Page 65 of Novel Problems

As we walked out of the lobby and around the corner to a light and airy coffee shop full of Scandinavian furniture, we made stilted small talk about the weather. Settling ourselves at a small table near the window, I was relieved the café was quiet—less people to witness my humiliation.

I ordered a decaf, conscious from past experience that too much coffee could increase my anxiety. Given where my anxiety was currently at, I didn’t want to risk it.

“Thanks for coming to meet me in person, especially after what’s happened in the past twenty-four hours. I’m sorry you’ve had to go through it.” Michael’s neutral delivery didn’t match his apologetic words. “I won’t be at your meeting tomorrow with the publicity team and Emma, but I’ve asked them to give me an update afterward. I wanted to also let you know that we’re launching an internal investigation to ensure the leak didn’t come from us, as we take the confidentiality of our authors very seriously.”

“Oh. Uh, thank you,” I said, surprised. It hadn’t crossed my mind that they’d do something like that. Did they have a reason to think the leak had been an inside job? Now that I was with Michael again, I couldn’t imagine it had come from him. He was so serious and reserved, and what would he have had to gain from making my identity public?

Continuing in the same tone, it took me a few seconds to work out that he’d changed subjects. “I also wanted to let you know that we’re really happy with howThe Realm of Furieslaunch is going so far. It’s had some excellent earlyreviews, strong pre-orders, and a good amount of interest from bookstores.”

“Oh, that’s great to hear, thanks,” I said, relief washing over me. Hopefully if sales continued, I’d earn out the advance quickly and start receiving royalties.

“Thanks for sending me your partial manuscript.” He pulled out a notebook and a stack of paper, which I immediately recognized as the first part of my manuscript, and my stomach turned.Here goes. I braced myself.

Michael looked down at his notes and then stared intently at me, a solemn expression on his face.

“I obviously haven’t read the entire novel”—Okay, good, at least he is acknowledging this up front—“but based on what I have read”—I took a deep, fortifying breath—“I think this is, by far, your best work yet. You’ve always been a talented writer, Hannah, but you’ve really taken this to the next level.”

I stared at him, struggling to process his words. He looked like he’d just told me my cat had died and his tone was as flat as a pancake, but his words…his words were something else. A wave of relief, verging on elation, flooded over me.

“Oh, wow! I thought, based on your email, that you hated it.”

Michael frowned. “No.” He shook his head. “I’m really excited to read the rest of it.” And while I’d never seen anyone “really excited” while remaining as outwardly composed as Michael, I believed him.

Forty-five minutes later, after he’d finished earnestly going through all the things he loved about the manuscript and giving me a few thoughtful suggestions for improvement, my view of my new editor had been completely overturned. Hegotthe book. And most of his suggestions wouldmake it even better. Not only that, but his approach seemed collaborative. Tania had oftentoldme how to fix my books, whereas Michael made it clear that everything he said was just ideas that I could take or leave. I could get used to his deadpan delivery if this was the payoff. A faint buzz of excitement vibrated through me. Perhaps changing editors hadn’t been such a bad thing after all. Getting a fresh perspective might improve my books and my writing. I was already looking forward to weaving in some of Michael’s ideas.

Walking back to the hotel to check in, I reread the email Michael sent me last night. How had I gotten it all so wrong? Looking at it again, without being in full-blown panic mode, the email was neutral. I’d clearly read way too much into his staid writing style. I also hadn’t been very accepting or understanding that Michael might just have a communication style that was different than what I was used to. Perhaps he was socially anxious like me, neurodiverse, or just a serious guy. I sighed. I hated when my anxiety got to this level, making me assume the worst and dominating my mind with negative thoughts. I kept telling myself that it would pass, like it had before, but when my anxiety was high, it was hard to believe it. And unfortunately the initial trigger for my anxiety, the revelation of my author identity, was still a very real problem I had to deal with.

