously, stop touching it. We have food to order and a puppy to pick up before you get home and change into one of your new outfits.”
“I feel like I’m trying too hard.” When I thought about tonight, my shoulders knotted and my stomach roiled into one gigantic ball of anxiety.
“New chapter, sunshine, remember?” Chick said from the backseat. “There’s nothing wrong with trying to create the life that you want. You were slow-boiling like a sad frog in a pity pot for years. It’s time to try something different.”
“You do have a flattering way with words,” I replied wryly.
“I know I do. And if I cared as much about my art as you do yours, I’d be working on a real screenplay instead of lazily writing the wrestler’s saga, Mad Libs Part 5: The Pronouning .”
I reached back for his hand. “Okay, now that we’ve fixed all my problems and given me a makeover, I think we should start working on you. I don’t like hearing anyone put down my friend’s genius.”
“Preach,” Bernie said. “No trash talking allowed. We have to stay focused on tonight. ”
“I can’t talk about you now,” I whisper-shouted to Chick. “She wants me to stay focused on seducing her brother.”
“Look, I’m not saying I have any money riding on it or anything…” Bernie started with a grin.
I whacked her on the arm. “You’d better not,” I told her with an incredulous laugh.
She joined in and then shook her head. “No betting. I just want him to be the one having fun for a change. I’m about to be a grandmother—dear lord, I can’t believe I just said that out loud—and I can’t remember the last time my big brother really stepped out and enjoyed himself. He’s always been too busy keeping the rest of us out of trouble. But you’ve thrown him off his game. It’s good for him.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I’d thrown him off his game?
He’d pulled me back into mine.
“It’s been good for her too,” Chick said, echoing my thoughts. “If you could forget your brother was the inspiration, you’d know it as soon as you read her book, the way I did.”
I frowned over my shoulder at him. “What does that mean?”
“I mean instead of writing your usually-complicated worlds full of magic and almost-impossible-to-pronounce surnames, you wrote about two mature people, each with their own flaws and personal demons to slay, falling in funny, lusty love. It’s a sexy book, but it’s also a hopeful one. Everybody wants to believe that it’s never too late to find The One.”
Was that what I’d done? I’d started it thinking it would be a romp through my libidinous subconscious. A way to jumpstart my writing after the Great Block that had slowly transformed into something I could potentially sell. Had I been telling my own story instead?
Had I written a book about falling in love with Wade?