Matthew’s back stiffened and he adjusted the milk can to hold it with both hands. “And what, now you’re not? Because the company I worked for went under?”
“No. I didn’t mean that,” Paula replied. “But when things fell apart, you pulled away from us. You wouldn’t answer your phone. You gave us one-word answers to our texts, if you replied at all. And living so far away, we had no idea what was going on.”
Guilt and humiliation washed over him like a wave crashing into rocks. “Well, I’m here now, aren’t I?”
“Yes, and for that we’re thankful. But we haven’t really talked about what happened, and what you want to do now. Your father and I want to help you.”
Matthew clenched his teeth, holding back the words in his head. I can’t deal with this right now. Like she said, I have to finish up here and get to work.
He started toward the shed, swallowing his wounded pride. “You’re already helping, Mom. Just welcoming me home while I work things out is enough. Everything’s fine. I promise.”
Her words gnawed at him. He had to do something more about his career, and soon. But local editing jobs didn’t exist, and he didn’t want to move across the country again. He’d missed his family. Sure, there might be some options in Vancouver or Seattle, but he’d been scouring online job listings and hadn’t seen anything he was qualified for yet.
If I could make a real go as a freelancer, I could work from anywhere. I could stay close to home. Maybe get to know Anna better . . . But starting a freelance business was no easy task.
He deposited the canister inside the shed. When he returned to the truck, his mom was wrestling with another one on the tailgate. Dolly danced around her feet, barking at the milk jug as if it were about to attack.
“Let me get that. Watch out for Dolly!” He quickened his pace, but she gave the canister a yank and it tumbled into her arms.
She stumbled backwards to right her balance, but her ankle gave out. Dolly leapt out of the way as she fell to the gravel below, landing on her hip. With a painful yelp, she let go of the canister, and it rolled to the side.
“Oh, Mom!” Matthew rushed to her, gravel crunching beneath his boots as he ran. He knelt next to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay? Don’t move.”
She rolled onto her back with a groan. “I—I think I’m okay.” She pushed his hand away and sat up. “Oh, my hip. I think I bruised it.”
“And your ankle?” Matthew asked.
“It’s sore, but I think I’m okay.” She tried to get to her feet, but stumbled. Matthew grabbed her arm and eased her to a sitting position.
“I’m going to help you up and get you into the truck. We need to get you checked out, okay?” She gave him a pained look, and he continued, “Just in case. You don’t want to make it worse and end up not being able to help out with the dance.”
She closed her eyes and set her jaw, but nodded. “Okay. Fine. But Dolly—”
“I’ll bring her inside. Let’s get you up and into the truck first, okay?”
“Okay.”
He helped her to her feet and let her lean on him as she limped to the truck, wincing with every jolted step.
As he opened the door for her, he gave her a teasing smile. “Looks like I’ll be calling Rodger to let him know I’ll be late, after all.”
Paula heaved a sigh, but got in the passenger seat and leaned it back. “Let’s get this over with.”
Chapter Eight
Anna picked up a shiny blue hardcover from the shelf before her, breathing in the smell of cinnamon and cloves from the bookshop’s diffuser. She tapped her fingers on the glittery gold title, The Whisper of Wings, then turned the book over. Even that simple movement made her arms ache, and she winced. The four hours of sweeping and hauling garbage bags filled with debris that morning were already catching up with her. Once Rodger had decided to call it a day, she’d rushed home to shower and change so she would have time to pop into Steeped in Books before heading back to the inn.
She bit her lip as she read the book’s blurb. The fairies in her story seemed more devious than the angelic-looking creature with flowing blond hair and shimmery green wings on this cover. But Clarissa had suggested that Anna read some new YA releases about fairies to spark her inspiration.
Princess Auralia must lead her troops against the demon army threatening to invade her land—nope. Anna sighed and returned the book to the shelf. Too much like an epic fantasy. My story’s modern, not medieval.
