Page 18 of Catching Kyle
We finish the rest of our meal in companionable silence, but my mind keeps going back to one thought, one curiosity: What would Michael think of this lesbian owned café?
Chapter 8
Michael Cunningham
Becausethisstreetisalways somehow busy, I have to park far from Ruckers, and I’m already late. “Come on, come on,” I say to myself as I parallel park. And miraculously I get it on my first try. I deserve an honorary straight badge for doing that under stress.
I rush to the bookstore in the blazing sun, already five after six when it’s supposed to start. I want to get the most out of this discussion for myself—talk last week generated so many ideas within me for how to improve my story. But I also want to make sure I get all the details for Kyle when I see him tomorrow.
Kyle fucking Weaver.
I had my face pressed up against the man’s dick for Christ’s sake. And I’m going to be seeing him weekly to discuss these books and my own writing. Not sure why he can’t come to the book club on his own, but he’s adamant about it. And hey, I get a free critique partner, and I get to spend time with one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen. He even offered to pay me anything, but I don’t need much. And honestly, I feel like I should be the one paying to see him. He’s so goddamn gorgeous.
I do need to keep my emotional distance, though. Even though I’ve grown a lot in my three years of recovery, I have a history of falling for guys who can never love me in return, gay or straight. I would be surprised if he was gay, but even if he was, I doubt he would be emotionally available. I’m not a football guru, but last time I checked, the NFO isn’t very welcoming toward the LGBT. I doubtany gay person in such a position would really have a solid sense of themselves. What am I talking about? The Sexiest Man Alive is definitely not gay, so there’s nothing to worry about. I’ll just admire him from afar. That sounds safe to me.
I reach the bookstore and quietly open the door. All the other members are quietly sitting in the circle as Kelley, the bookseller who gave that free T-shirt when I was soaked, leads today’s discussion. I pull up a chair and some women move their chairs aside so I can sit.
“So sorry,” I say, my face reddening in shame. I always feel so bad about arriving places late. But work was hell today—given way too many articles this week for one person to write, so I had to rush through them all today.
“It’s no problem at all,” Kelley says. “We’re glad you could make it.”
Hearing the sincerity in her voice, my own inner critic quiets just a tiny bit. As she talks, I try to relax my shoulders. ‘It’s okay,’ I tell myself, looking at all the women around me. ‘You belong here. Late or not.’
And that’s when my eye catches someone I didn’t see last time. She’s wearing a cute orange sundress with her hair tied up above in a bandanna, and she has a chiseled jaw. My first guess is that she’s a transwoman, but I try not make these snap judgments anymore. She is just a woman.
We begin our discussion ofMontana Sky, a Nora Roberts book I had not had the pleasure of reading until now. And I have to say that I loved it. There’s something about small town romance that gets me all excited. I’ve heard that some queer people don’t like it because they can’t imagine themselves feeling safe in such a setting. But I can. All fiction is fantasy—a fantasy I can bend to my experience. So where is it better to imagine the quaint and cozy small town feel that is also queer friendly besides fiction? I pretended that I could have been any of the three sisters on this farm and had a similar experience—well, maybe without all the danger. I try to find ways to belong in the books I read so I can enjoy them. The story is in the hands of the reader, not the author, once it’s published, after all. Reality is a place that’s hard for me to fit into, but there’s always space in books.
“Our next question,” Kelley says. “Did all of these sisters truly get their happily ever after in the end?”
Oh, I havethoughtsabout this question. I shoot my hand into the air.
“Michael,” Kelley says, remembering my name.
“Michael, he/him. And I just have to say: Nora Roberts did a fantastic job weaving together the love stories of three very different women. And I was just as impressed at her use of POV. I could always tell through whose eyes I was looking, and there wasn’t a character I didn’t like. Coming from the perspective of a romance writer myself, this book is a masterclass. As for the ending, I would have to say…” I express my one small frustration with the end of the book but describe how it was outshined by the harmony that the sister reach. “I just wish there was a sequel,” I say sadly.
“Amen,” Kelley says as other women nod in assent.
The woman in the orange dress raises her hand, and Kelley calls on her. “I agree with Michael about his point regarding POVs. Nora Roberts has definitely helped me with my own writing. As for the sisters each receiving what they deserve, I disagree…” As she explains her point, I listen in fascination. Her point about the ending, though the complete opposite of mine, is compelling. She comes at it from a writer’s perspective, analyzing the promises of the book at the beginning and how well Nora delivered on those promises in the end. And I feel like I’ve learned something about structure after she finishes.
The discussion goes on as it normally does, and I make mental notes to share with Kyle tomorrow. I wonder what he thought of this book. Did he find the romance compelling? What’s his type of girl? If he liked this romance, what others could he like? He reads a lot of fantasy—has he ever read any fantasy romance?
Like last time, we reach the end of the hour in what feels like two minutes. It’s definitely not long enough, but I count this as one of the things to be grateful for. I was not expecting a romance book club to be so insightful, let alone enjoyable. I can’t wait to get to writing after this.
After I put away my chair, I step out of the way of the others and pull out my phone. I shoot a text to Amani telling her that she’s a genius and that this book club is the best thing ever. She shoots back a kissy face emoji, and I smile as I slide my phone back into my pocket.
“Michael, right?”
I turn to see the voice of the more gravelly female voice. It’s the woman in the orange dress.
“Yes?”
“I’m Skye. I hope this doesn’t come across as weird,” she says, stepping slightly closer. “But you mentioned that you were a writer?”
I raise my brow. “Yes, I did. And you said you also have writing experience?”
“I do,” she says with a shy shrug, lifting her shoulder bag with it. It’s covered in multi-colored pins of bands, political slogans, shows, and books. “I’m new to the city, and I’m trying to make new friends. I came from a small town in Kansas, actually, and I could never really find a group of writing people. You mentioned you wrote, so I wondered if you had any sort of club or knew of one.”
My shoulders sag slightly. “Ever since I graduated years ago, I’ve been searching for the same thing. It’s hard. I had a group in college, but they’ve all since moved on to other things. I have one friend who still writes, but she’s too busy to meet at all. I actually joined this book club as the next best thing.”
