by Nadia Lee
I craned my neck to get a look at the person who merited supervillain music, but Killian was blocking my view.
“Oh my God, you didn’t tell me you were having breakfast with Emma Grant!” Killian’s sister squealed.
That didn’t sound like somebody who deserved Darth Vader’s theme. Actually, she sounded like…a fan.
And I wasn’t sure what to make of that. I’d heard from friends that they had weird, stalkerish fans show up at their house, but I’d never had it happen to me. Besides, this was Killian’s sister. Did she count as a stalker fan or a standard fan?
On the other hand, would your everyday fan show up at your doorstep?
“You didn’t ask,” Killian said.
“Wha—?” his sister said. “Because you never even gave me a hint that—”
“I don’t hint. I state. I’m a man.”
“Can I see her? Please?” She started hopping, the top of her head appearing intermittently over his shoulder. “She’s my favorite author!”
I sighed, wishing I were somewhere else. I was not ready to meet a fan, no matter how much she liked me, especially when it was Killian’s sister.
“She might not want to,” he said. “You can’t just barge in.”
“I’m here to visit you. And it isn’t my fault that instead of being home, you’re over here with my favorite author.”
“Oh, so it’s my fault?” Killian said.
“Okay, fine! I’m only about ten percent here to see you, and ninety percent hoping I’d run into Emma Grant. I just didn’t want to sound like a freak. Now come on! I missed her book signing in D.C.!”
Since I didn’t want any bloodshed, verbal or otherwise, I stepped forward and gently tapped Killian’s shoulder, all the while thanking my lucky stars that I’d picked up the trash the night before, and that I was in a T-shirt that was only four or five years old and my yoga pants had been freshly laundered this week. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
Then I looked at the petite woman. She had a sleek brown bob, warm with a hint of golden highlights, but her eyes were the same intense blue as Killian’s. The bridge of her small, narrow nose was freckled, and unlike her brother, her complexion was milky white, typical of somebody who worked in an office all the time. The Axelrod T-shirt she wore had autographs from all the band members, and her black denim shorts were neat and looked new. She even had her nails done in pink. There was nothing remotely dark or evil about her, but I reminded myself not to judge a book by its cover. My dad was clean-cut and suave, with the kind of smile that put you at ease, but he was a complete dick.
Killian’s sister stared at me like I’d just saved her from Genghis Khan’s Mongol horde. Meanwhile, I was trying to remember whether I’d brushed my hair. And I wished I were wearing something other than a black T-shirt that said Short Your Innocence and Long Your Pain. I’d custom-ordered it the day I became disillusioned with my old corporate job and drank like my liver was made of titanium.
“Wow. You’re Emma Grant,” she whispered.
“And who are you?”
“I’m Miriam, but please call me Mir. All my friends do.”
Were we…friends?
“I absolutely adore your books,” she said.
My cheeks heated. I could never get used to this. I was still stunned and ridiculously blessed that people not only read my books, but really liked them. Mainly because every time I reread my old books, I wanted to rephrase things, work in new character motivations and tweak descriptions and dialogue. It was an oddly contradictory feeling, because I was generally proud of my writing.
“Hi. Thank you,” I said with a smile, hoping she was too star-struck to notice anything except the fact that she was meeting her favorite author. Then I remembered her brother was a big freakin’ celebrity. She wouldn’t stay impressed for long.
Sure enough, her gaze dropped to my shirt. “That’s such a cool saying.”
“Yeah,” I said vaguely.
“I don’t think you’ve written anything angsty, though. Are you going to?” Mir asked me, half curious, half anxious. “I really love your rom-coms.”
“It’s a shirt I bought on a whim. I’m still writing rom-com,” I said with a smile that would hopefully reassure this woman.
“Oh, awesome. Angsty books make me cry, which makes my eyes swell up like dinner rolls, you know? Not a good look when I have to go to work.”
“I’m sure,” I said, waiting for her to reveal her dark side or go wherever she needed to go to. But she just stood there, her eyes bright and expectant. “Do you want to come in?”
