Page 45 of A Bookish Story

“Worry? Well, yeah, I’m just concerned about you, Ryan.”

“Clearly.” He rolls his eyes.

On the way back, I notice Ryan is throwing concerned looks in my direction as we once again traverse the Santa Cruz mountains on Highway 17. I might be going a little slow again but I’ve got this. It could be he’s noticed my hands are trembling and that I’m pretty much white-knuckling it, but I’m perfectly fine and I’m glad I took this drive. I can’t even recall how long it’s been. As a rule, the entire Santana family as a unit chose never to drive Highway 17 again. There are other ways to get to the beach even if they take longer.

“Okay,” Ryan says. “Did something happen to you on this road?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did your car break down here and you have bad memories? It would be a difficult place for a car to break down. No real shoulder to pull over as you go up and down the mountain.”

“It’s fine, really. Don’t worry.”

“Consider it dropped. I just sense you’re terrified.”

“Hmm. Maybe I should assign you a higher rate on the emotional IQ than previously.”

“Excuse me? You don’t think I rate high on the scale? I will blow that scale. I’ll have you know I’m off the charts.”

“Hmm. Let’s start with your greeting. You answer the phone with, ‘what?’ Did you ever think people might have their feelings hurt by your attitude? It gives ‘why are you bothering me?’ vibes. How about ‘hello.’”

“They are interrupting me, and if I say hello I’m encouraging them,” he says with a slightly offended tone.

“Listen, after reading the book, I see you’re an emotional guy but⁠—”

“But nothing. As a writer, I use emotion. And I put it on paper where it belongs.”

I wonder if that’s true. I wonder if Ryan purposely revised the book to be what the publisher wanted: more of a romance, more of a love story. Pulling on the heart strings. Slaying the emotion. Maybe he wasn’t as heartbroken as I imagined. Maybe it’s just…fiction.

“Okay, I’m finally going to ask. Why didn’t you just write her a poem instead of a short story?”

“I can’t write poetry.” He sighs. “But if I’m any good at expressing my feelings, it’s always on paper. I think that’s why Kate encouraged me to write a romance. I’d love to be able to express the way I feel out loud, but I’m not built like that. It’s just not in me. When we were having problems, I ignored them. I retreated to my work. So, she had an affair.”

I can’t help but gasp. “Oh, Ryan.”

“I didn’t know this when I wrote to her, of course, or we wouldn’t even be in this position. But the truth is, I saw how I’d failed in many ways. I made a commitment to her, and if I agree with anything my parents taught me, it’s to honor those. So that’s why I put my feelings down on paper.”

“Did you learn anything from the experience?”

“I learned that a person could fool themselves into thinking they love someone when all they really love is an idea.”

“Hey, that’s a line in the book, but it’s Lula who says it to Grayson.”

“You do realize I’m Grayson, Lula, and the other guy.” He snorts.

I love the way he won’t even name his faux rival.

“But the ‘other guy’ is a brute. He’s mean and obnoxious.”

In the business, we refer to that hero as an alpha-hole. Sexy in a dominating and obnoxious way. He’s the arrogant male main character who realizes he’s handsome and is prepared for women to fall at his feet as they so often do. He’s good with his hands, he’s tall and fit, and has a big you-know-what. I can’t believe Lula fell for someone so…obvious.

I now see exactly what Kate saw in Grayson. It’s the same thing I do. I might not like the book, or the ending, but I loved the hero. Grayson is a classic cinnamon roll hero, the antithesis of toxic masculinity. He’s emotionally available. He’s vulnerable.

“I’m also all of those other things. Mean. Obnoxious.”

“No, you’re not. You’re grumpy, sure, and distracted, but not like Der— um, the other dude.”

“Chalk it up to hyperbole, a writer’s toolbox.”