Page 9 of Story of My Life
“I love that for her,” I lied through my teeth.
“Yeah, I can tell,” Zoey said.
My competition with the blockbuster author, who really was one of the nicest people on the planet, was one-sided and had once fueled me with motivation to make every book better. Now I just felt like crawling under the table and becoming one with the ballroom carpet.
“Oh my gosh! I’m so happy you’re still here!” A middle-aged woman and—judging from the shared bouncy curls and adorable underbites—her teenage daughter jogged up to the table, cheeks flushed, smiles radiant. They had one of those crates on wheels that I’d noticed the more experienced attendees possessed. It was full of new books.
“We were in Maryanne Norton’s line, and then I had to get a picture with Reva McDowell’s super gorgeous cover model, and Mom was worried she was going to miss you,” the daughter announced.
“I’m your biggest fan. Of course, I’m sure you get that all the time,” the mother said, unloading a dozen books by other authors on the table.
“You’d be surprised,” I said with what felt like a grotesque facsimile of a smile.
“Aha! Here they are.” She triumphantly unearthed two well-worn paperbacks written by yours truly. “Your Spring Gate books got me through a year of caregiving and the death of my mother. When she was on hospice, we read the entire series together. Even the steamy parts. It was exactly the kind of escape we both needed and led to some of the most meaningful conversations we’d had as mother and daughter.”
“That’s…amazing. Thank you,” I managed. Relief. Gratitude. Empathy. Hope. They were all in a wrestling match in my throat.
“It meant a lot to me,” she said.
“When Mom found out I was into romance, she made me read all of your books,” the daughter said, a nose stud winking under the rims of her glasses. “Not gonna lie, I was kind ofsurprised to find out the books she curled up with every weekend had so much dick in them.”
“Well, I do like to write the dick,” I said awkwardly. I really needed to work on my small talk.
Zoey elbowed me and gracefully intervened. “I’m Zoey, Hazel’s agent. It’s so nice to meet you two. Would you like these books personalized?”
The mom beamed. “That would be amazing! Could you make it out to Andrea?”
The daughter’s jaw dropped. “Mom. Those are your books.”
“But they’re what made trips like this possible. I’m just so happy to be able to share this with you.”
Mom put her hand on the books as I uncapped my pen. “Can you sign them to Andrea and Jenny?” she asked. “Then they’ll be our books.”
“Of course,” I said.
Mother and daughter crowded the table to watch me sign.
“So when is your next book coming out?” Andrea asked.
“You’ve been quiet for a while. You must be working on something big,” Jenny added, looking giddy. “Is it going to be another Spring Gate book? Or are you writing something completely different?”
“And how do you write small-town romance when you live in a city?” Andrea demanded.
“Uh, well…I do research.”
“Is Spring Gate based on a real town?” Jenny wondered. “Because if it is, we’re definitely road-tripping it before Andrea heads off to college next year.”
“Hey, let’s get a picture of you two with Hazel,” Zoey announced.
“Great idea,” I said desperately.
3
VACATE THE PREMISES
HAZEL
Zoey’s phone rang incessantly,but since she couldn’t find it—again—we focused on packing up. The signing was officially over, though there were still three or four authors with long lines of eager readers.
