Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
A bet was made.
I would pen a story, and she would tell me if it was better or worse than the ones I made up on the fly. She pledged her brutal honesty as long as I promised to submit it to an agency if it ended up being halfway decent.
In the end, a middle-grade fantasy tome called The Wicked Ones was born, and a year later, it was sold at auction for a generous seven-figure deal.
“I’m kind of liking The Crooked Key,” Anneliese muses. “I think it fits your brand better.”
“I think you’re right.”
She claps her hands. “Then it’s settled. You have your title. Now you can finish your damn book and get back to work on refinishing those Saltillo tiles in the kitchen . . .”
“You just want to see me with my shirt off.” I wink. “Covered in sweat and dust.”
“Busted.” She chuckles. “Anyway, the reason I came out here”—she flips open her notebook and clicks her pen—“is because I’m working on a name list for these new clients, I’m feeling kind of stuck, and I wanted to get your input.”
I lift a brow. “All right. What are they like?”
“So they’re American,” she says. “But they’re living here in the village.”
“Okay.” I scratch the side of my temple. “And we haven’t met them yet?”
“You’d probably recognize them if you saw a picture,” she adds. “But anyway, they’re super down-to-earth people. Very lovely couple. The woman’s a little more outgoing than the guy. He’s very quiet until you get to know him. Maybe a little intimidating to some?”
“What’s their naming style?” In the past, she’s always labeled them in colorful terms like New England chic, East Coast prep academy, California surfer baby, southern debutante, and millennial influencer.
“I don’t know that they have a style,” she says. “That’s the thing. They weren’t planning on having a baby. At least not yet. So the pregnancy was kind of a surprise to them both. They haven’t chatted about styles yet. That’s why they need help.”
“What do they look like?” I ask, if only because you can tell a lot about a person by the way they do their hair or the clothes they choose to wear.
“They’re pretty laid back,” she says. “Not formal or stuffy. I’d describe him as more of a hip professor type with tattoos. Very resourceful. Good with his hands. Adventurous.”
I sniff. “Okay . . .”
“And she’s more of a . . . hummingbird.”
“Hummingbird?”
Anneliese nods. “She’s very busy. Flits around a bit. Always talking, always bouncing from one task to another.”
“Reminds me of someone I know . . .” I give her a nudge.
“Yeah, I see a lot of myself in her.” Anneliese gives me a side glance, peering up through her dark lashes. “You could even say . . . it’s like looking in a mirror.”
I frown, but not because I’m upset. I’m just unfamiliar with this cryptic side of her.
“So the guy,” I say. “The one with the tattoos . . . does he happen to write books?”
“Yes, actually. He’s a published author,” she says, eyes glinting as her lips fight a grin.
My mouth runs dry and my heart hammers in my chest as I figure out where she’s going with this.
“What about his looks,” I say. “Is he dashing or . . .?”
“I don’t know what his looks have to do with anything, but he’s quite handsome.”
“About six foot two?”
She nods. “On the nose.”
“Auburn hair?”
“Yes,” she says. “With eyes like whiskey and a jaw that could cut steel.”
“He sounds awful,” I tease.
“Well, he’s kind of the greatest thing that ever happened to me.” Her words are pillow soft and music to my ears. Anneliese runs her hand over mine before steering it to her lower stomach. “And in seven more months, I’ll be having his baby.”
I pull her into my lap and tip her chin lower, until her mouth aligns with mine and our gazes are locked.
“We’re having a baby?” I ask.
Her eyes water, and her lips press together for an endless moment.
“We’re having a baby,” she confirms. “I know we didn’t plan this . . . I hope you’re not . . .”
I claim her soft lips before she can utter another word. Cupping her face, I taste her tongue and pull her close against me.
My wife.
My unborn child.
My whole damn world.
Everything I want, everything I need, everything I have, is right here in my arms.
And I’m never letting go.