“Are you sure nothing happened with this Connor guy?” My very insightful best friend Katy just finished reading my book and came over to my place to give me a critique.
“Yeah, why?”
“I don’t know…” She pauses. “It’s the way you write about him. You’re making me fall in love with him and I don’t even know how the guy looks.”
“You want to see a picture?”
“You have a picture?” Katy asks, shocked. “What were you waiting for? Why didn’t you show it to me before?”
“Just a bad selfie. Here…” I pass her my phone, where I’ve transferred the pictures from my castaway birthday party. I don’t know why I didn’t show them to anyone before.
“You’re joking!” she screeches as she takes a look at the screen. “Joanna Price, I am going to strangle you. You said he was handsome, but you didn’t say he was…I don’t know, I don’t think they have invented a word big enough yet…”
“He’s okay,” I say, blushing.
“He’s more than okay, and you know it. So none of it is actually true?” She taps the book.
“Some of the first half is kind of true, but for the most part it’s not. And definitely none of the sexy bits.” I blush again.
“So you don’t have feelings for this man? None at all?” Katy presses me. “I mean, you said you were too confused a year ago to even look into the possibility of him, but what about now? Have you thought about him?”
“Well, of course. He’s such a big part of the book, but I’m not sure if I’m romanticizing the memories or what. I miss him a bit, though, you know. Being the only two people around on a deserted island for so long can mess with your head.”
“So why don’t you try to contact him?” Katy insists.
“Aw, I don’t know. He didn’t try to contact me, for one.”
“Maybe he doesn’t know if you want him to call you.”
“And I don’t know if he wants me to call him.”
“I’m sure he does.”
“I don’t know, Katy. He left me a note saying ‘take care’, not ‘take care and call me sometime, this is my number’, right?”
“Was the bit about the first non-kiss true?”
“What part?”
“The one after he saves you from the poisonous spider.” She searches for the passage and reads it to me.
Ah, that non-kiss. Yes, true.
“Mmm-hmm,” I murmur.
“And what about the other kiss?”
“Which one? I’ve put a million kisses in the book!”
“The first one, the one after you apologize for being a crazy bitch and almost kill him.” She searches the book again and reads another two or three pages.
As she reads about Connor falling on top of me on the sand with the waves lapping at our bodies and his chest pressing onto mine, I can almost feel the burning sensation again. This one is almost true.
“It happened like that, but I turned my head,” I whisper.
“You did what?” She’s outraged.
“I turned my head at the last second—we didn’t kiss.”
“You had that on top of you,” she screeches, pointing at the phone’s screen, which is still zoomed on Connor’s face, “and you turned your face?”
“Katy, I was married, or thought I was…and I’m not a cheater. You know that.”
“I know.” She ponders what to say next for a while. “So, did you write things the way you wished they went?” she asks in a softer voice.
My time to reflect.
“Maybe in a parallel universe. Listen, Katy, I’m glad I didn’t cheat, even if technically there wasn’t anyone to cheat on. I’m not that person. Now, do I wonder how it would have been to kiss him that day? Sure. If I could access an alternate reality where I boarded the plane single and ended up on the same island with Connor, would I like to take a peek? Again, a definite yes, why not? But I honestly don’t know how much of that fantasy I poured in the book.”
“If half of what you wrote is true, I guarantee that he wants you to call him,” Katy insists.
“I don’t know, Katy. I think that writing the perfect love story maybe had me a bit confused.” I’m quoting magazines, of course—I’d never describe my book as a “perfect” love story.
“Do you dirty-dream about him?” Katy asks blatantly.
My furious, instant blush is enough of an answer.
“Ah, ah. You should see your face right now,” she mocks me.
“It’s not funny,” I protest. “Your question caught me off guard.”
“The point remains that you have the hots for the caveman.”
“Again, I’m not sure if it’s just a fantasy about the character I created, or about the real man—or caveman, in this case.”
“So let’s say you could go into that parallel universe. What do you think would have happened if you were single when you landed on the island?”
Again, my cheeks answer for me.
“You dirty, dirty girl.”
I throw a pillow at her.
“Can I read the Liam letter?” Katy asks.
Abrupt change of subject, anyone?
“Let me get it.” I sober up immediately, and shuffle toward my room. I’ve told the girls about the letter, but I’ve been so busy with my rushed book launch that this is the first time I’ve seen one of them since I received it. “Here you go.” I pass it to her. “Please don’t cry.”
