by Jennifer Joy
Will watched the elegant woman close her eyes and squeeze back before stepping out of the embrace, still holding Liz's hands between her own.
"And your latest post! I love it that you weren't afraid to write your opinion, after taking the time to read all the author's works, to go against the grain." Dropping her voice and winking at Liz, she added, "As it turns out, I agree with you."
SilverFox's husband rolled his eyes. "Well, I don't. You gals are too stuck on pretty words and sentences that resemble poetry to appreciate the skill of a good old-fashioned adventure that keeps you up until three in the morning just to find out if the hero — or heroine, like in P. Dasher's books — can save the day once again. Those are the kinds of books I like, and I would dare to venture that even Mr. Donovan likes to read some pulse-raising, page-turning action every now and again. Am I right?" He turned to Will for support.
There that name was again. Dasher. While Will didn't care to hear any more comparisons between him and that particular author, he had to admit that he agreed with the man's sentiment. “You’re the second person tonight to mention his books. I enjoy a good story told well, no matter what the genre.”
SilverFox was not impressed. "I suppose I should be thrilled that our different taste in books is the greatest bone of contention in our marriage." She let go of Liz's hands, and Liz scribbled a signed note which she kissed before handing it to her loyal fan, leaving a perfect outline of her red lips by her loopy signature.
"Please don't leave before we get our picture taken together. You have no idea how encouraging you've been to me over the years since I started writing. Had it not been for you and Will, I would have thrown in the towel a long time ago."
Will stood, content to indulge any whim that brought Liz so much joy. She crossed the table to stand by him, and the waiter appeared out of nowhere to take their picture with SilverFox's husband's phone.
That done, Liz reached for Will's pocket. "Can we use your phone, Will? It’s closer than mine."
Will jumped back and out of her reach so hastily, he bumped against the table. The silver clattered against the china and the wine in his glass sloshed over the side, staining the tablecloth.
"Will?" Liz helped steady him as the waiter saw to replacing the tablecloth and topping off the wine spilled from the glass.
It was an awkward moment to say the least. In an attempt to explain his reaction without giving away what was in his breast pocket, Will said, "That tickled. I'm sorry, Liz, but I left my phone in my coat. Perhaps, since SilverFox67 knows how to reach you, she would be so gracious as to send her picture to you?"
Liz reached once again for his pocket, but he clasped her hand, brought it up to his lips, and kissed the inside of her wrist.
She wasn't distracted so easily. "But you have something in your pocket. I can see it. Are you certain it's not your phone?"
"I promise it isn't."
Fortunately, before Liz pressed any further, SilverFox's husband said, "My love, we should leave these two to enjoy each other's company."
"Good idea. We will continue our ... discussion ... about Dasher in the car."
He chuckled. "Sometimes I think you pull my chain just so we can make up later."
Her eyes twinkled, and she patted him on the cheek. "Smart man."
"The smartest in the world for marrying you forty years ago." Putting his arm around her waist, he steered his wife away from the table.
"Have a lovely evening," she said. "I'm so happy to have met you."
He bumped against Will's shoulder on his way by. With a wink, he said, "I wish you success with your young lady. Treasure her and you'll be happy."
The elderly man perceived what Will burned to ask Liz ... why didn't Liz?!
Will sat back down, frustrated to see how her eyes still lingered on his pocket. Further distraction was required.
"What was your latest blog about? I’m so sorry I haven’t read it yet."
She waved away his apology. "You said you were writing to a deadline. I know how consuming your stories are. I feel it when I narrate them, too. It was just a little article I posted a couple days ago that's getting more attention than anything I've previously written."
Odd she didn't seem as excited as she should be. "Liz, that's amazing! Congratulations!"
She scrunched her face up as if she had a bad taste in her mouth. "I wrote a piece on P. Dasher and his series. It's created a lot of conversation in the comments, some agreeing with me and others rising to his defense. It just irks me that my most popular post is about that man." Her voice dripped with disdain.