She mulled over a few other titles in the section, but there weren’t many that fit her exact genre. Most of them were stories about princesses, knights, and fairy worlds of long ago. Sure, they sounded like interesting reads, but they were not good matches for The Wicked Moon. There was no way she could completely shift the era. With all the other changes Clarissa had suggested, she would have to write a completely different book.
Her mind wandered to her new work in progress about the two sisters and their journey across the Andes. Maybe that’s what I should do. Scrap the whole book and focus on my new project. She chewed the side of her cheek, a scene about a bear encounter rolling around in her mind. But Clarissa specialized in fantasy. Would she even be willing to look at something else? Or would Anna have to start completely over, sending out dozens of queries and waiting for months for a single reply?
She shook the idea from her mind. Not yet. I only have a couple chapters written, anyways. She glanced at the counter, where Laura was deep in conversation with an older man wearing a tweed jacket and fedora. Maybe she knows of a book they can order for me. Something popular with YA readers right now that doesn’t involve royalty.
A tinkling of chimes met her ears, and Matthew Talbot walked through the front door. She lingered for a moment, taking in his fashionable wool jacket and the tidy swoop of his chestnut hair. She’d never seen him in anything but clothing more suitable for working in the dirt than sitting behind an editorial desk.
Well, somebody’s all cleaned up today. He hadn’t been at work that morning, and Rodger hadn’t mentioned why. But with the way he was dressed, it sure didn’t seem like a last-minute emergency.
His hazel eyes met hers, and her stomach squeezed. No, do not come over here. I do not feel like dealing with you today.
But it was too late. He sauntered over to the YA section and gave her an affable grin. “Hey, Anna. What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at the inn?”
She stared at him, internally cursing the cute dimple in his chin. “I should be asking you the same thing.” She lifted her nose and continued to browse through the book spines on the shelf. “We missed you this morning. Rodger could have used the extra help tearing out that old milk tank.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You missed me, huh?”
Anna fought the urge to roll her eyes. “No. That’s not what I meant. Rodger—”
Matthew chuckled, causing the lines around his eyes to crinkle with mischief. “I know. It was a joke.”
She took a breath, annoyed with herself. Get a hold of yourself, Anna. We are coworkers, and we made an agreement to be civil. “Right. I knew that.”
She straightened her book bag, forcing her shoulders to relax. Her gaze caught on him, and she wondered what it would be like to run her fingers through the tousled waves of his hair. Wait. Stop. Civil doesn’t mean caressing the man!
“I’m sorry if I left you all in a bind,” he said, oblivious to her discomfort. “I didn’t plan on missing work today. I had to run my mom to the hospital this morning.”
“Oh! Is she alright?”
“Yeah, she’s okay. A bruised hip from a fall, a sprained ankle from yoga.”
“From yoga?”
“It’s a long story.” He glanced around the store and lowered his voice. “But we can blame Christine for the yoga incident.” He smirked, clearly teasing her again. “By the time we were out of Emergency, Rodger said things were wrapping up for the day and to wait and come in tomorrow.”
“I’m glad it meets your approval.” He lifted a brow, then followed her gaze to the bookshelf. “YA fairy tales? Is that what genre you write?”
“It’s more like what my agent wants me to write.” Anna gestured at the line of books helplessly. “I wrote The Wicked Moon for adults. Now, Clarissa wants me to change it to YA so publishers will be more interested. Apparently, fairies are in for teens right now.”
“Hmm.” Matthew nodded, appraising the books in front of them. “Well, she’s right about that. You said The Wicked Moon, right? I think I remember your proposal, and it was definitely not a book for kids. There’s a lot to consider when switching the intended audience. You wouldn’t want to lose the heart of your story.”
“That’s exactly what I’m worried about.” Anna stepped closer to him and pulled a canary-yellow paperback from the shelf. “She’s not a princess like these heroines. And the book isn’t all magic and stardust, there’s some bad things that happened in Rowena’s life that she has to overcome. She’s lived in my head for years, and she’s always been in her late twenties with adult problems. Now, I have to somehow make her a high school student, change her backstory, adjust the romance . . .”
