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Relief, dread, elation, and humiliation all hit me at the same time at five o’clock when Jada locks the door and flips the sign to CLOSED.
She turns around and smiles warmly at me, which makes me feel extra awful. Jada was the one who invited me to come for a signing when I stopped by the bookstore two months ago. She was so nice and friendly. We chatted about books, I told her who I was, and she freaked out. She had read my first series and invited me for a signing.
I was reluctant, but I said yes. She just seemed so excited about it and I guess some of that excitement rubbed off onto me.
Well, the excitement is all gone now.
“Was it okay for you today?” she asks as she comes over.
I swallow hard and nod overly enthusiastic. “It was great!”
Totally not the most professionally humiliating day of my life.
“Too bad about the rain,” she says as she glances at the window. “Rain always keeps the readers away.”
“Yeah,” I say as I feel my cheeks getting hot. It’s nice of her to say, but it only started raining this afternoon and no one came this morning either.
“It’s going to be sunny tomorrow,” she says with an optimistic smile.
“Great!”
I can’t wait to go through all of this again without the weather to blame my failures on.
“Should I leave my table or bring it into the back?” I ask as I get up.
“Oh, just leave it all here,” Jada says as she wanders over to the pile of my books. She picks up the one on top—Smooth Customer.
“I adore this book,” she says as she flips through it with a big smile. “I read it again last night.”
“You did?”
“Yes!” she says, starting to gush. “That kiss in the rain! Oh my god! I read that part about twenty million times. Did that really happen to you?”
I snort out a laugh. ‘Does that look like it happened to me?’ I want to say.
“No,” I say, forcing out a smile. “It’s all fiction.”
Unfortunately.
Everything I write comes from my brain, not from experience.
Hot, dirty-mouthed, muscular men are not in my boring little circle. My circle consists of my cranky old cat Henry, my overly critical mother who does not approve of what I write, my neighbor Jim who always complains about my garbage bin being out too early or too late, and the delivery driver who nods at me while keeping his headphones in even though I try to talk to him every time. Once, I gave him a homemade muffin to be nice. He took it, but I saw him throw it in the garbage bin on his way out. The garbage bin that really should be on the side of my house by now according to my neighbor Jim.
I don’t have hot romantic kisses in the rain, I don’t have strong hands gripping my hips so hard they leave fingerprints on my flesh, and I don’t have luscious lips whispering naughty things in my ear. I have lonely nights with a cup of tea, a cat who doesn’t want to be my roommate, and my very vivid imagination.
At least, I have that.
My imagination is fun and it’s better than nothing, but sometimes I wish I could experience lust, lewdness, and love in real life. I’d like to get my blood pumping and my skin tingling instead of just describing it for some made-up characters.
But more than anything right now, I just want to go home.
I slip my coat on and head for the door. Eleanor is at the cash, giving me a tight smile. She’s not as friendly as Jada.
“Maybe you can post about the signing again tonight?” Eleanor says as I grab the door handle. “Try to get some readers in for tomorrow?”
“Definitely,” I say with an awkward laugh. “I’ll do that as soon as I get home.”
She huffs out a frustrated breath as she turns back to whatever she’s doing.
