No Other Love

by Harper Bliss

  “I can’t tell you how pleased I am,” Annie replied. “All hail to Kristin.”

  “And Mia,” Caitlin said. “I believe it was her idea?”

  “Yes, er yes, of course. And Mia.” Annie’s cheeks flushed.

  “Just a heads-up.” Caitlin took a step closer to Annie and lowered her voice. “I know for a fact that Kristin and Sheryl are monogamous. You can flirt all you want, but it’s never going to happen.”

  That flush on Annie’s cheeks turned into a raging fire. “Excuse me?”

  “I have a nose for these things. You were flirting with Kristin a little less subtly than you might believe. It’s all in the non-verbal communication.”

  Annie had no clue what to say. “I—I’m not—” she stuttered.

  “Your secret is safe with me. Just tone it down a little. And accept that it’s never going to happen.” Caitlin shrugged. “Their loss for being monogamous, of course.” She cocked her head. “I take it you’ve read my book on the topic and know all about my stance?”

  “I’m married,” Annie blurted out.

  “So?” Caitlin said.

  “I think you might have the wrong idea about me. Kristin and I are business partners. That’s it.”

  “Sure. Whatever you say.” Caitlin looked her in the eye.

  Annie had imagined her introduction to Caitlin James going a bit differently than what was happening now. She knew all about Caitlin’s views on monogamy and how it was just another man-made, patriarchal ploy to keep women in check. Annie’s viewpoint was as opposite to that as it could get. She had never even conceived of the notion. In their twenty years together, she and Jane had never discussed the topic as though it could ever pertain to their lives. Besides, this didn’t have anything to do with Kristin. Even if they were all in open relationships, they couldn’t very well all start wife-swapping. What would be the next step? A Pink Bean/Annie’s Book Shop commune where everything, from coffee, to books, to bodies, was shared?

  “I really don’t appreciate the tone you’re taking with me.” Annie wasn’t one for letting anyone—even Caitlin James—walk all over her.

  “I get that.” Caitlin’s voice didn’t rise a fraction. “Because the truth can be uncomfortable. It was just some friendly advice. I hope you take it that way.” Caitlin grinned briefly. “I’d best get going. See you soon.” Then, after acting as if she were the greatest, all-knowing lesbian in Sydney, Caitlin had the audacity to put her hands on Annie’s shoulders and peck her on the cheek.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jane straightened her spine, lowered her shoulders, and let her fingers hover over the keyboard. She remembered the long, grueling hours of typing lessons she’d taken once she’d gotten serious about becoming a writer. Endless, repetitive drills of pushing in the same keys until her muscle memory could take over and she didn’t have to think about where a particular key was located on her keyboard anymore.

  She had gone through the trouble because she wanted to be a faster and more accurate typist. Fat load of good that did her now. Although, admittedly, it had helped to be able to type lightning fast when she was on a roll and her ultra-fast fingers still had trouble keeping up with the speed at which the sentences formed in her brain.

  But those times seemed to belong to another lifetime. Right then, her fingers just hovered; they didn’t touch down on any keys because Jane had nothing to say. At least that was what it felt like. Her brain felt empty to the extent that she believed she might have finally reached the point that any fiction writer dreads: she had used up all her words. All the stories she had wanted to tell in her lifetime, had been told.

  By now, Jane knew all the tricks to get her ass in the chair and just do the work. As soon as she got up, she harnessed her precious morning energy and started writing. She used writing sprints and short, mindless breaks and long periods off the internet to her advantage. She had fashioned a routine that she believed would serve her for the rest of her life. So why was it letting her down now? She was doing everything right, yet the words refused to come.

  Perhaps she’d been lucky, blessed even, to never have been hit by a severe case of writer’s block. In fact, Jane had always been cocky enough to not even believe such a thing existed. She had written millions of words over the years and as soon as one book was finished, she started on the next—no need for a rejuvenating break at all. Why take the time if it wasn’t necessary?