“Why don’t you write something new? Let The Wicked Moon sit for a bit. Wait for the right publisher to bite.”
“I’m scared Clarissa isn’t that patient.” Anna returned the book to its spot, then twisted to face him. “I think she might drop me as an author if I don’t do what she thinks is best. And I mean, she’s a literary agent. She knows the business way better than I do.”
Matthew rubbed his chin, looking at her intently. “Ah, but you are the author. You need to do what’s right by your work. And if writing YA fairy tales isn’t your passion, readers—and acquisitions editors—will be able to tell.”
She pushed her glasses up her nose, her heart sinking. “Then what am I supposed to do?”
“Do you have any other projects you’re working on?”
“I do. But it’s not fantasy. It’s a story about two estranged sisters who go on a hiking trip together to reconnect. Clarissa has no interest in women’s fiction.”
Matthew tilted his head. “That sounds promising. I know a few agents searching for stories like that. If you like, I could take a look at it.”
“Oh, no.” Anna took a step back, her chest tight. “It’s nowhere near ready for an editor. I only have the first few chapters written, and I’m still tweaking the plot.”
“Think of it more as a critique than an edit,” Matthew replied. “Free of charge, of course. An outline and a chapter are a good start. If you have the premise ironed out and get a couple more chapters written, we could shine them up and you could shop them around.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Anna wasn’t sure what to say. She gave him a sideways look, trying to figure out his angle. It was a nice offer, but what was in it for him?
“Well, think about it and let me know.” He glanced around the store, his brows knit with confusion. “I was going to head over to the women’s fiction section to show you a book I think you should read, but this store doesn’t make any sense. Why is horror between romance and gluten-free cookbooks?”
Anna laughed and beckoned at him to follow her. “That’s Christine’s style, organized chaos. You should see her tea wall. She has the English breakfast with the herbal tisanes.”
“Well, that’s just blasphemous.”
“Right? Though honestly, despite the disordered displays, Christine’s wonderful. She’s been nothing but supportive of my writing.” Anna stopped in front of a floor-to-ceiling bookcase lined with titles about everything from religion, to gardening, to astrology, and finally, fiction books with scenic photos and joyful-looking women on the covers.
“That doesn’t surprise me. She’s Sophie’s mom, after all.” Matthew stood beside her, appraising the books.
“That’s right. Sophie dates your brother.”
“Yup. I grew up with Soph. Though she’s Marshal and Madi’s age, so I don’t know her as well as they do.” He stepped forward, his elbow brushing Anna’s as he went, and picked a title from the highest shelf. “Here, this one’s a new release. I read it last month, and it’s about two sisters who are rival athletes. Their family goes on a trip to Italy and they get lost in Venice together.” He handed her the book, and his eyes crinkled with humour. “Touching and hilarious.”
Anna took it from him, gazing at the bright blue water of the canal on the cover. “You read women’s fiction novels?”
He gave her a sheepish grin. “I read everything. Science fiction is my favourite, but I’ll let you in on a secret, if you promise you won’t tell Sophie or Madison.”
“What?”
“I read a few of my sister’s romance novels growing up. Cheesy, yes. But I dig heartwarming. There was this one by Celia Saint James I probably read a dozen times.” He furrowed his brows. “I can’t remember what it was called. But it had a purple cover with a couple—” His eyes widened as if he’d caught himself divulging his deepest secret, and he pointed a finger at her. “Marshal can never find out. Ever.”
Anna giggled and tucked the book under her arm. “Your promise is safe with me. Book nerds have to stick together.”
“True. Especially book nerds who were both let go by the same press.”
Her throat tightened. For a moment, she’d almost forgotten that he was the guy who’d pulled the rug from under her publishing dreams. And he wanted to look at her manuscript? No way.
