“Is Felix still your husband?” Bridget asked.
I hurled the pillow at her. “Seriously, Bridget? You couldn’t come up with something else to lead with?”
Bridget frowned, her face turning the color of her hair. “Caroline’s marital status is going to be first on the agenda for quite a while.” Pointing at Caroline, she said, “That’s what she gets for eloping with a guy we never met and not allowing us the opportunity to wear matching puffy bridesmaid’s dresses.” She smiled to show she was only teasing.
“Something most people would thank me for,” Caroline said with a chuckle.
“Don’t worry, Bridget. You’ll get to wear a bridesmaid’s dress when I get married. And I’ll be nice,” I promised.
“Bridesmaid? Psh. I expect to be maid of honor when you get married, missy,” Bridget said.
“Erin might have a different plan in mind,” I responded.
Bridget’s face lit up. “I already worked it all out. Erin will be the matron of honor so I can be the maid of honor.”
“Unless you get married before me,” I said. I quickly added, “Kidding,” even though I secretly hoped Bridget and Jonathan would change their minds about getting married one day. Or at least have kids so our daughters could be best friends.
“It’s a nonissue,” Bridget said, waving me away.
“My getting married should be the last of your concerns right now, anyway. I think we’ve got time.” I giggled.
“I think Bridget has weddings on the mind because of my lack of hoopla. Right, Bridget?” Caroline asked.
“Right. And a new season of Say Yes to the Dress started on TLC.” Bridget tapped her head. “It’s all weddings all the time in here.”
I gave her a curious look. “Seriously?” An odd subject to clog the brain of a woman with zero interest in ever planning her own nuptials.
“Kim, what’s going on with your book?” Caroline asked.
“Yeah, Kim. What’s the latest?” Bridget asked.
I looked at Bridget in surprise. “You already know everything, Bridget.” To Caroline, I said, “As you’re aware, I was rejected by Three Monkeys Press. Last I heard, Felicia was going to pitch A Blogger’s Life at the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books, but it’s been over a week and crickets.”
“Have you followed up with her?” Caroline asked.
“No,” I said, biting my nails.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Scared,” I mumbled. “At least if I don’t know, I can be hopeful. If I ask her, she’ll have to break the news that every reputable publisher this side of the equator has turned it down.” I shook my head. “I’d rather be blissfully ignorant.”
“Except you’re clearly not blissful,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, K, just drop her a gentle note,” Bridget urged.
In truth, I feared too much good fortune had come my way recently, and following up with Felicia would be pushing my luck. How likely was it Nicholas would make things right between us and Felicia would sell my book all within such a brief period of time? And it was even less conceivable any update Felicia could provide was one I’d be desirous to receive. Otherwise, wouldn’t she have already contacted me unsolicited? My guess was Felicia either had nothing new to report or any update she could provide was contrary to what I wanted to hear. She probably figured what I didn’t know wouldn’t hurt me. Besides, I wasn’t the only author she represented, and I couldn’t expect to be her constant priority.
This was how I justified deleting the numerous emails I’d drafted to her over the last week requesting an update. “I’ll take your advice under advisement, ladies.” Empty promises, as per usual, to facilitate a change in topic. “So tell us about Casablanca, Caroline. Have you been to Rick’s Café?” I didn’t know if such a venue existed outside of the classic movie, but it didn’t matter as long as the question served to take the conversation in another direction.
“In fact, we have. The original was closed down in the eighties, but a new one was reopened by an American ex-pat in 2004. We went there two nights ago. Right, Felix?” Caroline turned her blond head away from the computer, and a moment later, Felix was at her side, crouching down to be seen on the computer monitor. To Caroline, he said, “I put in a wake-up call for tomorrow morning at seven.” Facing the screen again, but still stroking Caroline’s arm, he said, “We’re going to Marrakesh tomorrow and need to get an early start. But enough about us. Hiya, girls.” He flashed us a smile.
Bridget nudged my leg with her foot, no doubt in silent appreciation of Felix’s European sex appeal. My face heated in agreement. “Hi, Felix. Enjoying Morocco so far?”
Felix nodded enthusiastically. “It’s smashing. Rick’s Café is nothing like the movie—posh and the cocktails are bomb—but we’re glad we went.” He kissed Caroline on the head. “Right, babes?”
I glanced at Bridget who looked equally confused, but we both nodded at Felix. “Awesome,” I said.
“Brill,” Bridget said before laughing.
Caroline yawned. “It’s late here, guys, and we should get some shut-eye.”
“We’ll let you go, then. Good talking to you two,” Bridget said.
“Have fun in Marrakesh,” I said.
“We will. Keep us posted on the book stuff, Kim. And any other interesting developments,” Caroline said.
“As soon as I have something to share, you’ll be among the first to know,” I assured her.
“No matter where we are. Promise?” Caroline’s eyes probed mine as if she wasn’t so sure.
“Uh, yeah. I promise,” I said, taken aback by her need for reassurance. Along with Nicholas, my parents, Bridget (and Jonathan by association) and Rob, I considered Caroline among the most important people in my life. Rob was a late addition to my A-list ever since his heart-to-heart with Nicholas led to our reconciliation.
