Page 85 of Kill Your Darlings

“Hm.”I turned my head to stare out my side of the car.After a moment, I realized I was smiling.

Chapter Twenty

“I brought you a gift.”Adrien English slid a plastic-wrapped square across the table to me.“Don’t feel like you have to wear it.”

By seven on a Friday night, El Cantaro glowed like a lantern in the dusk.Its windows were fogged slightly from the warmth inside, and the scent of cumin, roasted garlic, and lime hit as soon as the door swung open—earthy, sharp, and mouthwatering.

I chuckled, tore open the plastic and shook out the folds of a black Cloak and Dagger Bookstore tee.“Heck yeah, I will.It’s what all the cool kids are wearing.Thank you.This is really kind.”

Adrien snorted.

We’d found the restaurant by chance, a cute little place on Foam Street.

Inside, the walls were painted the color of ripe mangoes and chilies, hung with folk art, and framed papel picado cutouts that fluttered faintly in the breeze from the open back window.A handwritten specials board leaned near the counter, chalk smudged from many fingers and revisions.

The funny part was El Cantaro was vegan—unlike Adrien and me—but it smelled so incredible when we walked in, we’d decided to stay.

The air was thick with the low clatter of dishes, the sizzle of something being seared in the back, and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine.Conversations overlapped in English and Spanish— not loud, layered—the warm hum of people lingering over mezcal cocktails and mole enchiladas.

The light cast from mismatched pendant lights and flickering votive candles in recycled glass holders was soft, golden, and slightly uneven.Tables were close, but not uncomfortably so, and the floor staff moved with practiced rhythm, slipping in and out of the kitchen with steaming plates and quiet apologies.

“So, are you really going to do a What Not to Write book?”Adrien dipped a tortilla chip in salsa and bit into it with a satisfying crunch.

“Me?”I gazed at him in astonishment.

Adrien arched an elegant brow.“That’s what you said during the Backstory Q&A.”

“Isaid I was planning to write a book?”

He looked amused and curious.“It was the second question.The lady from Milwaukee said she’d been to one of your writing workshops once upon a time, and she wondered if you’d thought of doing a book on writing.You said it was something you’d thought about occasionally, Rudolph Dunst said that was a terrific idea, and you said,well, that settles it.”

“I must have been drunk.”

He laughed.“I suspect you were joking.”

I had zero recollection of that conversation, having short-circuited after realizing Troy Colby was sitting in the audience.

“I think I’ll leave the writing to the professionals.”

“Too bad.Dunst and the lady from Milwaukee were very enthusiastic at the idea.As am I.You’ve given a lot of excellent advice over the years.”He quoted in a professorial tone, “Assuming Emotional Impact Without Doing the Work.Emotion comes from context, character investment, and pacing—not just content.”

I murmured, “Feeling isn’t earned by naming the feeling.”

“Exactly.Useful stuff.”

Our waiter arrived to take our orders.

“Are these real fish tacos or Monterey-imposter fish tacos?”Adrien inquired.

The waiter deadpanned, “No fish were harmed in the making of this dish, sir.”

Adrien gave me a quizzical look, but ordered tacos made of seasoned seitan, bright cabbage slaw, and creamy chipotle cashew sauce.I went for mushroom enchiladas with mole sauce and ordered another round of margaritas.

“Speaking of writing, what’s the final decision on signing the contract?”I asked after the busboy topped up our water glasses.

Adrien flicked me a look under his lashes.“I want to continue working with you, Keiran.You’re a great editor.I really mean that.I think, however, it might be wise to wait to see where the chips fall.”

That wasn’t the news I’d hoped for.“I’m not sure what that means.”

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