Page 66 of Tinsel & Tools
His gaze didn’t leave my face. “We wouldn’t want that.”
“Right?” My finger ran along the trackpad, and I scrolled through what I had written. “I think I broke three thousand words again today.”
“What’s the scene?”
I liked that he showed an interest in my work. “The main characters were finally truthful about how deep their feelings for each other ran.”
“Truthful, huh?” The way he said those two words had me glancing up. He looked casual with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders relaxed, but it was impossible to miss the tightness of his jaw and the way his eyes narrowed a bit. “You know, Allie and Ryan came by the inn today.”
“Did Allie go on and on about her design plans? If she’s interrupting your work, I can chat with her,” I said, wondering if that was why he was on edge. I knew he’d been worried about falling behind.
“She wanted to look around, but it wasn’t a big deal.”
I smiled. “I know she can talk a lot when she’s excited.”
“She was definitely excited. She told me something else when Ryan left the room to take a call.”
I closed my laptop. “What’d she say?”
“She called me your muse.” He didn’t look away, and my stomach twisted. “That you’re writing our story. Nights at my place. Dinners together. The Christmas tree.” He pointed at it. “She claims I gave you your words back.”
I took a deep breath. If he hadn’t been acting odd from the moment he’d stepped inside, I might have thought he wasn’t bothered by that revelation based on the casual way he threw it out there. But suddenly, it felt as though everything he’d said or done in the last few minutes had been building up to this moment.
“She shouldn’t have told you that. It’s not finished, and I’m not ready?—”
“Ready for what?” His voice remained calm despite his questioning. “For me to know?”
“For anyone to read it,” I retorted. “It needs work first.”
He closed his eyes briefly. “Is it us?”
A part of me wanted to deny it, but I wasn’t a liar. “It’s based on what has happened between us,” I explained carefully. “But I’ve changed some things.”
“Like what?”
“Nico doesn’t own an inn. He inherited a hardware store. Totally different business.” I aimed for some humor, but it fell flat.
“Gavin.” Cole sighed.
“I changed other stuff,” I added quickly. “The timeline, backstories, and names. The book is inspired by us. It’s not a memoir.”
“Inspired by,” he repeated. “If people in this town read it, would they know it’s me?”
The twist in my gut tightened. “I probably won’t publish until next November. Who knows what either of us will be doing by then.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s not what I asked.”
I exhaled. “If someone wanted to, they could probably figure it out, but it would all just be speculation.”
His mouth pressed into a line. “You know how fast rumors fly around here.”
I stood and faced him. “It’s not like it’s going to be on a billboard in Times Square. I doubt anyone in Brookhaven is rushing to preorder a queer romance. Lynann’s Bookstore probably won’t even carry a single copy.”
“I can guarantee if your name is on the cover, they’ll buy it.” I could hear the anger simmering under the surface.
It wasn’t okay for me to reduce the entire town to a cliché and insinuate bigotry would play a role in their reading selection, and I felt like crap for even voicing the thought. “You’re right. At the very least, they’d probably be curious to see what the story is about.”
He ran a hand over his face. “So, you understand why I’m not thrilled with the idea of people reading it. I hate being the topic of conversation and now you’re forcing me to address something I’m not sure I’m ready for.”
