Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“Yup. Amy said she’d be here at twelve,” he says, then nods toward the revolving door of the hotel. “I’m going to kick around the Eternal City. Maybe do some book research for a little bit. Catch you in an hour.”
With a casual chin nod, he’s off. A little swagger in his step. A coolness in his stride. As I watch him go, I study him intensely, the shape of him, the swoop of his hair, the set of his shoulders.
Yes, I know what this shivery feeling in my body is. It has to be the jet lag burning off.
It just has to be.
A twenty-something brunette with an eager smile hands me a paperback of The I Do Redo.
“Who should I sign this to?” I ask in my best attempt at Italian.
“Very good,” she says in that language, then she shifts to English. “To Andrea, please. I just love Brayden and Kelsey so much,” she says as I flip open the copy. I’m at a table in the back of the bookstore, next to Axel, who’s chatting with another reader.
“Aww, thank you. I’m so happy to hear that,” I say to Andrea, then I grab my purple Sharpie and sign the book.
As I hand it to her, Axel reaches for a pen, brushing my wrist as he stretches his arm to grab it.
A tingle sweeps down my chest.
What the hell?
I jerk my gaze to him, like I can find the answer in Axel. In his playful eyes.
But the only answer he gives is a wink. “Pen ran dry.”
My mouth has run dry.
My breath catches as I look at him again, but I try to shake off these sensations. It’s hard, though. With him only a foot away, my nostrils get in on the action, sniffing Axel like he’s a fine wine. Wine with top notes of sage fading into the afternoon and something deeper, woodsy and dark like a forest at night.
Oh, god. No. This can’t be happening.
I’ll just ignore this blooming feeling.
Surely I can do that.
Right? Of course I can. I’m an expert at avoidance. That’s what writing is, after all. Avoiding reality.
Tra la la la. I’ll spend some time in my imagination.
Except…what did the blonde now standing in front of me just say?
When did she show up in line? Her friendly eyes crinkle at the corners, her hair is looped into a swingy ponytail, and she’s wearing a Book Besties shirt, dark blue against her pale skin. She’s standing next to a woman with glasses, who’s sporting a matching Book Besties shirt.
“I’m Jackie. I make dog bandanas and I love romance novels more than I love potato chips,” the blonde says, sounding like she’s straight out of Jersey.
“And Jackie—we call her Jersey Jackie—loves her chips,” the woman in glasses adds. She taps her heart. “I’m Alecia. I don’t do anything nearly as interesting as making dog clothes. I’m in data analysis.” She shudders. “But who cares about that? We’re here for the swoony men, the fabulous women, and the escape. Your books are pure five Calgon Take Me Aways.”
I beam. “That’s all I can ask for.”
“That’s our book rating system. Five Calgon Take Me Aways is the highest for our reviews. We’re the Book Besties! And we won the trip with you and Axel,” Jackie says.
“But no Kennedy,” Alecia says with a frown. She sounds like she’s from Minnesota perhaps.
“But we’ll have the best time anyway. We won the trip in a publisher giveaway. We entered a gazillion times. We loved Ten Park Avenue,” Alecia says.
Uh-oh. They’re going to pepper us with questions about Lacey’s story the whole time.
But I can handle that. I’ve been answering and evading Ten Park Avenue questions for more than a year. “I’m so glad you won the trip,” I say honestly. They seem enthusiastic, and enthusiasm is the best reward from readers.
Plus, I want to hug them in gratitude for saving me from the spate of zingy feelings taking over my bloodstream.
Maybe those feelings won’t dare to reappear.
Maybe I’ll just immerse myself in readers, and travel, and imagination, and I’ll somehow survive this trip like that.
Sounds doable.
“And,” I add, “I want to hear all about the dog bandanas, and the data.”
We chat for a few minutes about how their friend Maria is going to join them on the train ride tonight, how the three of them run a blog, a social media feed, and a TikTok channel, and how they love all our books.
But especially Ten Park Avenue.
I hate disappointing them. I wish I could give them more of what they want.
“Can we take a picture of the two of you?” Alecia asks, her voice pitching up. “You and Axel. I want to use it for a cookie design. I’m learning how to make cookies.”
I frown in confusion. “You want a picture of Axel and me for a cookie?”