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I was a little breathless. This was the last thing I expected.
“Umm… yeah. Of course I did.”
“Seriously,” Nathan jumped in. His expression was all smiles and enthusiasm. “Tell us! How was it?”
“It was good.”
“Good? Just good?”
“No,” I said quickly. “Actually it was great! A real page-turner. Very compelling.”
Burke’s eyes narrowed. “But…”
I paused, and even that small bit of hesitation said everything. Watching the light go out of their faces, I felt like total crap.
“But?” Chase re-iterated.
“C’mon Kayleen,” Nathan encouraged. “Say it.”
One by one my eyes shifted to each of them in turn. In all the time I’d been here, I’d never seen them like this.
“Really,” said Burke. “You can tell us.”
Now it was my turn for my eyes to narrow. “Seriously?” I asked, still skeptical. “And you won’t be mad?”
All three of them shook their heads simultaneously.
“Alright,” I said, standing up all of a sudden. “But first, more coffee.”
Twenty-Seven
KAYLEEN
They sat there in the sunroom, hanging on everything I said. True to their word, they didn’t even seem angry.
“Well first, the story kicks ass,” I said. “I love the hook. I love the way it begins, and the way the reader gets sucked in.”
My three boyfriends rested patiently, waiting for the other shoe to drop. I did it as gently as I could.
“But if I’m being honest?” I took an inadvertently dramatic pause to sip my coffee. “You’re using one pen name, and it reads like it was written by three different people.”
Chase and Nathan let out a long breath they’d apparently been holding in. Burke shook his head slowly.
“Damn. That’s not good.”
“No,” Chase agreed glumly. “It’s not.”
“Maybe it’s because I know you all so well,” I went on, “but I can tell each time the story switches over. I can see when a new author takes over an existing character, and I can tell where one of you leaves off, and the other picks up.”
Chase looked frustrated, but not crestfallen. Nathan was scratching at a patch of blond stubble.
“Look at it this way,” I said. “Things could be worse.”
“And how’s that?” Chase demanded.
“Well your story could suck,” I pointed out. “It could be flat, or boring, or not believable. The mechanics could be off, too, but it’s none of those things.” I shifted forward in my chair, cradling my mug in both hands. “The story itself is fantastic.”
I could feel a palpable sense of relief. From some of them, at least.