  Maybe her hubris was catching up with her and this was payback for all the times she’d rolled her eyes when she’d seen a fellow writer complain about writer’s block on Facebook.

  She reread the last paragraph she wrote—of which the process had felt like her teeth were slowly being pulled from her gums without the use of any anesthetic—and it was so demoralizingly appalling, Jane thought she might as well throw in the towel for today. It wasn’t happening. The prose was excruciating to read. Not even the most extensive rewrite could salvage this book. It was a bad one, and she knew it.

  Jane believed that every author, especially romance authors like her who cranked out book after book, was allowed a sub-par novel once in a while. It was the way the universe balanced itself.

  She knew this to be true, because over the years she’d had a few books naturally float to the bottom of the charts only weeks after they came out, even though she had cajoled herself into believing they were good enough. But good enough didn’t work for Jane now. She wasn’t a beginner anymore, far from it. It was time to recognize all the signs, admit defeat, and kill this book before it killed her morale entirely.

  The very fact that she’d barely shown any of it to Annie, her most loyal cheerleader who always found at least one good thing to say about her words, said enough. This first draft would end up in the bin. It had been a long time since Jane had thrown away a draft. She cast one last glance at the open file on her computer, closed it, and heaved a big sigh of relief. The decision had been made. Good. Now it was time to tweak her schedule, have a look at her catalog, and assess the damage to her bottom line this missed release would cause.

  Perhaps she should also tell Annie.

  “How’s the shop doing?” Jane asked when they stacked the plates in the dishwasher after dinner.

  “That book signing already has us in the black for this month and it’s only the sixteenth,” Annie said. “So, not too shabby at all.”

  “Good, because I threw my first draft in the trash today.” Jane carefully analyzed Annie’s face. “And I had to overhaul my release schedule quite drastically, because at the moment I have no idea when I’ll be able to write the next book.”

  Annie’s brows knitted together. “What’s going on?”

  “The hell if I know. I suppose I got enthusiastic about the wrong story. I truly don’t know. All I know for certain is that the book wasn’t working.”

  “Do you want me to read it? You’ve hardly shown me anything.”

  Jane shook her head. “It’s not worthy of your time.”

  “Every single word you write is worthy of my time.”

  “This is not the time for platitudes, Annie.” Jane must be even more frustrated than she knew herself. She hardly ever used Annie’s name. It was all terms of endearment for them all the time, babe this and honey that.

  “Hey, hey.” Annie rushed over to her and rested her hands gently on Jane’s hips. “You’re upset. I understand.”

  Annie’s hands felt comforting, yet they didn’t change anything about Jane’s predicament. “I know what writing is and I believed I’d gotten so good at walking that tightrope of tension, resistance, and ease. At balancing the friction inside it takes to produce a work that comes straight from the heart. But right now, it feels as though I’ve lost it and it will never come back.”

  “Oh babe. I’m sure it will come back.”

  “How can you know? How can you even say that? You’re not a writer. You don’t feel the pressure on your shoulders every single day to produce.” Jane regretted her words instant
ly. “I’m sorry.” She curled her fingers around Annie’s wrists. “I’m just lashing out. I don’t know what to do. Not being able to write is making me feel so… empty inside.”

  “There’s a lot going on in your life right now.” Annie leaned her head back and tried to look Jane in the eye.

  Jane was unable to meet her gaze. She hoped Annie would keep talking for a while. Prop her up. Give her the much-needed pep talk she craved. Not that Annie’s words could change anything about the situation, but at least they could offer some comfort.

  “I may not know first-hand how hard it is to be a writer, but I know it’s not easy,” Annie continued. “I also know you make it look damn easy most of the time. So easy, in fact, that you might sometimes forget how much you demand of yourself.” Annie smiled softly. “It’s so obvious what you need, my love. You need a break. God knows you deserve it.”

  Jane sighed. She should have come to that conclusion herself, but sometimes she got so caught up with the tales she was spinning in her head, the obvious was out of her grasp. As long as Annie didn’t say Jane needed to get out more.