“You don’t have to,” Killian said.
“Shut up,” Mir muttered, then turned to me. “Can I?” she said in her regular voice. Then she nodded to herself. “Yeah, of course. I’d love to. Thank you.”
She was flustered. It was cute. And it made me wonder what she’d done to deserve that ringtone.
She came in and Killian shut the door. He caught my eye and mouthed, Sorry.
I shook my head with a small smile. It seemed like Mir had ambushed him with the visit, like my mom did with me when she needed somebody to sob to about Dad’s infidelity. I wasn’t going to hold it against him.
“Have you had breakfast yet?” I asked.
“Yeah, I ate on the way. An Egg McMuffin.”
“You eat like a kid,” Killian muttered, staying close to his sister.
“Breakfast of champions.”
I raised my eyebrows. He must have something against quick and tasty food. He’d said something similar over the shrimp scampi, too. As far as I was concerned, anything not ready to eat right out of a box or a bag was adult food.
“He disapproves, but I like food that I don’t have to slave over.” Mir noticed the notes on the coffee table. “Wow. Are those for the next book?”
“Yes, for the May release.” I started to move forward to stop her when she began to approach the table. They were my promo ideas and tasks to complete. I didn’t let anybody look at them except my mom and the PR company I’d hired.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Killian said before I could. “Stay away from her inspiration. You’re going to jinx it.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Mir stepped back, her gaze still on the notes. But she was too far away to read anything. Not to mention she’d have to decipher my shorthand. She turned to me. “I’m so glad to meet you. I worked extra hard to take time off.”
“Oh. Well…I hope it’s worth it.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“Totally.” Mir was gazing at me, her eyes shining. A moment of silence stretched.
“Um… Want something to drink?”
“I’m okay,” she said. “Thank you.”
Killian looked like he needed something strong, but he didn’t ask. And I didn’t offer. He knew where the alcohol was kept, and that he was welcome to it.
I gestured at Mir to sit with me at the dining table then flipped my notebook shut so she couldn’t see anything. Killian joined us, positioning himself between me and Mir.
“So what do you do?” I asked. Mir had spoken of taking time off like it was some sort of feat.
“I’m an accountant. I audit, though, which is the only reason I could take two days off. Otherwise, my manager would’ve fired me for even asking. I wanted more, but I have to drive back tomorrow after lunch. There’s a meeting I really can’t miss.”
I nodded. That was so corporate. And I didn’t miss that lifestyle. But I also felt guiltily grateful that she would be leaving tomorrow afternoon. I couldn’t deal with people in close proximity for much longer than that.
“By the way, are those for a book about Miriam Young?” Mir asked, gesturing at the papers.
“No.”
“Who’s Miriam Young?” Killian looked confused.
“One of my secondary characters,” I said. “A popular one.”
“Are you going to write about her?” Mir asked.
“Maybe at some point. I can’t say for sure.” Just because
a character was popular didn’t mean my brain came up with suitable ideas for a book. Actually, it was harder to come up with something for an established character because I had to work within specific parameters.
“I hope you do. I love Miriam Young, and it’s extra cool because we have the same first name. It got me so psyched, you know? The story felt more real to me. And if you write one about her, it’ll be like I’m inside the story when the hero whispers my name.”
Killian made a choking noise next to me. He was probably vowing never to read any book with a Miriam as the heroine.
Mir went on like she hadn’t noticed Killian’s reaction. “And…”
I sighed, resigned. I wasn’t going to get any work done today.
“We should get going,” Killian said. “Emily has stuff to do.”
“Really?” Mir looked surprised. She’d probably assumed, just like Molly Patterson, that I wouldn’t have a set work schedule because I worked from home.
I didn’t have a schedule I had to stick to, per se, but that didn’t mean I could just, on a whim, dedicate a bunch of hours in my day to something else. Like hanging out with an unexpected guest.
“But I thought you’d have to work on your next album,” Mir said in a small voice, sending a glance in my direction.
