Page 28 of Trip Me Up

I put on my publicity smile, the same one I’d used in my author close-up downstairs. I held out my hand, and Samantha’s small, soft palm settled into it. I pumped it once and released it. “Nice to see you again. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting—You didn’t say you’d—You caught me a little off-guard.”

“Wait, you guys know each other?” Qiana’s sharp gaze didn’t miss a thing. Not the drop of sweat that trickled down my hairline. Not my right hand I’d fisted because it still pulsed like I’d touched a hot wire in the tractor’s engine. Not my breath that rasped in my throat. Not Samantha’s wild eyes, staring at me like I was a copperhead, coiled and ready to strike.

“We met in San Francisco. At a fundraiser,” Samantha said.

“And again at Samantha’s university. She didn’t mention she’d written a book. Isn’t that something you’d think you’d mention when you’re speaking to someone you know is a writer?”

“Niall.” Mom pinched me under my jacket like she could snap me out of my boorish behavior.

“I’m just trying to understand.” Samantha had seemed open, honest. And I’d written Lobelia that way, too. Was that my problem? I’d pictured her one way, and when she acted another, I got angry? I’d been looking forward to seeing her in San Francisco and—wait. She’d said she was trying to get out of an obligation. Did she mean this tour?

I’d ask her about it later. When she wasn’t giving me the same expression she’d shown when all those photographers came up to us at the fundraiser last year. I had a fence to mend.

“Sorry.” I grimaced and pointed at myself. “Pre-launch nerves. Let me try this again. Hello, Samantha. I’m delighted to see you again.”

Warily, she scanned my face. Then she opened her bag, and a fluffy, black head poked out. “When I’m nervous, Bilbo Baggins helps.” She scooped him out and passed him to me.

I cuddled him against my chest while my mother stroked his oversized ear. My heart rate slowed. This,thiswas my Lobelia. Or Samantha. Offering help when it was needed. I smiled. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“Niall, it’s go time.” Qiana held out her hands for the dog and passed him back to Samantha. “Why don’t you all grab your seats—they’re the ones up front with aReservedcard on them—while I get Niall mic’d up?” Qiana clutched my wrist. Her long nails matched my book cover, too.

“Come on, Sam. Or is it Samantha?” Mom asked.

“Sam. Please.”

“We had a rooster once, name of Sam…” Grandpa’s voice faded away as they made their way through the crowd to the front of the room.

Qiana tugged me down by my wrist until my ear was next to her red lips. “What the hell’s going on? I’ve never seen you act like that with anyone, certainly not a fellow author. Anewbieauthor on her first tour.”

She glared at me for a second, waiting.

“I guess I was just surprised. That I knew her. That she—”

“Have you considered, Niall, that she might’ve been a little intimidated by a bestselling author with a TV deal? Especially by one with as much”—she paused to look me up and down—“presence as you have?”

Cold washed through me like the brook in January. I felt about a foot tall. Qiana could’ve stomped me with her shiny black stilettos.

“I’m sor—”

“Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to Sam. Later. Now you have to pull yourself together.”

For the first time, I glanced around me as she pulled me toward the podium. A sea of chairs lined up facing one wall of the upper floor. There had to be two hundred of them. And they were almost all occupied. Where had all these people come from?

Qiana released me when we reached the podium. She handed me the battery pack, which I clipped onto my belt. She fisted the mic. “You sure you don’t need something to help you chill out?”

I shook my head. Samantha’s dog—and her willingness to share him with me—had settled me.

Pursing her lips again, she tapped the mic to check that it was off before she clipped it to my collar. “You know what you’re reading, right?”

I pulled my author’s copy from my satchel. A red tape flag poked out of it.

Her expression relaxed the tiniest bit. “You’re a pro, Niall. Now act like it.” She kept her face frozen in a smile and gritted out the next few sentences between her teeth. “There are, like, ten book bloggers in the audience. And two local TV crews. Don’t turn around. Their coverage could be picked up by the national book blogs and lifestyle websites. Don’t let whatever’s going on between you and Sam screw this up. You feel me? This is a big night for you.”

I nodded, glad my back was to the audience and the TV cameras. She was right: it was a big night for me. Not only was I launching my book, but I was back in the presence of the woman who’d inspired Lobelia, who’d inspired me to finish the book.

I stared down at the red-toned painting on the cover. In the corner, flitting up by Nieven’s ear, was the diminutive form of a wood sprite. The firm set of her tiny mouth reassured me.Courage, Niall.

I could do this. And now, with the source of my inspiration traveling with me for the next three weeks, I could do even more. As I stroked Lobelia’s tiny wingtips, my fingers tingled.

I could write.

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