  “You don’t have to write ten books a year anymore. It’s not necessary,” Annie said. “I know that in your head there’s this reasoning going on that says you have to, that everything you’ve built will come tumbling down if you write fewer books, but that’s just a construction of your mind. It’s not reality. We’re doing fine. You’ve made sure of that.”

  “It’s just with the future of the shop being so insecure… I wanted to make sure we had enough.”

  “The shop is saved and we have plenty. You can take a deep breath. Take a load off.” Annie put on a wide smile. “Have a chat with Mia. I’m sure she will give you some new marketing ideas while you’re not producing any words. Maybe you can finally have a think about how to sell ebooks in the shop. Take your mind off writing for a bit. Recharge. Everything is going to be all right. Because when hasn’t it?”

  “Thank you.” Jane pulled Annie close again. “For being so understanding.”

  “It’s just common sense, babe. You always want to do too much. Remember my mantra?”

  “The key to getting things done is doing fewer things,” Jane exclaimed. “Words Annie McLean lives by.”

  Jane knew Annie truly believed in those words, whereas she’d always believed she couldn’t afford to. That she had to be on top of everything all the time to keep things running smoothly. But it looked like right now, she didn’t have much choice but to do less, at least on the writing front.

  “Promise me one thing,” Annie said. “Don’t fill up all the time you usually reserve for writing with a bunch of work-related activities. Really give yourself a break.”

  “I’ll try.” Annie knew her so well, because at that very time, Jane was already making long, alternative to-do lists in her head.

  “I’ll be keeping an eye on you. Your brain is on bed rest,” Annie joked.

  “Maybe I can help out in the shop a bit.” Jane surprised herself by saying that. She wasn’t sure if she actually meant it.

  “Yes, please.” Annie pecked her on the cheek. “It can only be good for business if word spreads that Jane Quinn is behind the counter.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Jane’s been in the shop a lot lately,” Mia said. “More than before.” It was the middle of what they had started calling the dead hour between two and three in the afternoon when hardly anyone ventured in. Annie and Mia had taken up the habit of having their afternoon coffee at two thirty like clockwork. They sat at one of the low wooden tables in the corner of the Pink Bean area of the shop.

  “She claims to be suffering from a bout of writer’s block. I just call it exhaustion. Sometimes Jane tends to believe she is a machine that can do so much more than any other mere mortal. And sometimes that comes back to bite her in the ass. This happens about once a year, I would say, although in Jane’s memory that frequency seems to have been distorted to once every five years.” Annie shrugged. “Some things can’t be learned, I guess, and need to be experienced over and over again. But it’s okay. She has me by her side. I know how to handle Jane Quinn.” She flashed Mia a smile.

  “Seems to me you’re lucky to have each other.” Mia had been coming into Annie’s shop for such a long time, but had only recently started reading Jane’s books. Annie had started detecting some signs of fangirling.

  “That we are.”

  “I’ve been wondering what it’s like to be married to a lesbian romance author.” Mia didn’t often lose her cool, but it seemed to Annie she was now.

  “I’ve never been married to anyone else, but I think it’s safe to assume it’s not much different than being married to any woman you love and admire. Or maybe I’m seeing it differently because she wasn’t a writer yet when we met. She was writing, but she was also newly graduated from university and thinking about moving back to Canberra and taking a job in the civil service—just like her parents. I persuaded her to follow a different path.”

  “Ah, so you’re partly responsible for all the books she has written. If you hadn’t convinced her to stay, she might be a high-ranking civil servant by now.”

  Annie chuckled. “I don’t mean it like that. Although there were plenty of times I believed in Jane much more than she believed in herself. But the main reason I wanted her to stay was because I’d fallen head over heels in love with her, much to the chagrin of some of my friends. She was only twenty-five and I was thirty-seven. Had I lost my mind and all of that.” A smile curled on Annie’s lips as she remembered. “But I couldn’t care less about what anyone said. All I cared about was whether Jane felt the same about me as I did about her. Turned out she did. And here we are.”