"What? You don't like his books?" Everyone else seemed to be in love with Dasher. Will had never thought Liz would read the kind of books Dasher wrote, her preferences being more in the literary and historical romance categories, but she must have if she’d offered her opinion on his works.
"Let's not waste our night talking about that awful man. I'll venture to guess that this is the one and only time I'll ever see eye-to-eye with Burgess," she chuckled, clearly wanting to change the subject.
The more she wanted to steer the conversation away from her blog, the more Will felt the need to find out what she'd written.
Chapter Four
"You? Agree with Burgess? Now you must tell me what you wrote, or I'll worry about your health all evening."
“Truth be told, I'm dying to talk to you about it! But not tonight.” Will admired her restraint. He understood how difficult it was for Liz to reign her excitement in when she overflowed with merriment.
“I would not lessen your joy for the world. If you wish to talk about it, I am eager to listen.”
“Not right now. Tonight is supposed to be nothing but balloons, great food, champagne, and the best company I could wish for.” She looked past Will in the direction of Burgess.
“Who? Burgess?” he teased.
Her laughter jingled through the dining room.
Will loved how easy her expression was to read. In one glance, he understood her caution toward Burgess and her willingness to set aside a juicy conversation lest the critic get the wrong impression.
"He's watching, isn't he?" Will asked.
She shivered. "I feel his eyes on us. It's like he's looking for something to exploit, like a panther waiting to pounce on any little misstep you might take. He would love that."
Just as Liz wouldn't allow talk of Dasher to ruin their night, Will wasn't about to allow Burgess to alter his plans.
"He's just sore because he was wrong about me. Nobody likes to be proven wrong publicly," he said nonchalantly, turning his attention to the elegant dish before him. Venison tenderloin nestled in caramelized onions, artfully drizzled with a beet sauce, and garnished with huckleberries.
"Yeah, well, the New York Times made sure people noticed. I'm just grateful they have such good taste or I would be obliged to cancel my subscription. They have the best crosswords." Liz dipped her meat in the sauce and took a bite, lowering her eyes and pulling the fork slowly across her lips. A throaty groan escaped her.
Will had to clear his throat to speak. "Good, huh?"
Taking a sip of wine, she said, "Delicious. And you know how difficult I am to please with a family in the restaurant business. It's nice to eat something other than Italian for a night."
"So long as your mom doesn't find out."
Liz cut another bite, balancing the berries on her fork. "She's not the one you need to worry about. It's Nana you should keep an eye on." In her best imitation of her feisty grandmother, she said, "How do you call it food if there's no Parmigiano-Reggiano?"
"She's a woman of strong opinions. Like her granddaughter."
Liz took it as the compliment he meant. "Strong opinions are good ... so long as I’m right. Which I usually am. I was right about you."
Will laughed. "Your astounding display of modesty aside, I'm eternally grateful you gave me a chance after the ... rocky start ... we had."
"You call what happened a 'rocky start'?" She pushed
her empty plate away and looked at him askance.
Will stifled a chuckle at the memory. They'd been at a book signing arranged by his publisher. A drab, stuffy affair he dreaded attending.
Liz had been invited on the hope she might be persuaded to narrate the female point-of-view of Will's recently completed manuscript.
"You intrigued me," he said.
She raised her eyebrow, asking for more.
"You laughed audaciously loud when everyone else spoke in library whispers. You genuinely enjoyed yourself when others treated the signing with all the somberness of a funeral. You asked about people's kids and talked about life when others stuck to literary debates and contemplative nods. I couldn't keep my eyes off you."
Liz peeked through her eyelashes. "I had my eyes on you, too. You weren't exactly what I was expecting."
"What did you expect?"
She shrugged her shoulders. “You looked full of yourself in your author picture. Gorgeous, but haughty.”
Will groaned. "And then I insulted you."