Laura came around the corner of the bookshelf behind him, holding a cardboard box filled with paperbacks. “Oh, hi, Anna!” She paused, looking at Matthew. “Hi there, I’m Laura.”
“Hey, I’m Matthew. I’d offer to shake your hand, but yours are full. Need help with that box?”
“Oh, I was about to set this down.” She nodded in his direction, causing her blonde bangs to fall in her face. “These ones go on that shelf right behind you.”
She let him take the box, then he set it down on the hardwood chair at the end of the shelf. “Are they okay here?”
“You bet! Thank you.” Laura pushed the stray locks from her forehead, then turned to Anna. “Hey, have you decided if you’re coming to the Book Club meeting on Friday?”
Anna cringed, remembering that she’d meant to avoid the clerk until after Friday. Right. The book club. “Umm, you know, I’m not sure.”
“Book club meeting?” Matthew asked. “Here, at the store?”
“Yep,” Laura replied. “We start at seven o’clock sharp. Like I told Anna the other day, we’re deciding on the Christmas book for this year. New people are always welcome, but only if you don’t suggest any boring classics.”
“What about Silent Night by John Glover?”
Laura crossed her arms and quirked a brow. “I haven’t heard of that, but it sounds bland.”
“It’s horror.”
“You’re in. And don’t forget that recommendation.”
Matthew pumped his arm. “Awesome.”
Anna shook her head, trying to hide a laugh. Who’d have thought Mr. Pompous Editor was such a dork?
Laura turned her pleading gaze to Anna. “You’re going to come too, right? I promise, there’s no pressure to share your work. Just a bunch of readers chatting about books.”
“A bunch of book nerds, as you said,” Matthew agreed. “It’ll be fun.”
Anna bit the inside of her lip, folding under Laura’s imploring gaze. “Okay. Fridays are my night off from the kitchen anyways.” A night I was planning to spend writing. But she didn’t need to tell them that.
“Perfect!” Laura clasped her hands together. “I’m so glad. Okay, I gotta get these books shelved. I�
��ll see both of you on Friday.”
“You bet,” Matthew replied. “Looking forward to whatever Christmassy reads you two come up with.”
Anna’s phone vibrated in her pocket, and she shifted the book to her other arm so she could pull it out. An alarm lit up her screen, letting her know it was almost time for her kitchen shift.
“Shoot. It’s almost time for work.” She put her phone away, then waved the book in their direction. “I better pay for this and get going. Thanks for the recommendation, Matthew.”
“Hope it helps.”
“Me too.” She said good-bye to Laura, then made her way to the front of the store to pay for the book. She caught the sound of Matthew and Laura’s laughter, and her throat tightened. Were they flirting? That’s none of your business, Anna. But still, a tiny part of her cringed at the thought. She could hardly blame Matthew if he was. The blond clerk was not only pretty, but charming and funny too. Nothing like me.
She clenched her jaw. I’ve got to stop wallowing! I’m not interested in him like that, anyways. Right? Forcing her gaze to the tea behind the counter, she set down the hardcover and rang the bell, hoping Christine would hear it from the back room.
The price on the book stood out on a bright red sticker. Anna winced, realizing it wasn’t even in the genre she’d needed for The Wicked Moon. But she couldn’t bring herself to put it back, and Matthew’s words of encouragement came to her mind. Begrudgingly, she had to admit he was right. Her heart and mind needed something more than her rejected fae story. She welcomed the thought of something fresh and new to dive into.
Maybe tonight I’ll work on my mountain story, after I tear apart chapter seven of The Wicked Moon. Her mind began to wander into the woods, pulling memories of hiking trips in the Rockies her mother had forced her to go on as a child. Pouring rain and slick rocks, the fear of grizzly bears hanging above her head—I can use this. One of the sisters definitely hates the idea of spending time in the wilderness. Now, how can I get her to the point of a weeks-long hiking trip with her estranged sister?
Novel Dreams Page 6