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“I hear congratulations are in order. You finished your book.” He pressed his mouth to the top of her head.
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Maggie said, the words coming out breathy like she’d just run up and down the stairs a few times. She wondered if Dean could see the pulsing neon hearts in her eyes.
“I wouldn’t miss your day for the world, Babs, even if I have to brave my sister’s public displays of canoodling.” He tightened his arm around her for a quick squeeze and then released her.
“I only finished the first draft,” Maggie said. “I sent it off for some feedback today, but there’s still editing and rewriting and a lot more to do before it’s done, done.”
“Still counts,” Dean said. “When do I get to read it?”
Maggie thought of her sandy blonde hero with green eyes and a laughing smile. The one who traded grins and hugs like candy while fiercely protecting those he loved. She thought about chapter sixteen when the hero boosted the heroine up onto the kitchen counter as his hands wandered up her thighs.
“Never.”
“You writing one of those spicy books, Babs?”
Maggie felt the flush start low on her chest and spread up her throat. Her face flamed the same red as the cups littering the living room. Her voice was gone, nonexistent, and she tried to squeak out a reply, but nothing happened. Sweat beaded along her fingers and palms, and she tried to wipe them against the denim of her black jeans.
“Hey,” Dean leaned forward to lock their eyes again, “I was just teasing. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” He ruffled the hair at the crown of her head.
Was it hot in here? It was definitely too hot.
“No. It’s fine.” Maggie forced her body to relax and smile. “I just don’t like to talk about my writing.” Especially not with her walking, talking inspiration. Or with anyone she knew, because what if they hated it? Or worse, what if they lied to her so she wouldn’t know they hated it? What if she sucked and the last two decades had been an epic waste of time? What if her whole life had been a…
No. She would not spiral down again. Maggie was ready to take risks and believe in her book, in her storytelling. She would not let her anxiety steal this from her. Everyone said, “write what you know,” and sure, Maggie had steered clear of most relationships for most of her adult life because she didn’t have the time and energy to pour her little introverted heart into one, but she’d read enough romance novels to even the score. Maggie had no problem losing herself in romance novels, and she was shy, yes, but also proud of the one she’d written.
“I’m sorry,” Maggie said, her eyes searching Dean’s for the short time she could maintain the contact. She didn’t apologize because she’d done something wrong, but because she recognized the tension thrumming under her skin, and she could feel how shallow her breathing was getting, and she was pretty sure he thought she was acting like a complete freak. So apologizing was a good idea. Apologizing was a necessity. No matter what her therapist said.
“Don’t say sorry, Babs.” Dean framed her face in his enormous hands, and there went all the air in the room again. “We all have things we want and need to keep private. You do not need to apologize for holding boundaries. I will love you either way.”
He would love her either way.
Love her.
Holy shit.
This was the best day of Maggie’s life.
CHAPTER TWO
Thefirstcommentsfromher readers hit Maggie’s email about a week later while she was working. She’d carried her phone on her, on silent, since the moment she’d sent the book off. Gary didn’t care if she or Shay, the other daytime Tattered Cover employee, had their phones behind the counter as long as they were attentive and helpful and got their work done. When the subtle vibration from her pocket alerted her to a new email, and her reader’s name was on the sender line, Maggie almost bowed out of work early to go home and look at it in private.
She desperately wanted to read the message and the comments, but she knew better than to do so at work even if the shop was empty, and she wasn’t sure her heart would take the strain of seeing what her reader had to say anywhere but in the privacy of her own bed. In her bed, she could cry and rage and wrap herself up in her blankets if the comments were too much. In the store, she had to tamp down her reactions and avoid a scene. Maggie would be hard-pressed to admit it, but she enjoyed these last few moments of peace before she had to read what they thought.
She expected some negative reactions—the aim of sending it out was for constructive feedback—but suddenly she was lightheaded considering the idea that people had actually read her words and probably hated them. She’d prefer to confine any anxiety-induced panic to the privacy of her own home with her therapist on speed dial. The only problem was that even the thought of reading the feedback was tightening her chest.
“Are you okay?” Shay asked. They held a cardboard box full of recent issues of one of their newer comics ready to be shelved. “You’re super jittery.”
Maggie’s hands trembled no matter how still she tried to hold them. Despite her hair being both fine and pin straight, the sweat on her palms kept causing her hands to snag as she dragged her fingers through the waist-length layers.
“Sorry,” Maggie said and tangled her fingers together to still them. “I got my first feedback, so I’m a little out of it.”
Shay slammed the box down on the glass counter. “It’s good, isn’t it! I knew it.”
Maggie shook her head. “I haven’t looked yet.” She gestured around the shop. “I’m working, remember? So are you.”
Shay rolled their eyes back into their head. “The store is basically dead. Go read the email, and I’ll cover you.”
“No,” Maggie said. “I don’t even know if I can read it at all, but definitely not in public.”