“Well, yeah, but I’m not drumming or playing the guitar.”
Although he didn’t say it like he was upset—after all, it’d been a fair deal—I suddenly realized just how long I’d made him stay away from his music. If somebody forced me to stop writing for four weeks, I didn’t know how I’d react.
And he had to leave in less than two months. I had no clue how rock bands worked, but as Axelrod’s frontman, Killian would probably have to bring some ideas.
“Why don’t you go do what you need to do for your next album?” I suggested.
“But…”
I inhaled deeply and waved him away, firming up my resolve. Otherwise I might have chickened out of spending time with Mir, who seemed like one of those exhausting super-extroverts. “I’ll hang out with your sister while you work, if that’ll make you feel better.”
Killian looked at me, as anxious as if he were leaving an unsupervised child near a pool. “Are you sure?” he said.
“Very. Go on. Go do your…drum thing or whatever. I’m not writing today, so it won’t bother me.”
“You should listen to her. She knows everything,” Mir said with a smug smile.
Killian looked torn, but I made a shooing motion with my hand. He started walking backward, his eyes on Mir. “Behave,” he warned her.
“You know I will.” She stuck her tongue out, then grinned.
“Don’t bother Emily too much. She has a lot of work to do even if she’s not writing today,” he said before shutting the door behind him.
Mir turned to me, an apprehensive look on her face. “Are you really busy? I mean, I can just go hang out at a café or something so you can get stuff done.”
I smiled. At least, unlike some people, Mir recognized when she might be wrong about my workload and was willing to adjust her expectations. “It’s okay. I just turned in a book. So I can afford to take some time off while waiting for editorial feedback. And besides, it’s only one day.”
Her eyes lit up. “Your editor is sooooo lucky. She gets to read your book before it gets released.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t feel that way.” Especially given that I had never gotten an editorial letter shorter than ten pages from her. The woman was thorough, but then, I paid her to be thorough. I would’ve fired her otherwise.
“We should celebrate,” Mir said, clapping her hands together like an excited child.
“Celebrate what?”
“You finishing your book! Don’t you do that after each book?”
“Um… Not really.” I did once, when I finished my first book, but never since. There were always things to do after I turned in a manuscript, and the more I wrote, the more of a routine it became. I blinked at her flushed face. Was it going to destroy her illusions about me and my career?
“But it’s such a huge achievement! If you don’t celebrate, I mean…” She trailed off, clearly at a loss. “What do you do when you’ve accomplished something awesome?”
My idea of celebration usually involved some beer, ice cream and a good movie or a book. Possibly, if I felt extra indulgent, sleeping in for the following day or two. But I was pretty sure that wasn’t what Mir had in mind.
“We should go out!” Mir said. “Sam’s Brew has karaoke night today, which means Hop Hop Hooray beer specials. It’s an awesome bar, and everyone loves it. I’m sure Killian would be happy to come along, too,” Mir added, probably as a final convincing.
I looked at her awkwardly. I’d never been to Sam’s Brew—hadn’t been planning to go—and karaoke wasn’t my idea of fun. But didn’t seem possible to say no to that expectant face. She looked like a puppy waiting for a walk. “Yeah, sure. It sounds…great.” As long as you don’t expect me to sing.
“Yay!” She clasped her hands together. “Do you have anything to wear?”
I looked down at myself. “T-shirts and jeans okay?” I should have something respectable. And my vanity had some makeup I used for signings and conferences.
Mir gasped, scandalized. “Sam’s Brew has dress code. We’d be kicked out in T-shirts and jeans.”
“A place in this town has a dress code?” You’ve got to be kidding. “What am I supposed to wear, then?”
“Something sexy, of course.”
I mentally reviewed my closet’s contents. There was nothing that could be labeled sexy. Now I was already beginning to regret agreeing to this so-called celebration, because I realized I’d have to do more than just eat ice cream or watch something on Netflix with a huge bucket of popcorn. I contained a sigh. This was too high maintenance.
