Page 47 of Elevator Pitch

“What’s it about?”

Her head lifts, eyes staring directly at me for a split second before darting away. “I don’t think I’m ready to share yet. I’m in the early stages still.”

“Well, I’m glad inspiration struck. And I look forward to reading it. Once you’re ready to share.” I dip my head, forcing her eyes to meet mine again.

She clears her throat. “Cameron was never interested in my books.”

My fingers still from working her hand, and I stare at her face, where her eyes are avoiding mine once more.

“And Cameron is . . .”

“My late husband.” She lifts her shoulders dismissively. “He wasn’t interested in story lines, or reading my books, or even talking about the business side of publishing. He didn’t care.”

I hurt for her like I’ve taken a fast ball to the chest. “He probably cared, he just didn’t know how to show his interest or what questions to ask.”

She weakly smiles, her voice sad. “No. He really didn’t care about my writing.”

I don’t want to believe it. What kind of man isn’t interested in his wife’s career? About the thing that brings her joy because writing certainly gives Vee pleasure. She lights up when she talks about her work. At least, the bits and pieces she’s shared.

“I became used to not talking about my career, so I’m sorry if I sound standoffish about it. It’s just hard to believe you’d really be interested in hearing about the book world, as we call it.”

“Vee,” I groan, tipping up her chin. “I’m interested.” In the book world, in her world, in her.

“Talk all you want. Share plot ideas or storylines. Tell me about the industry. Because you know about mine. You know about baseball and superstitions. And you know that I’m right where I wanted to be, managing the Anchors. It makes me happy.” I chuckle. “I’m stressed, but content. And I can tell writing books makes you happy, so share that shit with me.”

She laughs soggily while blinking rapidly a few times, clearing her eyes of tears she doesn’t want me to notice.

“Share the stresses, too.”

She laughs a little harder, swiping at the corner of her eye to dissolve a tear before it falls. “Thank you.”

The desire to pull her close, hug her, heck, even kiss her, is so strong, I find myself leaning forward, then stop the trajectory. Still, I want to reassure her I’m here for her. I even consider teasing her about her polyamorous plotline to dissolve her sadness, but reconsider that jest as well. Instead, I ask something I’m more curious about.

“So, is this a baseball romance? Did I get the terminology correct?”

She snorts softly. Not a full snortle, but a pleasing sound all the same, tells me I’m correct. “You’re the one who mentioned baseball and romance go together.”

I smile that she remembers something about our first night.

I also wonder how she’d feel about experiencing first base with me.

Chapter 15

[Vee]

To my surprise, Ross spends the night.

As he arrived closer to eight-thirty, we finished the bottle of wine, and then decided to watch a movie. Nothing romantic. Nothing graphic. Nothing baseball. The happy medium was a movie with a touch of intrigue and mystery but not a suspense thriller. I didn’t need horrific dreams.

What I dreamt about instead were the developing characters for my book and Ross as the main man in my real-life storyline.

He listened attentively as I talked more about the publishing industry. He even asked thoughtful questions and offered compassion. We discussed agents, and how I don’t have one. It would be nice to follow the traditional path, with an agent for support and services, like securing foreign translations and movie deals, but I could do those things on my own. Or at least, I had been for the past ten years. I was comfortable where I was in my career, although there was always hope for more. More sales. More ideas. More years.

For now, I am relieved the writing well is not dry.

In the morning, I give Ross privacy to dress and follow his wake-up routine while I make him coffee. I don’t drink the stuff, so I’m grateful for a machine with a pod you pop into the top and add water which automatically brews the liquid gold, as coffee lovers call their caffeine jolt.

As Ross enters the living room, I present the coffee in a travel mug. “For the road.” Although he doesn’t have far to travel.