Page 65 of Confessions of a Smutty Romance Author

Mara, I thought about bringing you to bed, but you looked so peaceful. I hope breakfast makes up for the couch. Jonas

I did something I’d never done—I held his note to my chest and smiled like a dopey teenager. I hadn’t even been a dopey teenager when I was in my teens. But this guy...

Maybe it was all his talk about happily ever after that was brainwashing me. Or maybe it was just my love of breakfast food. Either way, I needed to figure out something, and fast, or I’d be heading for heartbreak.

I ran and grabbed my phone from my room and texted Birdie and Hen.

Mara: PLEASE TELL ME YOU CAN EAT LUNCH WITH ME TODAY. I’M FREAKING OUT.

Hen: You know I’m there. Where should we go?

Birdie: I can’t leave my office today... but you can come to me? I have a free slot at 1.

Mara: Only if you let me raid the condom jar. ;)

Birdie: You’re the worst.

Hen: Want me to grab something on my way? I can pick up something from Seaton Bakery or Waldo’s? What are we feeling today?

Mara: This requires sugar and plenty of it.

Hen: Cupcakes it is. <3

Birdie: See you at one.

I sat down at the coffee table and opened the meal. It was full of the things he had made me that first night that I stayed over at his house. There were pancakes and syrup and fresh scrambled eggs and bacon. But the best thing of all was that he had sent it right to me, thought of me, for even a little while.

I picked up my phone again and called his number. He answered within a few rings and said, “Good morning, beautiful.”

It brought a smile to my lips. Most guys didn't say “good morning, beautiful.” They said, “Want to go again?”

“Good morning,” I replied, trying to catch my bearings. “And thank you for the breakfast. That was very sweet of you.”

“Of course,” he said like there was no other way. “I didn't want to wake you up by banging pans around, so I figured this would be better. Did the doorbell wake you?”

“No, I was already awake when it rang.”

“Perfect. So hey, don't make any plans for after work tonight.”

“Why is that?” I asked.

“You'll see,” he replied. “I'll talk to you later.”

I shook my head, smiling to myself. “I'll talk to you later.”

Between waking up for breakfast and going to lunch with my friends, I tried to get in as much writing as possible. If I focused for half an hour at a time and pushed myself, I could get some words in and make good progress. I also checked social media, and it seemed like almost every comment about me or my beliefs (or lack thereof) about marriage were gone. I was old news, just the way I liked it.

Around half past noon, I got in my car, Trouble, and drove to the fancy-pants school where Birdie worked. I felt so out of place when I stepped onto the campus full of the children of rich people who thought to get anywhere in life you needed to have an amazing education and an even better wardrobe.

When I was growing up, I went to a really crappy public school with more students than lockers. And I hadn’t even lasted there. But that probably had more to do with my family than the school.

I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I’ve come a long way, not envying these people for all that they had and focusing more on working for what I wanted in life. Then I continued walking toward the big brick building, looking around for Henrietta's car, but I didn't see it.

So instead, I walked up the stairs and through the entry withAd Melioraengraved in the stone archway. I pushed through the heavy double doors and turned right at the principal's office. A woman up front named Marjorie gave me a skeptical look. She probably didn't like the fact that I was wearing leggings at all, much less in this building.

“May I help you?” she said.

“Yes, I have a meeting with Birdie Bardot.”

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