  “No offense,” Mia said. “But I’m only thirty-three and even to me twenty-five seems young. When I look back at myself as an unknowing twenty-five-year-old who believed she had it all figured out…”

  “This may sound excruciatingly cheesy, but Jane has always been so much wiser than her age. She’s an old soul. A very fragile old soul at that. Lucky for me, her wisdom also translated into attraction to slightly older women.” Annie broke out into a chuckle. “And somehow, we just made a really good couple.”

  Mia smiled in response. Maybe she was thinking about her own young love with Lou. Annie remembered what Rita had said to her about not entirely trusting Mia. Annie wanted to probe, but she had promised Rita their conversation would remain between them, so anything she asked Mia would need to be disguised as nothing more than innocent interest.

  “I see some likeness between Lou and Jane. I always have,” she said. “Although Lou is gentler than Jane. I think so, anyway. I’ve known Lou for a long time and she has always struck me as very sensitive.” Annie hoped she and Mia were on the same wavelength and Mia didn’t perceive being sensitive as a negative personality trait.

  “Oh, she is.” Mia, who usually wasn’t lost for words, didn’t say anything more.

  “I remember that day you were both in here together as if it was yesterday. You both looked like you’d seen the most unlikely incarnation of the devil. It was uncanny.”

  “That was then,” Mia said. “We had a bit of a false start, but now we’re head-over-heels like you and Jane were twenty years ago.”

  “Rub it in, why don’t you? I’m friends with Lou’s mother, I know. A different generation. It doesn’t mean Jane and I aren’t still in love.”

  “I made no such claims,” Mia said, a triumphant smile on her face.

  Annie wondered if she’d been a bit too keen about making her point. After all, Kristin was joining her at the charity kitchen later today.

  The door of the shop opened, indicating the end of their coffee break. A young man walked in with his laptop tucked under his arm.

  One of those, Annie thought. He would probably sit there for an hour, order one cup of coffee, throw a glance at the books from the furthest distance possible, and walk back out without actually having bought anything. />
  Most of the coffee shops on King Street didn’t give out their Wi-Fi password anymore to counter this sort of behavior—which to Annie seemed quite rude and entitled—but Mia was adamant they should attract this kind of crowd as well. The Pink Bean in Darlinghurst had the same policy, but that branch wasn’t located a stone’s throw away from a university and droves of penniless students.

  Perhaps this could be a topic of conversation with Kristin tonight. Annie caught herself thinking about tonight as a sort of date with Kristin and she knew very well she needed to put a stop to that kind of thinking straight away.

  Annie presumed Kristin had dressed down, but she still looked too overdressed for the kind of work she was about to do. Maybe she had even gone shopping for the occasion—to find something hobo chic.

  Not that Annie minded. She was just glad of the opportunity to spend some time in close proximity to Kristin, first preparing the meals, then dishing them out.

  “This won’t be a gourmet meal then,” Kristin said, glancing at the large cast iron pots on the stove.

  “Doesn’t mean it won’t be good and nutritious,” Rita said.

  “I don’t doubt it for a second.” Kristin eyed the bunch of carrots in front of her. “I’d best get chopping then.”

  “Put this on.” Rita handed her an apron.

  Annie watched as Kristin tied it around her slender figure. She pulled a hand through her hair. Annie had never felt underdressed in this place, but next to Kristin she did. Annie put on an apron as well and went to work on preparing the chicken. Rita stood next to her peeling potatoes and cast Annie a glance.

  “What?” Annie whispered.

  “I can’t believe you brought her here,” Rita hissed.

  “She volunteered. What was I going to say?” Annie nodded at the potatoes in front of Rita. “And I believed you would be happy with the help. Now you only have to do potatoes.”

  Rita shook her head, then went silent. She could judge all she wanted, but she was the one who had tried to talk Annie out of her guilt about this crush in the first place.