Charlie had noticed how Will couldn't keep his eyes off the merry creature. She was a splash of color on a dull canvas. Her joie de vivre, despite the snobbish glances aimed at her, captivated him. Charlie recognized that Will had become an author because he had never been capable of expressing himself to advantage unless he put pen to paper (or fingers to a keyboard). It had been that way since Will could recall, and it was the reason why Charlie kept live interviews to a minimum. He ought to have known better than to put Will on the spot in front of her.
"You sure know how to get a girl's attention," she teased.
"Hardly in the manner I'd hoped." Will shook his head at the memory. He recalled the conversation as clearly as if it had happened yesterday.
Charlie had said, "What a great crowd you've attracted here, Will. What do you think about Liz Benetti?" He'd asked within hearing distance of Liz, much to Will's mortification.
His first reply was acceptable. "She's very talented." So far, so good.
If only Charlie had left good enough alone. But he hadn't. "No doubt she excels in her profession, but I also find her quite charming. Do you not agree?" He'd winked at Will, jerking his head in Liz's direction and doing his best to draw more attention to Will's discomfort.
Liz pulled him out of the past, saying, "I thanked Charlie later for putting you on the spot like that. It didn't start out well, but you've more than made up for it."
Will waited until the waiter refilled their glasses, then said, "I'm relieved to hear it. I had a lot to make up for. Only the worst blundering idiot would answer as I did."
She smiled softly at him. "I remember the look on your face. Charlie made a point of making sure I overheard your conversation, so when he asked if you thought I was charming and you answered, 'No' I saw the disgust in your face. Unfortunately, I didn't understand at the time that it wasn’t directed at me, but at yourself."
Will clamped his mouth shut. Had he spoken his present thoughts aloud, he'd have told her that in the few minutes he'd been in her presence at the book signing, she'd inspired him more than a museum full of art or even his collection of first editions. She made his fingers itch for his keyboard, to attempt to capture her energy in words. He imagined with vibrant clarity the adventures awaiting them. And he could hardly wait to pen them.
Instead, he said, "I'll never forget. Never had I received a look so charged with venom and hurt. It pierced me to my soul. I admired your courage at the same time I was struck with terror when you walked up to me with daggers in your eyes."
She'd stood so close, his head had clouded with her nearness. He had felt the heat — anger, he recognized, but intoxicating nonetheless — emanating from her body. She'd asked him, "Are you always this rude or is this evening a special occasion?" Her defiant chin had tilted up in a vain, but endearing attempt to look him levelly in the eyes. That was when he knew his life would forever be changed by the petite enchantress before him. He would do what he must to get to know her or risk a lifetime of regret. She was etched in his memory, already an important piece of him though they had only just met.
“At least you had sense enough to apologize.” She sipped from her wine glass.
“I remember clearly. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t do well with crowds.’ It sounded lamer coming out of my mouth than it had in my head.” It had, however, smoothed the pained furrow in her brow.
Liz laughed heartily. “That was a Mr. Darcy moment, for certain. And I felt like Elizabeth Bennet when I said ‘Then, perhaps, you ought to get out more, Mr. Donovan.’ Did you know that Pride & Prejudice is one of my favorite books? And you let me reenact one of my favorite scenes! I waltzed away like Miss Elizabeth, knowing I’d had the last word and leaving you completely speechless. It was glorious.”
Her take on the scene was different from his own. He had admired her spunk, but it had been her rich voice that had seduced his senses so thoroughly, words escaped him. So, in true Darcy style, he’d penned her a letter. In it, he apologized to his satisfaction and, with a smoothness worthy of James Bond, he’d asked if she’d allow him to make up for his error over coffee. She’d accepted. That had been one year, two months, and sixteen days ago.
“Good thing I didn’t make you wait as long as Mr. Darcy made Elizabeth Bennet wait for an apology,” he said.
"It takes a special kind of humble to pen an apology I’ll hold on to forever."
"You still have it?" Will didn't know whether to be concerned or flattered.
