Page 36 of Fake Dating the Silver Fox

I’ve never felt so lonely and full of despair in my miserable life. I miss Mara, but I can’t live without Cupid. He’s my soul dog.

I want thembothback.

I’m so desperate, I’ve taken it to the public.

It’s a big night at the local bookstore. I’ve been invited to share a snippet from my new novel. My words will be shared via livestream to all the internet, and I can only hope the person who matters most is watching.

Please, let Mara be watching.

For weeks, I’ve been trying to reach her. Calls left unanswered. Messages left unread. Mara disappeared from my life as swiftly as she entered it, leaving me with a whiplash that won’t heal.

I’m about to lay myself bare, read words like I’ve never written, all dedicated to her. The audience of fans, peers, and critics don’t matter.

Only one person does.

Here I stand, at the podium, under bright lights that make me squint. A dull weight presses down on my chest. It’s my last chance to make things right, even though I’m not sure how they went wrong.

Murmurs from the audience fade into a hush as I clear my throat and begin to speak. I clutch the podium as if it’s the only thing keeping me upright and share a few short paragraphs of my work in progress.

It’s like nothing I’ve ever written before. It’s real and raw. It’s romance and passion.

My books usually have plenty of suspense, thrill, and intrigue, but this one is different. This one is a love story.

Our love story.

I glance down at the pages in front of me, agonizing over every word. Sleeplessness has led me to burn the nights away at my laptop. Writing has always been my therapy, but this is different.

This is life or death.

The audience is silent as my last words ring out across the room. A few reach for tissues to dab their eyes, and others sniffle quietly. I’ve touched them with this story inspired by myGuiding Light.

I can only hope Mara’s watching and that she’s touched too.

I swallow hard, then finish with my dedication. My voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it. I’m raw and aching, and that’s clear with every word.

“This is for the special woman and dog in my life. I always believed love wasn’t meant for me. It had passed me by. I’ve written dozens of thrillers, but I’ve never written about love.”

A ripple of whispers moves through the crowd. They are all trying to guess who this woman is. They probably know the dog is Cupid. He has half a million followers on social media.

I don’t have to name Mara.Sheknows who she is.

“She taught me that love isn’t something hiding in the pages of a book. It’s messy. It’s vulnerable. It’s terrifying.” I pause to clear my throat, thick with emotion. “But it’s also worth fighting for.”

The silence stretches, and then someone claps. Before long the entire room erupts in applause. I’ve gotten to them.

But have I gotten to the one who really matters? Was Mara watching?

I can’t take time to ponder before I’m bombarded by the audience. Fans have brought books to sign, the owner of the store wants to discuss another signing, and Vanessa is pushing for me to wrap things up.

She’s involved herself more in my life than ever. She monitors my daily word count, encouraging me to burn the candle at both ends and churn out another best seller.

“Time is money,” she says on repeat.

Her urgings are quite unnecessary. I’ve never written this fast in my life. Usually, I write one or two books in a year, but this one will be finished in a month.

I don’t sleep. I don’t eat. I barely take a shower, and shaving hasn’t happened in too many days to count.

My hair is a mess, my house is a disaster, and my brain is fried.

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