“Which I didn’t ask for.”
“You were cooking on a stove from 1987. It was criminal.”
Sam watched them bicker, warmth spreading through his chest. They did it constantly – teasing each other, but showing through every word and gentle gesture how much they cared about each other. They orbited each other perfectly, and yet they’d easily made room for him in their universe.
“Your turn,” Rux said, pulling Sam from his thoughts. “Tell us more about your writing.”
“There’s not much to tell.” Sam focused on his plate. “I write paranormal romances - dragons, vampires, werewolves, and shifters.”
“Werewolves are terrible,” Urien muttered. “Very dramatic and unreliable. They claim their moods are governed by the moon, but it doesn’t stop them from throwing a fit when there’s no moon to be seen.”
“You must like it. You were friends with the Cairngorm pack for a decade or more.” Rux chuckled.
“That’s how I know how dramatic they are.” Urien turned to Sam. “How much have you written?”
“Um… Three novels, technically. Plus about forty thousand words of a fourth.”
All three dragons stopped eating at the same time.
“You have three completed novels,” Mabon repeated slowly. “And you haven’t published them?”
Sam’s face heated. “They’re not good enough.” Maybe it was time to ask about dessert.
“Says who?”
“Me. I mean, they’re just - they’re silly. They’re all fantasies about people finding their perfect match, being chosen, all that impossible stuff.” He laughed, trying really hard not to show his embarrassment. “Hey, it turns out I was writing research the whole time.”
Rux set down his fork. “Can we read them?”
“No.” Sam quickly shook his head.
“Why?”
“Because they’re…” Sam gestured helplessly. “Gods, this is so embarrassing. Every main character is just me, but braver, and the love interests are all these powerful beings who decide this ordinary person is worth everything, and it’s all just ridiculous.”
“Er…you’re sitting in the dining room of an estate owned by three dragons,” Mabon said quietly. “It’s not entirely ridiculous, is it?”
“Well, not now, no. But when I wrote them, I didn’t know all this was going to happen, and it’s not like any readers are going to point to my main character and say, ‘Oh, yes, that happened to my cousin John, just last month.’ For most people,” Sam emphasized the last part, “the books aren’t plausible, and publishers won’t touch them.”
“Why have you never self-published?” It was Urien who asked.
Sam blinked. “What?”
“You clearly love writing because you’ve completed three novels. Why not share them with the public who do like that sort of story?”
“Because no one wants to read about…” Sam stopped. “I don’t know. I figured if they were good enough, an agent would want them. I did query about ten of them after I finished the first book. But when none of them got back to me, I figured it was clearly not worth reading.”
“Or,” Mabon said carefully, “traditional publishing is highly subjective, and self-publishing is a completely valid path that would let readers decide for themselves if they liked your work or not.”
“I…” Sam hadn’t considered that. “I guess.”
“What do you love about working at the Daily Bean?” Rux changed the topic so smoothly that Sam wanted to kiss him.
“The people, mostly. Regular customers like Mrs. Patterson orders the same cappuccino every morning, but then always changes her mind. The university students who camp out during finals. Maya, making terrible jokes.” Sam smiled. “It’s not glamorous, but it means a lot to me, you know? I make people’s days a little better.”
“I’m sure, if you allowed us to read your work, we’d find that you do that in your writing too,” Urien pointed out. “You have a gift of making people feel positive about their day, and maybe your stories could givethem hope about finding a special someone, or plural for themselves.”
Sam’s throat had a sudden lump in it. The dragons truly believed in him, and he didn’t realize how much he missed that until it was offered. “Maybe.”
