Page 139 of Smoke and Fire
The buried warning in the words made me want to gulp. I thought of thousands of Lizbeth’s hidden behind a computer screen and felt a new version of screen fright.Rabid fandomwas a new phrase in my world.
A car pulling up to the drive-through gave me a reason to step away and process for a second. While I warmed up a danish and tossed several coffees into a to-go box, my brain continued to spin through what he said. For as grassroots and quiet as all this started, he seemed to have a better grip on it than I thought.
When I returned, he seemed a little more at ease. Somewhere under all that stress, there was probably a fun guy. If a few drinks loosened him up, I had no doubt we’d have a great time. A karaoke master lurked in him, I could sense the vibes. We’d be a killer Sonny and Cher.
“Here’s one email that’s interesting.” He nudged the computer closer. “A reader wrote in about her husband just dying, and how Jess has helped her have something happy. I always respond to those.”
“Do you want me to leave those for you?”
“Yes.”
While I watched, he responded to a few emails in that vein. Other emails popped up about reading order or his writing process. A lot of messages from aspiring authors came in, seeking advice. The brief tour of how he responded and what he said was so easy it felt barren. Most of the rote answers were copyable, and I thought of a few ways to make this faster than having to type it all fresh each time. I’d go over that later.
I pointed to an email near the top.
“There are dozens of interview requests here,” I said. “Do you just ignore these?”
He shifted. “Kind of.”
“Kind of?”
“Well, sometimes I fill them out, but if they want an in-person interview or a podcast or anything like that, I usually just say that I’m only available for written interviews. My readers have gotten used to it.”
“Except . . .”
“Except now they want more,” he agreed with a begrudging mumble. “Sometimes, readers in the social media groups start speculation threads around who Jess is and where she lives and why she doesn’t ever show herself.”
“Does Jess comment in the group?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes. The people that start the speculations don’t have images or details on Jess. They’re not stupid. They know it could be a scam or they could be getting catfished or something.”
“Have they ever guessed the truth?”
A moment of levity lightened his gaze. “Yeah, but it’s typically shot down by other people, or the idea is just left to die. There’s one girl from Canada named Katrina that lives in LA. She’s attempting to be a documentary filmmaker, and keeps threatening to make Jess the next topic of interest.”
I snorted. The edges of his lips twitched in amusement. “The speculations eventually die down, and I just ignore those messages.”
“You should tackle them.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Tackle the topic. Tell them why you want your privacy. They’ll stop.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Maybe.” He looked away, let out a long breath, and then leaned back. “How does this seem to you? Doable?”
I folded my hands in front of me and shelved the fact that he’d closed off a perfectly normal suggestion. Later.
Meanwhile, my curiosity around Bastian only grew. Not only did I want to brush a lock of hair off his forehead that had tumbled onto it, but I wanted to press a kiss to those lips and see if his response would be as ferocious as I thought.
Yeees! Inner Me sang.You wanna kiss the boy!
For once, I didn’t silence her.
“One of my superpowers in life has always been an appropriately placed GIF and the ability to mold and adapt to just about anything,” I said.“I’ve got this.”
He lifted one eyebrow that made him look like an adorably-concerned little boy. “I won’t be here to answer questions.”
“I’m aware.”
