Chapter 52
GRACE
The Sweet Bean smells like home in a way few places do.
Roasted coffee beans, a hint of cinnamon from the pastries behind the counter, and the faint must of old books lining the community shelf in the corner.
It’s a tiny hole-in-the-wall a few blocks from my family’s farm and has been my favorite coffee shop since I was a teenager.
I’m settled into my favorite booth, a caramel latte in front of me, staring at the laptop screen, my fingers hovering over the keyboard, but the ending eludes me.
I need a grand gesture, something to redeem the hero now that both characters have processed their feelings and realized they love each other. But nothing comes to me.
My heroine is better off on her own, honestly. Since they’ve broken up, she’s had to face her fear of failure, and once she finished her binging ice cream and crying phase, she realized that she didn’t need him or his money to make her dreams come true.
She had everything she needed within herself.
But it’s not a romance if they don’t end up together, even if I have no desire to write him begging for her to come back. I save the document and attach it to an email for Kacey, hoping she’ll have an opinion for me.
Grace
Just sent you the updated draft. Be honest when you read it.
Her response comes immediately.
Kacey
Always. Also, how much smut are we talking?
I snort.
Grace
Be prepared. It's a lot.
Kacey
By your standards or mine?
Grace
By the average person’s? Your threshold for a lot is probably astronomically high.
Kacey
It's hot when you use big words.
I laugh again and close out of my text messages, choosing not to respond to her last one. Moving my hand on my computer mouse, I go to shut down, but an unread email stops me.
The subject line reads Checking In and the sender is James Rock. It takes a brief moment for me to place the name as the publisher I met at Gabe's charity gala. My heart thrums with the reminder of Asher as I open the email.
Hi Grace,
I know it's been a minute, but I hope you remember speaking with me at the Sanctum Cares Gala a few months back.
I quite enjoyed our conversation. I was surprised when I learned of your accident, and I didn't want to burden you with emails asking how you were doing when I'm sure you were recovering.
I hope it's been enough time and that my email finds you well.
I'm curious to know if you've written any more of the book we've discussed? My publishing house has a romance imprint, and I'd love to pass your information along to one of my editors.
Looking forward to hearing from you.
James Rock
Rock Publishing Group
My heart hammers in my ears.
Is this for real?
A real fucking opportunity to publish my book? Maybe Kacey was onto something with all her talk about the universe always providing. I let out a giddy squeal and spin around in my chair.
And then, once I've calmed myself down, I respond to the email, letting James know I would love to chat with one of his editors.
I’m buzzing with excitement when I stand up, my empty mug dangling from my fingers. My shoulder bumps into something solid as I round the counter, and hot liquid splashes against my wrist. I gasp, jerking back, my mug clattering to the floor with a dull thunk.
Brown streaks of coffee stain a crisp white shirt in front of me, the fabric hugging a familiar broad chest. My eyes snap up, and there he is.
Asher Caine.
I blink my eyes, certain that I’m seeing things, placing his face on someone else.
But no, it’s really him, covered in coffee and standing in my favorite coffee shop in Cedar Falls, Michigan.