Page 156 of Smoke and Fire
Jess made it so much easier to dodge the praise of and questions about my work. Not to mention the awkwardness of people that I knew reading the book and then giving me the rundown. I didn’t care if they loved the books or not, but most people seemed to feel obligated to bluster through some praise.
Bastian:Thanks.
Dahlia:A few questions that came up today: 1) Are you married and is your romantic life how you find your inspiration? 2) Have you ever eaten cricket protein? 3) Do you write in coffee shops all the time? If so, what flavor of coffee invites your muse?
Were they her questions or reader questions? I shook my head. No, probably not from her. Sometimes readers wrote in with questions I’d never heard of before. A second grin surfaced while I typed out replies starting with the last question first, then slowed with question #1.
Did she reallynotknow if I was married?
Then again . . . how would she know?
Sure, there were strong assumptions to be made that I wasn’t married based on the few morsels of information I’d given her, but she clearly hadn’t made those assumptions. Or maybe she fished now.
For my part, I hope she fished.
Bastian:I am married. With four children, a dog, and a white picket fence.
Dahlia:GIF
GIF
The image of a zombie walking down an aisle alone, eyes wide and fixed, with normal children trying to get his attention, sent a bark of laughter out of me.
I turned it into a cough at the last moment. Following it was another image of a herd of at least forty small dogs racing along a white picket fence while their toothless owner yelled at them from a porch in the background.
Dahlia:That’s how I picture you. #livingyourbestlife
Responses failed me. While I wrestled another round of laughter back, I typed out the only response that came to mind.
Bastian:#nailedit
Dahlia sent so many different emojis, all some form of laughter, that they filled half my screen. She rounded it out with a separate message.
Dahlia:Thanks for the laugh. Update incoming tomorrow. And seriously with the cricket thing. The world needed to know, Bastian. #thisisserious
I lowered onto my pad with a sigh, fatigue making my body loose as jello. My phone turned off while I promised myself I’d message her something witty in the morning. Because there would be another update, and that was something worth being excited about.
Bottled sunshine filled my dreams.
13
DAHLIA
Bethany sat at a table in the shop the next day and frowned at an array of paperwork.
She’d been working there for almost an hour without a word until she muttered, “I think the Frolicking Moose needs some help.”
A calendar, a highlighter, a binder, and several bright pink pens cluttered the table. She leaned her head into her hands, threaded her fingers through dark locks, and groaned. I settled across from her and set a cupcake near her elbow.
“Here. JJ sent them. Said they were deformed and we could give them away. Personally, I don’t think you can deform buttercream, but whatevs.”
She took one look at it, blanched, and ran for the bathroom in the back hallway. I blinked, startled, as the sounds of retching followed.
“Oooh,” I whispered.
Bethany returned ten minutes later, pale but composed. She’d pulled her hair away from her face in a loose bun that already fell apart on her shoulders. When she sat down, hazy-sick eyes regarded me. I’d already moved the cupcake and swapped it for a tepid ginger tea. Without a word, I nudged it to her.
She had a tentative sniff, melted, and sipped. “This is just what I needed.”