Caroline grinned. “Great. Love you guys.”
“Love you too,” Bridget said.
“Muah!” I waved at the monitor one more time before Caroline ended the call, and her face disappeared from the screen. I stretched my arms over my head. It was five hours earlier in New York City than in Morocco, but I was still beat.
“Caroline was acting odd,” I said to Bridget, who had stood up to bring the almost-empty platter of cheese we were nibbling on to the kitchen.
“How so?”
I followed her into the kitchen. “She seemed so concerned with me keeping her in the loop on stuff. Have I been leaving her out?” The woman was on another continent in the throes of her extended honeymoon. Although I didn’t want to waste her limited text plan with minutiae, I’d never purposely keep her in the dark.
With her back to me as she returned the container of leftover cheese to the refrigerator, Bridget said, “I didn’t notice anything unusual about her behavior.”
Standing behind her, I said, “Really? Okay, maybe I’m being paranoid.”
Bridget turned around and asked, “Are you PMSing?” just as Jonathan walked into the apartment carrying bags of groceries in each arm.
Placing the bags on the kitchen island, he expelled an exasperated sigh. “I’m beginning to think you plan these ‘period’ conversations for when I’ll be in earshot.”
“Yes, it’s all a conspiracy, honey bunny,” Bridget said, tickling him on his sides. “But seriously, Kim, don’t give it another thought.”
“Give what another thought?” Jonathan asked, scratching his head where his crew cut was beginning to grow in.
“Nothing,” Bridget replied before I could answer. “Are you hungry, Jonathan? Want any cheese?”
Jonathan gave me a puzzled glance, and I shrugged my shoulders. “I should get going. I wanted to work on book two tonight and it’s already…” I glanced at my watch. “…almost eight o’clock. I’m so overwhelmed. Between the day
job, maintaining the blog, keeping up on my reading, writing, and Nicholas, I have zero energy.” Thinking out loud, I said, “Maybe I’ll skip the writing and take a bubble bath.” I smiled wickedly, remembering the bath I took with Nicholas only a few nights earlier and the subsequent marathon sex. If I wanted a relaxing night, I’d need to take a solo soak this time around.
Jonathan and Bridget exchanged a glance.
“What?” Had I said the part about my bath with Nicholas out loud?
“Nothing,” Bridget said, pulling me into a hug. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Kim. You have tons of energy, and I’m positive you could take on another…um…project if you wanted to.”
I chuckled. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Bridge.”
A few minutes later, I sat on the downtown train with my head buried in my e-reader hoping to drown out the noise of my fellow commuters (and make a dent in my TBR pile). Despite my attempt to concentrate on the words on the device, my mind kept wandering to the events of the evening. I couldn’t decide who’d acted stranger—Bridget or Caroline.
Chapter 44
The following week, Nicholas and I were in our apartment relaxing after a casual dinner of bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches and homemade potato chips. The television was on at low volume in the background while I worked on Love on Stone Street and Nicholas read a book—an actual novel, not a legal treatise or twenty-page agreement—he’d come so far.
“Kimmie,” Nicholas said, tickling my toes.
I was stretched across the couch with my legs on Nicholas’s lap, but my butt lifted off of the couch at the sensation. I giggled. “Stop it. You know I’m ticklish.”
“Hence the reason I do it,” he said, playing my toes like the keys of a clarinet until I laughed again. “Let’s take a walk.” He glanced toward the window in our living room. “It’s a nice night.” As his fingers moved in the direction of my feet once again, I pulled my legs away and sat up straight.
Following his gaze out the window, I queried, “How do you know? It’s dark outside.” It was almost nine thirty.
Ignoring my question, Nicholas tapped his phone. Then he looked up and grinned. “According to Accuweather, it’s sixty-five degrees with only fifteen percent humidity. Perfect weather for a summer stroll around the block.” He stood up and reached for my hand.
I allowed him to pull me up. We were in kissing distance so, naturally, I pressed my lips softly against his until he deepened the kiss and reached under my shirt to massage my lower back. Reluctantly separating from his embrace, I said, “You sure you want to take a walk now?” I could think of other things I’d rather do, none of which included accomplishing today’s goal of hitting the forty-thousand word count on book two.
Dragging me toward the foyer of our apartment, he said, “Yes.”
Resisting his force, I took a step backward. “Let me use the bathroom first. And run a brush through my hair.”
Nicholas stroked his thumb gently across my cheek and kissed my forehead. “Do what you got to do. I have cabin fever. Meet you outside.”
Nicholas was right—the crisp dry air outside made walking quite comfortable. Still, I was glad I grabbed my denim jacket as what I thought would be a brief jaunt around the block turned into an on-foot tour of the extended neighborhood. As we walked, we pointed out our favorite buildings from an architectural standpoint and added several restaurants and bars to our to-try list.
“I definitely want to eat there,” I said, pointing at La Sirène, a French restaurant we’d still yet to try.
“Then we’ll make it happen,” Nicholas said with a smile.
We continued to walk hand in hand in contented silence until Nicholas stopped short in front of the Soho Grand Hotel. “What do we have here?” he asked, glancing at the entrance.
