Page 98 of Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That At Christmas
Within minutes, I have coffee (decaf Blue Mountain—one I tasted from Adam’s coffee tower) with pumpkin spice creamer and apple pie that smells like childhood.LoverBoy has charmed his way onto Lady Grey’s lap where he now looks like he’s posing forChihuahua Monthlyas she explains her dilemma.“My son forbids me to use the nameDamianin my books,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“OrMaddie,”adds a book club member.
“His girlfriend’s name,” Lady Grey confirms.“He thinks I’m stealing details from his life, which is ridiculous.I was writing smut before he was born.”
The group erupts in laughter, and to my surprise, I join in… not my careful, professional chuckle, but a full-on genuine laugh that comes from my diaphragm.Even LoverBoy seems to appreciate the humor, his tail wagging as he soaks up the attention from Lady Grey.
“So now I’ve been thinking about using newsletter subscriber names for my books,” Lady Grey continues, running her hand through her silver-streaked hair while scratching behind LoverBoy’s ears with surprising expertise.“I realized I sometimes use the same name for different characters and I need more name ideas.Did you knowCatharinawas the name of another hero’s mother in a different series?And she was a vampire.”
“Oh, I noticed that!And now she’s the virgin daughter of a powerful mafia boss about to celebrate Christmas with Dante,” Sally adds helpfully, still brandishing the zucchini like it’s Exhibit A in a trial.
“In the second book of the duet.”Lady Grey pats her bag.“Which I happen to have with me.”
“It’s their second chance,” Margaret says with a meaningful look in my direction that feels entirely too pointed.“Also, my other son, Kellan, knows Lady Grey.She lives in Swans Cove.So lucky she accepted to come.”
I sip my coffee, wondering when I stepped into this parallel universe where authors discuss virgin mafia princesses over pie while my rescue dog networks better than I ever could, and why it feels more real than my life in Chicago.
The book club discussion flows around me in waves of laughter and thoughtful sighs.Lady Grey asks about favorite tropes, and I raise my hand like an eager nursing student in a lecture hall.
“Second chances are tricky,” I hear myself saying.“They can’t just be about nostalgia or unfinished business.”
Lady Grey tilts her head.“What makes them work, then?”
And without second guessing myself, I answer.“Forgiveness doesn’t mean forgetting.Their character arcs needs to be them separately and together.The best second chances,” I explain, “come when both people have grown separately before finding each other again.And then they can grow together.When they’re choosing each other, they make each other “more,” I think Anne Hathaway said that in an interview.Not about the second chances about being “more” together.Their second chances is not filling some void.They learn to love themselves and they’re even more “them” together.”
The room goes quiet for a moment.I catch Margaret’s thoughtful nod,Sally’s not-at-all-subtlethumbs-up, and wonder when exactly I started believing my own words.
“That’s it exactly,” Lady Grey says, her eyes sparkling.“It’s not about picking up where you left off.It’s about starting something new with the wisdom of the past.”
My cheeks warm under her approving gaze.“Otherwise, it’s just recycling old patterns,” I add, thinking of how many times I tried to fix things with Chuck by changing myself instead of recognizing the shitty pattern we kept on repeating.
“You should join us next month.”Margaret passes me another slice of apple pie.“We’re discussing holiday-themed rivals-to-lovers.”
“I’m not sure where I’ll be by then,” I say carefully, surprising myself with the admission.A month ago, I would have confidently stated my Chicago plans like reciting vital signs.
LoverBoy, who had come down from Lady Grey’s lap has been making a circuit of the book club members, collecting gentle pets and the occasional treat, returns to my side and settles at my feet with a contented sigh.His complete comfort here strikes me as a stark contrast to the frightened, untrusting dog they’ve described.
Noelle coughs into her hand.“Cape Cod?”
I don’t answer and that has all of them staring at me before Sally clears her throat.
“If you’re ready to settle back home, of course.But I think the pipes know.”
“Sometimes,” Lady Grey adds with that knowing smile writers have when they see character arcs everywhere, “we need to grow enough to recognize home when we find it.The timing has to be right for both sides of the story.Especially in second chances.”
Lady Grey glances at Margaret before reaching into her bag and pulling out a book with a red velvet cover and gold embossing.“Wherever you end up, you shouldn’t miss out entirely.”She flips it open.“Hot off the press.A Christmas mafia romance I think you’ll appreciate.”
My eyes widen as she uncaps her pen.“But that’s not even released yet—”
“Perks of knowing the author,” Sally winks.
Lady Grey scribbles inside, then passes the book around the circle.Each woman adds her own note and when it finally makes its way to me, Margaret places it in my hands with a squeeze of my fingers.
“Something to remember us by,” she says softly.“And to remind you that second chances come in all forms.And all places.”
I brush my fingers over the velvet cover, my throat tight.“Thank you,” I manage, tucking it carefully into my bag before they can see the emotion I’m sure is written all over my face.
As I leave the bookstore, I wait exactly three seconds before tearing into the book like a resident opening match results.I flip to the inscription page and find myself smiling at the collection of notes:
