Annie rolls her eyes. “So what happens now?”
“I’m not sure.” I gaze up at the crisp white ceiling. The ceiling that Max and I painted together. “I have to send her something because the publishing house has already paid me for the next book in my series and I’ve already spent all of that money. I need something.”
“You could write a brand new book,” Annie suggests. “If that one you sent her is so bad maybe just write a new one?”
“The thing is…” I chew on my lip and think about the folded piece of paper in my back pocket. “I’m not sure I can write another Love Sucks story.”
Annie frowns. “Why not?”
“Maybe…” I take a deep breath. I think Annie might have a slight idea that maybe what I’m about to say is true, but we haven’t officially talked about it. “Maybe I don’t have as much enthusiasm for the anti-romance thing as I used to.”
“Hmm,” she says. She opens a string cheese and then bites the top right off it like some kind of cheese-eating monster.
“Did you just decapitate your string cheese?”
She glances down at it and shrugs, taking another bite.
“You’re supposed to peel them into strings,” I say, with a sarcastically horrified expression.
“I live on the wild side,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows as she takes another bite.”
I shake my head. “So ruthless.”
“Stop trying to chance the subject, Jules. I think we both know the solution to your problem.”
She looks at me as if she expects me to finish her train of thought for her, but I’m blank. Clearly, we both don’t know the solution to the problem.
“If you have a solution, I’d be happy to hear it.”
Annie rolls her eyes. “Write with your heart.”
I stick my tongue out and make a gagging sound. “Bad advice. Worst advice ever. Hearts have nothing to do with business.”
“Yeah, maybe if your business is being a banker or something. But your heart has everything to do with your writing, Julie. I’ve known you forever. I know how you operate. You write how you feel, even if it’s subtle. And when you were pissed and angry at Jason, you wrote Love Sucks. Now you’re over that cheating loser and you’ve got feelings for someone else and you can’t hold the same enthusiasm as before.”
I sit up straight. “You are imagining things, babe. I don’t have feelings for anyone except maybe my coffee maker because it’s glorious. That thing can brew my coffee any day.”
She snorts. “Fine, deny it. Pretend you don’t totally have the hots for the hottie renovation guy you talked about constantly while he was there. I’m your best friend, so I’ll just pretend right along with you if that’s what you want. But if you ever want to come back to reality and accept the truth, then I’ll give you this advice: Write what you feel. It’s never let you down before.”
Her words are so profound they leave me speechless for a moment. Then her phone alarm goes off and she curses under her breath. “Crap! Gotta get back to work. Love ya!”
And then she’s gone, and I’m staring at my phone’s home screen. And I get an idea. It’s crazy and wild and might be a total disaster, but it’s an idea, and it’s more than I had a few minutes ago.
But before I can implement that idea, I need to get everything out in the open.
Max’s voicemail picks up after several rings.“You’ve reached Spenser Construction. Sorry I’m not available to take your call but please leave me a detailed message and I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”
“Hey Max, it’s Julie. Call me back? Thanks.”
Thirteen
Since I can’t focuson my terrible manuscript, I walk down to the lake. Just a few blocks away is a public park with picnic tables, a playground, and a sandy shore where the locals go swimming. I’m a little terrified of water and would rather admire the lake’s beauty from the solid ground, but since I’m in desperate need of something to take my mind off my career and Max, I slip off my sandals and sink my toes into the water’s edge.
My phone rings from the back pocket of my denim shorts. I suck in a short breath. I’m not sure I’m mentally capable of handling things if it’s my agent calling to ream me out for turning in such a terrible manuscript. Everything I’ve worked so hard for might fall apart with one phone call if my publisher decides to dump me and demand their book advance money back.
The phone keeps ringing, and I know I’ll have to look at it eventually. I brace myself for the worst.
It’s Max.