“The Soho Grand. Remember the last time we were here together? The only time, actually.”
“How could I forget?” Nicholas said with a wink.
My ten-year high school reunion the year before was held at the Soho Grand—when Nicholas and I were first becoming “friends.” When I told him about the reunion, he suggested we meet for a drink after since he lived so close to the hotel. Nervous as all get-out, I summoned the nerve to text him. He showed up, and after initial tension—caused by Hannah Marshak both hitting on him and outing Jonathan as my high-school sweetheart and current friend with benefits—we confessed our mutual attraction. We slept together for the first time that night and soon after became boyfriend and girlfriend. I was one of those fortunate women who managed to make love out of what could easily have been a late-night one-time booty call. I still didn’t know how I got so lucky. (Aside from my mad bedroom skills.)
Bringing me back to the present, Nicholas motioned toward the entrance. “Should we get a drink?”
“Why not?”
I followed him inside the lobby and up the stairs to the Grand Bar, where we sat in plush oversized chairs and gave our drink orders. “I think I’ll stick to prosecco and leave the Dirty Soho for another time,” I said, shuddering in the memory of the drink I had the last time. I could still taste the potent cocktail I had ordered after running away from Nicholas in a huff when I thought he was more interested in Hannah than me.
When the waitress brought over our drinks, we clinked glasses. “To the Soho Grand,” I said.
“To the Soho Grand,” Nicholas repeated. “Where it all began.”
I gazed at him adoringly. “Best night ever.”
Nicholas cocked his head to the side. “Eventually, yes. But you had me scared there for a while.”
Jerking my head back, I said, “I had you scared? My hands were shaking when I texted you, asking if you wanted to meet me.”
“Why would you be afraid?”
I shrugged. “I didn’t know if you liked me the way I liked you.”
“What guy asks a girl to meet him for a drink on a Saturday night if he doesn’t like her?” Nicholas asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Precisely what Bridget said before she got hammered. And then I wondered if you were only looking to get laid. Why were you scared?”
“You were none too pleased to see me at first, if you recall. Anyway, I did want to get in your pants,” Nicholas confessed. “But I was smitten.”
“I was too,” I said, my voice cracking with emotion. “I was taken aback seeing you talking to Hannah. If you had chosen her, I would have been crushed.”
“Hannah who?” Nicholas said with a blank expression.
When I playfully nudged him in the leg, he grabbed ahold of my hand. “I only had eyes for you, Kimmie Long.”
We smiled goofily at each other for a moment, not saying anything. Eventually, Nicholas broke the silence. “Kim…I…” Before he could get another word out, my phone rang, startling us both.
“Hold that thought,” I said, releasing my phone from my purse. “It’s Felicia. I should take this.”
Nicholas nodded. “Go for it.”
I whispered, “I’ll just be a second.” Still holding his hand, I answered the phone. “Hi, Felicia.” Riddled with anxiety as to the reason she was phoning me, my pulse raced— Felicia didn’t do courtesy calls, certainly not at this late hour.
“Is this a good time?”
I glanced at Nicholas and squeezed his hand. “Sure. I’m having a drink with my boyfriend at the Soho Grand.” I winced at my tendency to provide more information than was required.
“Nice. The perfect venue for a celebration.”
My heart slamming against my chest, I asked, “Is there something to celebrate?” I locked eyes with Nicholas, who whispered, “What?”
I mouthed, “I don’t know” and chewed on my lip. “Felicia?”
“I do have some news, Kim,” she said in an even tone.
I held tightly to Nicholas’s hand like I needed it to pull me
out of quicksand. “You do?”
“I promised you I would find a home for A Blogger’s Life. Did you believe me?”
In a meek voice, I said, “Yes,” blinking away the onset of tears. I knew something big was coming. I dug my nails deeper into Nicholas’s palm, but he didn’t flinch.
“I know you were disappointed when Three Monkeys Press passed, but I’m hoping what I’m about to say will make up for it.”
I swallowed hard. “Okay?” She was killing me with calmness.
“Have you ever heard of Fifth Avenue Press?”
I stuttered, “Have…have I ever heard of Fifth Avenue Press?” It was only one of the biggest most prestigious New York City publishing houses. Raising my voice, I said, “Of course I have”
Felicia chuckled. “Well…they’ve offered you a two-book deal and a thirty-thousand-dollar advance.”
I leaped from the chair. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.” I repeated the phrase in shock and beamed at Nicholas as if he could hear the other end of the conversation. When he called the waitress over for another round of drinks and flashed me one of his brightest smiles, I figured he got the gist.
“I’ll go over the details tomorrow, but I didn’t want to wait to give you the news. I’m so happy for you, Kim.”
I sat back down. “Thank you so much.” I wiped a tear from my cheek. “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”
“Believe it. This is only the beginning. Call me tomorrow, and we’ll set up a time for you to come to the office. In the meantime, have a drink for me.”
“I will.”
“Bye, Kim.”
“Bye.” I ended the call and looked at Nicholas, my body shaking from the shock. “Fifth Avenue Press offered me a two-book publishing deal complete with a thirty-thousand-dollar advance.” I felt detached from my body.
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