Liz taunted him with a half-smile. "There are some things a girl simply doesn't throw away."
In the next breath, she allayed his worry. "It soothed my ruffled ego, it's true. But your actions and body language spoke louder than your handwriting."
That was news to Will. All this time, he thought he'd crafted the perfect apology. What would she think of his proposal?
Liz continued, "Your droopy shoulders and attentiveness to my reaction showed me that you truly cared. That you meant what you'd written. Without that, I never would have given you a chance to redeem yourself over coffee … no matter how smoothly the invitation was given."
Had that been what most impressed him about Gary’s proposal? Could it possibly be that the sentiment behind the words are more important than the words themselves, not just the way they’re said? In fiction, Will appreciated the value of showing emotion. It’s what made the characters as real as flesh and bone in his mind. It’s what made him care. But he also had the advantage of rewriting the dialog until it perfectly reflected the needs of the characters.
Too bad real life wasn’t like that. Will only got one shot, and more often than not, the pressure to say the perfect thing when it mattered the most to him backfired. It was why he’d written his proposal out to polished perfection.
The crinkle of the paper in his breast pocket no longer comforted him. It was perfect … but Will now accepted that perfection wasn’t good enough for Liz. She deserved more than wordy metaphors and clever turns of phrase. She deserved heart. His heart, imperfect though it was.
Chapter Five
Over the next course, Will attempted to convince himself that Liz would say "yes" no matter how simple his proposal was. That if she wanted to be with him as much as he longed to spend every possible moment with her, her answer would be a positive one.
He tried to enjoy the complex dish placed before him, but he may as well have eaten a bag of potato chips for all the attention he gave it as he ate mechanically while he and Liz fell into an easy conversation. There was much to discuss. They hadn't seen each other in an entire week, contenting themselves with a nightly call that lasted well into the night hours. It had not been enough. They were seven lost days he vowed never to repeat. Not even for an editorial deadline.
Every day without Liz was a day wasted. It affected his work. Each arduous letter typed led to painful paragraphs he later had to dedicate more time than normal to refining to satisfaction. It had been torture. And yet,
at the time, he had thought it needed to be done. Liz had supported him. Had the distance been as hard on her as it had been on him? Oh, how he hoped so!
Liz set her fork down, placing her knife parallel to it on the plate to signal she’d had her fill.
Will, too, couldn't eat another bite. His stomach twisted in agonizing knots, only appeased when Liz chatted so calmly with him, he almost forgot his purpose. Almost, but not quite.
"I've missed you so much, Will. Thank you for this evening. It's perfect." The candlelight glowed softly against her skin, the flame reflecting in her espresso-brown eyes.
He exhaled deeply, his relief great. "I've missed you too. Tell me, besides your controversial blog post, what have you been up to?" He was still curious about her opinions on Dasher, all the more so because she had made no mention of her post during their nightly calls. But proposing was the priority.
"The usual. I've been reading a lot, and I signed a new contract to narrate a women's fiction book to release this spring. Oh, and did I tell you that I replaced my microphone? My old one developed an annoying pop sound that was driving both me and my editor to madness. It works like a dream."
Her eyes lit up as she spoke of her work. She was as meticulous and invested as Will.
"What about your last project? Did you get the proofs finished in time?" he asked.
She rolled her eyes. "That was a nightmare. First, the author sent me the wrong file, then she kept making changes to the manuscript she'd given me. I felt awful for charging her extra for my time, but it took me twice as long to read for her. My time is too valuable to give away like that. Not when there are so many other jobs available."
"That's why Charlie hired an assistant to listen to my audio before it publishes. Unless he pried my manuscript from my hands, I'd tinker with it forever until I thought it was just right."
“And edit all the good bits and emotion out of it in the process! When you realize that there's no such thing as perfection in art, the stress you put yourself under with each story you write will improve. As will your novels. People are imperfect. They make mistakes.” Her large gestures emphasized her point.