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“You’re forgiven,” Oliver said easily.
“I’m not trying to justify anything… but it’s hard for me to contemplate losing everything I’ve worked for.”
“I understand. Probably more than you realise,” Oliver said with a laugh. “I’m in the same position.”
“Really?”
“Sort of.” He gave Jack a rueful smile. “I’ve missed a deadline. Or two.”
“Ah. Writer’s block?”
“Yeah. I don’t have long left before my publisher’s going to ditch me. They’re somewhat lenient, because I have a good reputation, but they’ll run out of patience eventually.”
“How much do you still have to do?”
“All of it,” Oliver said with a laugh. “I’ve got some sketches, a few ideas, but…”
“Not enough,” Jack finished for him.
Oliver’s nose had turned numb from the cold and was starting to stream.
“No,” he said quietly. “Not enough.”
“What’ll happen, then?”
Oliver shrugged. “I have a difficult conversation with my agent coming up. She’s a good person, but she’s still running a business, you know? I’ve probably got until the new year until she’s going to call again and ask where the book is.”
“And if you don’t have something to show her by then?”
“I don’t think she’ll have much choice. My publisher will claim breach of contract because I haven’t handed anything in, and I’ll get dropped.”
“That’s harsh.”
“That’s publishing,” Oliver said with a laugh. He pulled his hat down further over his ears. “Anyway. You don’t need to listen to all my problems.”
“I don’t mind,” Jack said. He shifted from foot to foot, though he didn’t seem anxious to leave. “Do you have any ideas at all?”
“A bunch,” Oliver said. “I just don’t know where to start.”
“Pick one,” Jack said, with the confidence of someone who had never attempted this kind of thing. “Just pick one. You have to start somewhere.”
“I did have one idea,” Oliver started, and wondered why the hell he was telling Jack this. “About a grumpy man who owns a toy shop.”
Jack let out a startled laugh and looked over his shoulder at Oliver. “Really?”
Oliver let himself smile. “It’s a good concept for a children’s book.”
“I bet.” Jack looked back at the cathedral, and even though they were standing close and Oliver couldn’t see his face, he could tell Jack was smiling. “What sort of story is it?”
“I don’t know yet,” Oliver admitted.
“What if,” Jack asked slowly. “It was a love story?”
Oliver’s heart gave a too-hard beat in his chest.
“It’s a children’s book,” he said weakly.
“So kids don’t need to learn about love?”