She studied me, her eyes narrowed. “We need to go shopping.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Emily
After I tied my hair into a ponytail, Mir pulled me into her car and drove us to the small strip mall where Sunny’s Mart was located. A boutique with a colorful blue and purple sign that read “Fashionista’s Dream” stood at the opposite end. I stared at it in shock. I hadn’t realized clothing stores existed in this town for some reason. But of course Kingstree would have at least one. It wasn’t like the people here were walking around naked.
Mir led me into the store. Actually, herded might be a better word, since she was behind me, blocking my exit should I change my mind. Thin gray industrial-grade carpet muffled our footsteps. The store had multiple sections—clothes, shoes and accessories for babies, children and adults. It even sold underwear in one corner. The fluorescent lights cast bright but harsh illumination. The place looked a bit claustrophobic, due to the low ceiling. But at least that meant everything was within my reach. I hated asking for help from clerks, because that meant interacting with people.
A middle-aged lady with reddish hair and murky green eyes came toward us waving both hands. Her colorful, loose tunic sleeves fluttered to the movements of her arms. “Well, hello, Mir!”
“Hey, Val!”
“You visiting with a friend?”
Mir laughed, her cheeks red. “This is Killian’s next-door neighbor, Emily.”
“Oh my goodness.” Val put a hand over her generous chest. “I never thought I’d run in to you. Thought you were a legend, like the yetis!”
“Not a legend,” I murmured. I just preferred to keep to myself, which didn’t make me a yeti. But if I had it my way, I’d have remained a legend. A hermit legend.
“Apparently not.” She stared at me with an uncomfortably bright gleam in her eyes. “Heard from Jo Anne that you wanted to have Killian arrested for playing the drums. Is that true?”
My jaw slackened. What was she talking about?
“You did?” Mir said.
“No. Who is Jo Anne and why would she say that?” I demanded, annoyed by the gossip. �
��And why would anyone believe it?”
“She’s one of the 911 dispatchers here,” Mir said. “Knows everything about everyone.”
Then it clicked. That woman who’d told me to be happy about the “free” concert. Ugh. I resisted an urge to pinch the bridge of my nose, since I was wearing glasses. But my head was hurting, and I was embarrassed. I hadn’t realized this Jo Anne person would tell everyone. Shouldn’t she keep things confidential? 911 dispatchers should sign NDAs.
“Well, she’s wrong. I never tried to have him arrested. Just called in one complaint about noise pollution,” I said. “Anyway, we’re here to shop,” I added before Val started to share more ludicrous tales.
Mir snapped her fingers. “Oh, right.”
“You need a basket?” Val gestured at a stack of plastic black baskets. “Or we have carts, if you prefer.”
“I’m good, thanks,” I said before Mir could respond, then marched deeper into the store where a sign that read WOMEN was located.
“A basket might be nice,” Mir said, following me.
“I only need one outfit, not a basketful.”
“Yeah, but you might want more for later.”
“Later…what?” I asked. Wasn’t Mir leaving after tomorrow?
“When you go out again? You can’t wear the same stuff all the time.”
“‘All the time’ would be a big exaggeration. I’m a reclusive yeti, remember?”
Mir cringed. “Sorry. Val can be a little gossipy and obtuse, but she doesn’t mean anything.”
Easier for her to say, since she wasn’t the one being labeled a big, hairy—and undoubtedly smelly—monster. On the other hand, I shouldn’t take it out on Mir. It wasn’t her fault.
“I’m sure. I’m just a little introverted, so interacting with strangers can be a strain,” I said with a smile, not wanting Mir to be upset. She was a fan and Killian’s sister. I could be gracious.
“Oh, sure. Totally get it. I just thought you’d be a little more comfortable with the whole social thing.” Mir looked through some dresses hanging from a rack.
“You did? Why?”
“Because your bio said you worked a corporate job and got an MBA. I figured you wouldn’t get that degree if you preferred to work alone at home. I mean, didn’t your old job required you to interact with other people in an office and so on?”