I changed direction, heading up Sixth Avenue toward Central Park to extend my walk. Exercise usually helped when my anxiety got to be too much, as did sleep and eating well. Constantly checking my phone didnothelp, but I’d noticed I had two new messages when I was checking my email, and curiosity got the better of me.

Hi, Hannah. George told us about the article. I’m so sorry. If there is anything I can do, please let me know xxx Olivia

We’re thinking of you. If you need a girls’ night out at Frankie’s to burn off some steam, just LMK xo Jenny

I smiled. Olivia and Jenny reaching out independently to check in on me was unexpected but welcome. Unlike the messages I’d received from some of my New York friends and acquaintances, it didn’t feel like there was any hidden agenda or a sudden new interest in me because they’d discovered I was H. M. Stuart. They seemed to actually care. A pang of longing for Sapphire Springs, for my friends, for George, hit me again. I just needed to get through tomorrow’s meetings, and if everything went to plan, I’d be back there the following day. And by the time I returned, hopefully I would have contained the unwanted publicity situation as best I could and gotten my anxiety under control.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

GEORGE

Mom and I sat at my small dining table while we ate dinner, and Mom filled me in on the latest Dunedin gossip, her familiar gray bob bouncing up and down as she spoke. Mom always looked put together, and even after spending the day travelling, today was no exception. She was wearing ironed navy slacks and a floral blouse and her face was covered in carefully applied make-up.

I pushed the salmon I’d cooked around on the plate. I was not in the mood to eat. I hadn’t been able to shake the sense of unease that had settled in my stomach as I saw Hannah off this morning. I’d never seen Hannah so distraught, and it killed me that I couldn’t do anything to help, especially now she was fifty miles away. If she was here, at least I could have made sure she was eating, offered physical comfort, and otherwise supported her in whatever way I could.

Instead of finishing work early to have a celebratory glass of champagne to celebrate Hannah’s release day as planned, I’d finished work as usual and thenheaded down to the station to pick up Mom. Before Hannah had left this morning, I’d made her pancakes to celebrate, but Hannah was, understandably, so preoccupied with the events of the last twenty-four hours that the festivities fell flat. I’d driven her to the station and sent her off with the warmest, most comforting hug I could muster. I was already, pathetically, missing her. At least, according to the text Hannah had sent me, it sounded like the meeting with her editor had gone much better than expected.

Work had been so busy I hadn’t had much time to dwell on it until now. Ben had left on a four-day trip to Fire Island this morning, so it’d just been me and Josie working front of house, and we’d been flat-out busy for the entire shift. When Hannah had asked if she could go last night, I’d told her that me, Ben, and Josie would be fine, but Ben’s vacation had slipped my mind. I would have told Hannah to go anyway, so perhaps it was for the best that I hadn’t remembered so I could respond to Hannah truthfully and without adding to her stress, but it was terrible timing. With summer break just starting, the café was busier than ever, and there were more customers than two of us could handle. And tomorrow Josie was going to be away as well—she had a specialist appointment in the city, which would take up most of the day. I wasn’t sure how I was going to cope by myself. A pang of guilt that I wouldn’t be able to spend as much time with Mom as I’d planned shot through me.

“You’re not hungry?” Mom asked, staring at my half-eaten plate of food.

My guilt increased as I realized I’d been worrying about Hannah, work, and not being able to give Mom enough attention, so much so that I’d zoned out on Mom.

“No. I ate a big lunch. If you aren’t feeling too tiredfrom all the travel, how do you feel about giving me a hand with an apple-cinnamon tea cake?”

“Of course,” Mom said, smiling as she stood and rolled up the sleeves of her blouse. “I thought you’d never ask.”

We cleaned up after dinner and then set to work on baking.

Mom paused peeling the apples and glanced up at me. “So, when am I going to meet Hannah? I’d been hoping she’d join us for dinner tonight. You’ve sounded so happy since the two of you got together. I’m really looking forward to meeting her.”

---