Chapter 8
Nola filled the coffee mugs that they used for their podcasts and brought them to her dining room table. Alice’s had a cute
cartoon woman on it, sitting in front of a bookcase filled with books. The caption read, Just a Girl Who Loves Books. Nola’s featured pastel book spines, listing various popular romance tropes. The mugs would serve as their debate talismans.
Alice knew she wouldn’t so much as take a sip from hers. She already had adrenaline jitters.
They took their seats side by side. Nola was poised with her yellow legal tablet and a Sharpie so she could coach Alice. She
gave Alice an encouraging nod and Alice took a deep breath, opened her laptop and clicked on the link she’d been sent.
You’ve got this, she told herself. Why couldn’t she have been the one with laryngitis?
Nola was still in her favorite pajama bottoms, but from the waist up, the part that would show, she looked sophisticated in her favorite black sweater, paired with a black and white scarf she’d picked up on a trip to Paris with her best friend the year before.
Small gold hoops—a tenth anniversary present from Alice’s father—hung from her ears.
Alice felt like a cliché in her pastel pink blouse and wished she’d thought to put on earrings. She should have at least worn
the heart-shaped gold locket that had been her grandmother’s. But Parker Black would have probably made fun of that so maybe
it was just as well she hadn’t.
“You look lovely,” Nola said.
And scared. She had to look as scared as she felt.
Nola patted her hand and whispered, “You’ll do fine. I’m right here with you. I’ll help.” She held up her tablet with all
her notes as a visual reminder.
It reminded Alice all right. The iPad! She’d left it back in her place, and it had the list of talking points and stats. Good
heavens, she’d been so focused on her mom, her brain had short-circuited.
“I need my iPad.” But she could access her notes on her phone. Quick! Where was her phone?
Left behind on her kitchen counter. What sane woman went off without her phone? She jumped up but her mother pulled her back
down.
“Too late,” whispered Nola.
Too late. Too late to run for her technology. Too late to run for the hills. Too late for her to develop laryngitis. She took
a deep breath. She could do this even without the crutch of her technology. Every fact she’d gathered, every point she needed
to make was embedded in her brain. Her mother was right there, with her copy of the notes. Be bold, Alice!
Next thing she knew, they were talking to Jay Barker, the show’s producer.
“Two against one?” he joked.
“My mother has come down with laryngitis, so I’ll be doing the talking,” Alice explained. “I’m the other owner of HEA Books.”
“Two for the price of one. Great. All right, ladies, we’ll bring you on right after this commercial break,” he said, and Alice’s
pulse skyrocketed.
She’d be dead from a heart attack before they ever went on.
A crowd of HEA’s loyal customers gathered in the store to listen to the big debate between Nola, Alice and the evil Parker
Black. It was being simultaneously recorded and would also be available as a podcast on Spotify, YouTube, you name it. Nola
and Alice were going to be everywhere, championing women and romance. Meanwhile, Lina had her laptop open and was on KWOW’s
website.
“I just hope Nola’s feeling better,” said Bettina, as Lina brought up Parker’s show.
“Don’t worry. They’ve got this,” Lina said.
It felt like forever waiting to get brought on, but it was barely a blink. Next thing Alice knew there was Parker Black’s
face on the screen. And there, on the other side of the split screen, sat her mom and her, Nola smiling calmly and Alice staring
wild-eyed like a woman in a B movie who’d just seen the creepy monster. Next would come the scream. She gulped it down.
On the other side Parker looked casual and cool in a brown T-shirt under an open button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled
up, a model ready for his GQ shoot. He was handsome in pictures, but on the screen where that face could come to life, he was a breath-stealer. Or maybe
Alice simply was having trouble breathing because she was terrified.
“Hey, dudes, no jocks with us today but we do have two coaches. Nola and Alice Willoughby own HEA Books in West Seattle, and they are love coaches, keeping women supplied in those romance novels we’ve been talking about lately.
Welcome, ladies,” he said, and his smile was puckish. “It’s good to have you here.”
Said the big, bad wolf. Alice gulped again.
“Thank you,” Nola whispered, and gave Alice a gentle nudge.
“We’re glad to be here,” she said. What was she supposed to say after that? Something. It was playing hide-and-seek at the
back of her brain. Her mother gave her shin a little nudge under the table. “To set the record straight,” Alice added.
That was what she was supposed to say, right? She sneaked a look at her mother, who gave her a smile and a small nod.
“Ah, is that what you’re going to do?” he mocked.
