Page 12 of Going Viral for Christmas
She slips through the curtain, strides up to a podium, and taps the mic. “Welcome, readers and guests, to our most anticipated event of the evening—The Genre Feud: Romance vs Fantasy!Featuring the reigningqueen and king of controversy themselves: Ava Bell and Soren ‘The Blade’ Pembry!”
The crowd goes feral.
Soren and I exchange glances. Mine, a mix of dread and painfully rehearsed professionalism. His full of cocky charisma and a smolder dialed so high it might violate a fire code.
I pretend my heart isn’t trying to do jump squats inside my chest and walk out onto the stage.
Soren, of course, is pure showmanship and ease, tossing out waves like he’s stepping onto a red carpet instead of into a literary lion’s den.
Once seated, I survey the contents on the table in front of me. Three bottles of water. A notepad. Pen with hotel logo. A metal tin of mints.Thank you, Fisher.
On an exhale, I paste on my best fake-it-’til-you-make-it grin and lift the pen with a shaky hand to give myself something to fidget with.
I look out at the crowd.
“Thank you for having us—” Soren says at the same time as I do. We both halt mid-sentence, then scramble our words.
“Sorry—” I start.
“Go ahead?—”
“No, you?—”
“We’ll be here all day.” Half-smiling, he gestures to me with a sweep of his hand. “After you, Ava.”
My lady parts flutter at the sound of my name on his lips.
Ignoring it, I start again. “I’m so excited to be here with all of you today. And… with you, Soren.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then another, stretching long enough to make my armpits second-guess my deodorant.
Apparently, I’m supposed to keep talking.
So… I do.
“I love how you’ve captured everything about fall here atThe Great Booksgiving. The warmth, the coziness, that feeling you get when you cocoon yourself in a soft blanket with a good book and a steaming mug filled to the brim with a cinnamon-spiced drink.”
I should stop there. That’s a perfectly fine continuation. Warm.Professional.
My mouth has other plans.
“And the lighting in here? Stunning. Yet eclectic. Comforting.”
Shirley nods. Smiles. She’s clearly thrilled.
The audience? Dead silent.
Soren delivers the save. “Honestly, I think it looks like Thanksgiving and Christmas got drunk, picked a fight, and they both redecorated with their last dying breaths.”
“But, in a festive way,” I add quickly, not wanting to offend Shirley or the staff. “Not a crime scene kind of way. More of a ‘let’s bake cinnamon rolls and work through our trust issues’ vibe. Know what I mean?”
What am I saying?
More silence. One long, dangling moment where I seriously consider flinging myself off the stage and into theDagger Daddy Fan Club.
Shirley clears her throat with the energy of a kindergarten teacher redirecting a class. “Let’s jump in with our first question from the audience. Ready?”
Soren and I nod.
