Page 27 of Love Under Review

Their conversation the other day at the bookstore still made her laugh and almost cry at the same time. It was so sad that his parents had both died, even though from different causes, and she couldn’t imagine what that would be like. She was grateful to still have her mother around. It would’ve been hard without her there as a constant in her life, even when Danielle felt like everything she’d worked for was now in a pile of rubble.

If someone had told her the one bright spot of coming back here would be the handsome bookstore owner, she’d have laughed in their face. She tried to fight it, but she found herself looking for him when she went places, and his knowledge of books was astounding and made her painfully curious about him. As much as she’d worked to guard her heart against men in general, many of whom would abandon their women like her father, she found herself feeling more and more interested in Liam.

After pulling up the document for her latest MK Malone book, she stared at the screen for several minutes, trying to work out the plot points in her mind. The hardest part about cozy mysteries was hiding the killer so the reader wouldn’t see it coming. She often worked backward, figuring out who the criminal was and then piling on the layers of doubt and distracting the main character with several red herrings. It was a challenge within itself, and when she got it to all line up perfectly, a rush of adrenaline would pour through her.

All she needed for this story were a few more elements and another twenty thousand words, and the story would be ready for her editor. She’d never met Tina in person, but the woman understood where Danielle was going with the story for the most part and would polish some of her rushed ideas, helping her connect the dots on plot points Danielle had forgotten to finish out.

The great thing about publishing was that everything could be done through online communication. Editor, proofer, cover. Her amazing cover designer took her ideas and created a cover that made Danielle smile and got people interested in the book, which was half the battle.

For a girl who’d loved the spotlight when it came to journalism through the newspaper and the occasional television appearance, she was afraid that if people knew she’d written these books, her world would change forever. That it would be ripped away just as journalism had.

Danielle’s phone buzzed.Just finished my article. Talk about race to the finish.

She smiled as she read Liam’s text, trying to come up with a response.

I took you for someone who finished the assignment the first day you got it. This surprises me, Pearson.

She pressed send, staring at her phone as she waited for a reply. It came a few minutes later, when she’d given up and gone back to staring at her few typed words.

I’m a box of wonders. Just wait.

Chapter 19

Danielle spent a few hours Tuesday morning typing and deleting the words on her laptop, not happy with how the story was turning out. She hadn’t made much progress, even throughout the weekend, and realized she needed air and a change of scenery. She wished her mother wasn’t at the store and could go with her and help her think of scenarios. Hypothetical ones, she’d tell her.

With Becca and Colton still on their honeymoon, she thought of Liam and wondered if he’d be up for a brainstorming session. Pulling out her phone, she saw it was still early, meaning he’d be at the bookstore. Her feet walked as her mind lagged behind, trying to come up with something that would wow her readers once the book was finished.

“Danielle!” a voice called as she made it to Main Street. “Danielle! Over here!”

Turning her head several times, Danielle finally spotted Mrs. Watkins sitting on a bench across the street. Next to her was Sharon Crestview, and Danielle wished she hadn’t decided to leave her house. Sharon would be the death of her if she didn’t keep focused.

Trudging over to the women, it wasn’t until she was a few feet away that she noticed the Sunday newspaper folded between them. She’d been so focused on writing her book that she hadn’t taken the time to read it yet.

Sharon opened it and folded the front page back, revealing the editorial section. “This is quite an interesting article,” she said, her voice sugary sweet.

“I thought it was refreshing, Sharon. It’s much better than Nolan’s boring tales of the birds and their mating and migration habits.” Mrs. Watkins winked at Danielle. “I especially loved the part where you talk about expectations of us older folks. So many people think once you’re retired, you sit in a chair all day and knit if you’re a woman. Thank you for saying we can still participate in society at my age.”

Danielle wasn’t sure what to say and chuckled. “No problem.” She edged closer, realizing her curiosity over Liam’s part of the article took over. “Do you mind if I take a look at that for a moment? I didn’t get to see the opposing article.”

Sharon handed the paper over, and Danielle took it, sitting where Mrs. Watkins had sat before scooting over for her. She read, the world around her nonexistent.

Expectations. They’re the things we hope for, wait for, dream of. Sometimes they’re the things we’re scared of and wish could just disappear from our lives. As we turn sixteen, we’re expected to want to drive a car, and then everyone fears for their lives as we barrel down the road, trying to learn how to control this new freedom we have. At twenty-five, either we’re supposed to be making millions, or at the beginning of a master’s degree, on our way to greatness and halfway up the ladder we’re expected to climb in our lifetime.

If we haven’t married by the time we’re twenty-eight, with plans for kids two years later, something must be wrong with us. And just like a cough, everyone has a suggestion as to how to get rid of it, usually bringing over the cure they think will help.

At forty, we should be settled into a career that we love, or that we grin and bear through every day because we know it will all be for the best for our growing family. We need money, and it’s too late to branch out and start something new. As a male, we feel the pressure to succeed to such heights, all while keeping in every worry and emotion because those around us won’t understand that venting doesn’t mean the end of the world.

At sixty-five, we are supposed to relax and retire, hoping we’ve made enough to survive until we pass away. We wake up every day, wondering whether it will be us or our spouse who departs this life first and hoping the grandchildren come to visit.

Danielle looked up at the women next to her, their soft chatting sounding a lot like a couple of hens. If Liam had been smart, he would have mentioned that the women should go first so the man could have some peace for a bit before he passed on.

She looked down again, continuing to read the rest.

But all these are just expectations. Assumptions of what another person deems a benchmark of success. The problem, men, is that we need to be working toward what makes us happy. Now, I’m not saying you should skip out on your relationship or decide to take up thievery. Our goal in life should be something that makes us happy.

If we need a bit longer to learn how to drive, there’s nothing wrong with that, although the freedom is amazing, even if it’s your mother sending you to the grocery store five times that day. If you don’t like the job at forty that you chose at twenty-five, find a way to change it. Whether it’s taking a leap and starting the company you’ve always wanted or just walking away from the high-paying job because it only gives you health problems and stress, find a way to make it work.

If you’re not married yet and you’re thirty, forty, fifty, or beyond, it’s not the end of the world. You’ll figure it out, and either someone will come into your life that you need at that precise moment, or you’ll find a way to make yourself happy without depending on the actions of someone else to do so.

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