“Well, yes,” said Alice. “I’m afraid romance novels don’t get the credit they deserve.”
“Oh, I’ve been giving them a lot of credit,” he said with a smirk. Even a smirk looked good on this man. He had such a beautiful
outside. It was a shame his heart matched his name.
Nola gave Alice another gentle prod with her foot.
Alice cleared her throat.
“Nothing to say, Nola?” he taunted.
“I’m afraid Nola has come down with laryngitis,” Alice said. As if he didn’t already know. His producer would have told him.
“Ah, so you’re her mouthpiece,” he said, making Nola frown.
“I’m the other owner of HEA Books, and I have a degree in literature,” Alice said, determined to show her creds.
Parker wasn’t impressed. “I’m sure you’re already aware of what I think of those books you sell in your store. But hey, give
me one good reason why I should change my mind,” he challenged.
Someone needed to wipe that smirk off Parker Black’s face. With a nice big piece of sandpaper.
Nola was writing furiously on her legal pad. She held it so Alice could see. Talking Points.
Oh, yes. Those. Come on brain, work! “For starters, romance novels are the highest earning genre of fiction,” Alice said.
“Written by women for women,” he said, unimpressed.
“And more women read than men. It doesn’t say much for men, does it?” Alice shot back. That hadn’t even been a talking point,
but it had been sharp. Surprisingly, delightfully sharp. Yay her. She could be bold. She shared a little smirk of her own.
“Maybe men don’t have as much time on their hands.”
“Yes, playing video games can be very time-consuming,” said Alice, and his eyes narrowed.
Had that just come out of her mouth? It was something Scarlet might have said. Or a character in a book. Maybe a character
in a book had said it? Well, now Alice had said it.
She could see her mother’s proud smile out of the corner of her eye and something inside Alice swelled. Confidence. It was
as if a kick-ass heroine had stepped out of the pages of a book and entered her brain. You’ve got this, Alice!
“Cute,” he said with a frown. “And a typical woman put-down,” he added.
Put-downs probably weren’t allowed in debates. And it hadn’t been very nice. Alice lost her smirk.
“Half the women who write this stuff don’t even do their research, especially when they’re writing about sports,” he continued.
“Someone gave me a book where the hero was a hockey player. The author obviously wasn’t and didn’t know anyone who was. Or
else she had no idea how to do research. She got a ton of stuff wrong. But then, it’s not about being accurate, is it? Your
readers don’t care. It’s just about getting that rush when the couple gets it on.”
Eek! What to say to that?
Nola had started a fresh page and was scribbling frantically, and Alice was scrabbling around in her brain, trying to find the proper response while her confidence tried to slip away.
She read her mother’s words. “Most authors we know research meticulously. And at least we write our own novels, which is more
than some big-name male authors do.”
“You write fantasy. No man can live up to the heroes you women make up.”
“They can try,” Alice argued. “If they did, we’d all be better for it,” she added. “And really, take a look at some of the
popular men’s adventure novels,” she continued. “The hero is an ex-marine or navy SEAL and never has an ounce of fat on him.”
“Like in your books,” Parker interrupted.
She forced herself to continue. “He knows every fighting move possible, and there’s no gun he can’t fire. No matter how sweaty
he is or how long he’s been wearing the same clothes every woman he meets falls in love with him the minute she meets him.
That sounds like fantasy to me.”
“Hey, we know that’s fantasy.”
“It’s fun fantasy, and you enjoy it. We know fiction when we see it, too,” said Alice. “But romance novels give us hope. They
set the standard and remind us not to settle for less.”
“Compared to the men in those books every man is less,” Parker snapped. “Looks like we’ve got some calls coming in. Jeff from
Little Rock. How are you, man?”
“Frustrated,” said Jeff from Little Rock. “My woman expects me to know every move in the bedroom that her book boyfriends
do—everything she wants, everything she likes, everything she thinks she might like. I never get it right.”
RELATIONSHIPS, Nola wrote in large letters.
Relationships, relationships. “Relationships are important,” Alice said, and then stalled out.
“Yeah? So how do those books you sell in your store do anything to help relationships?” Parker argued. “You heard Jeff just now.”
Nola was searching through her papers.
“Umm,” said Alice.
Nola found the one she was looking for and jiggled it.
It was what Alice had found when she was looking for facts to share. Why hadn’t she been able to bring that to the front of
her brain?
“There’s evidence suggesting that romance novels can positively influence intimacy and satisfaction in relationships,” she