Page 9 of Smoke and Fire
While slinging her frap together, my mind drifted back to Mr. Mysterious the hotshot, who’d stayed like a rock in the same position for ten minutes before he wolfed down his sandwich, slammed his computer shut, dropped twenty dollars, and left the shop with coffee in hand.
I definitely hadn’t thought about him while laying on my bed in the RV last night, the cool wind whispering through my hot trailer. Definitely didn’t smell smoke and think of him. Or mutter over how frustrating his silence had been.
Or accidentally juxtapose him over the top of the love interest in the second book, Rhashaad, so that I inadvertently spent all night thinking about Mr. Hotshot.
Okay, all that happened.
I’d never see him again, so why did he haunt me? No, that was probably a lie. I’d see him again, and that was the exact thought that made my heart flutter. He clearly lived here, at least for the summer. With the fire still building in the mountains, I’d probably see him soon enough.
Lizbeth sighed, looped her fingers over her belly, and then eyed me while I swept around the counter to deliver her drink. I wouldn’t give into her silent pressure to talk about Rodrigo or Rhashaad. No, I’d keep myself together and remain composed, the way any self-respecting woman would do. No waywould I simper and exclaim and lose all my self-respect over a romance novel. Mom would be so proud of me.
“So?” she drawled.
“SHE LOVES HIM!”
The words burst out of me as I melted bonelessly into the chair across from her, head in my hands.
Way to keep it cool,Inner Me muttered. I silenced her as Lizbeth tilted her head back and laughed.
“I knew it! You were suckered into the books!”
“Rhashaad is a beautiful idiot. Playboy he might be but idiot he is not. Rhashaad and Amy Grace are going to end up together. Mark my words.”
She squealed.
Like a monster, I kept going. “Amy Grace loves him more than anything she’s ever had on this planet. Why can’t he just accept that he’s broken and let her heal him?”
Lizbeth held up both hands. “I KNOW!”
Frustrated at my less-than-two-seconds capitulation, I sighed dramatically and leaned back.
“I hate you for how much I love them.”
Lizbeth shook her head with a sigh. “I know. Jess hasgotit. I can’t tell you how many romance novels I’ve read, but never have they affected me like these.”
My nose wrinkled. “Does any other author you know have a single name?”
She shrugged. “Probably, but I also don’t care. Her books are phenomenal and you’ve only read one.”
“And a half!”
“And a half,” she conceded with a quick grin. “There are eighteen-point-five others waiting for you. Plus another one launching in just a few weeks. Book twenty one of the series,Wanderlust is a Battle,is very highly anticipated. Jess left a huge cliffhanger with a beloved character at the end of twenty and we—meaning her fandom collectively—have been dyingfor this to come out.”
A squeak/groan combination escaped my throat. Was I happy or sad about that news? Delighted, in some forms. Aggrieved in others. At the heart of all these stories were relationships I wasn’t ready to dream about again. Not so soon.
Six months,sang my voice.
Not long enough,I sang back. She rolled her metaphorical eyes.
“So.” I straightened. “Tell me about the baby and the swelling and the many eternities that are pregnancy. My cousin, Pele, has four kids and tells me all about how terrible it is every chance she gets.”
“Active.” She let out a raspberry. “So active. I’ve loved pregnancy, to be honest. It’s really fun! People help me out at the store more often, and open my door more, that kind of stuff. It’s like you get a free pass! But I’m ready to just . . . have my body back.”
“How many weeks left?”
She fake sobbed. “Twelve!”
“Drink your frap.” I nodded to it. “Maybe the cold will shock time into moving faster.”