“I will try my best.” Katy takes it reverentially.
I watch her as her eyes progress over the words, and they become almost immediately watery. I feel emotional all over again, too.
“I don’t know what to say,” she sniffs when she reaches the end. “This is so…so romantic. And you said it made you feel better? How could it make you feel better?”
“It gave me peace, as simple as that. Katy, I couldn’t believe the way Liam behaved. I couldn’t believe he just forgot about me and moved on without blinking, that he didn’t care anymore.”
“But wouldn’t it be easier if he was an uncaring bastard?”
“Honestly? No. It makes me feel much better knowing that he still cares about me, that he cherishes our love. I know it’s hard to understand, and I don’t know exactly how to explain it…”
“Please try,” Katy urges me.
“It’s like before I had this idea of being a fool, of having wasted three or four years of my life on the wrong person. It had me not believing in love. But now I know our love was real, and that I didn’t waste any time. Liam was a big part of me and will always be, only from afar. I think his letter saved me from becoming too cynical about life. Knowing I was as important to him…it’s easier.”
“So, between meeting with your prince and fantasizing about Connor, you’ve had pretty busy dreams lately…” Katy says, and I laugh. “Which ones do you want to tell me about first?”
***
“It’s getting late, honey,” I tell Katy once we have exhausted all the possible boy-talk for the night. “I have an early signing event tomorrow and I need to sleep.”
“You’re such a party-pooper. I was feeling as if we were sixteen again—it was fun,” she protests.
“That is because you’re going home to your lovely husband instead of still being single at our ovary-dangerous age.”
“You and your ticking clock. We’re the same age and I don’t have any kids, do I?”
“No, but you have a baby-maker there for you for whenever you decide you’re ready to have some.”
“Speaking of baby-makers, promise me you’ll give a serious thought about tracking Connor down.”
I roll my eyes.
“You know what happens to people who roll their eyes at the wrong person. Don’t make me go Fifty Shades of Gray on you,” she threatens.
“Ok, I will give it a thought.” As if I needed her threats to think about Connor. Since I’ve started writing my diary-gone-book, I’ve barely thought of anything else…well, minus the tempor
ary Liam distraction.
“Good night. I’ll leave you to your naughty dreams.” She winks.
I shove her out of the door with feigned indignation and blow her a good night kiss, glad I can finally go to sleep. Once I’m tucked under the blankets, however, I find it hard to relax. I keep thinking about our conversation. Do I really like Connor? I mean, of course I like him as a person. But do I like him like him?
I close my eyes and try to think about that day on the beach. How it felt to be in his arms, to look into his eyes. I feel a disturbing fluttering happening in my lower belly region. Hmm, maybe Katy is right for once. I should try to find him. I mean, how many Connor Duffields are there going to be in Dubuque, Iowa?
42
Co-sign
When I was an editor, I thought book signings had to be most exciting thing for authors. They got to meet their fans, share their work, and give their egos an obvious boost. But now that I’m half an hour into my tenth one of the month, I have begun to reconsider. It’s ten a.m. on a Thursday morning and my right hand is cramping, my cheeks are sore from all the smiling, I’m wearing a pencil skirt that is definitely too tight to sit down in, and after answering the same questions for the umpteenth time I am becoming restless.
I look at the line in front of me with despair. This will take at least another hour. I know I’m being an ungrateful little brat, but I really wish I could just sneak away to the shop’s Starbucks and hide behind a venti cup of Caramel Macchiato.
I’m still looking at the crowd in front of me, disheartened, when a commotion starts at the back. It seems like someone is trying to jump the line, but the people who have been queueing since this morning are having none of it. I get up from my table and crane my neck forward to see who the intruder is. It’s a tall guy. He’s currently wrestling with two housewives who are attacking him with their handbags. When he manages to disentangle himself from the ropes of Chanel and Hermes, he finally turns toward me so that I can see his face. A huge smile spreads on my lips as I recognize Connor.
My smile, however, is short-lived, and is immediately replaced by a lump of worry in my throat as I register the murderous expression in his eyes. Judging from his face, he’s probably come here to kill me. I guess he didn’t appreciate some of the humor in my book. He’s gaining ground. I have to act quickly.
“Give me the microphone,” I whisper to Mia, my newly hired personal assistant. “Now.”
I snatch it from her as soon as she’s within my reach.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am happy to announce a surprise.” My magnified voice fills the room, and the fight seems to freeze in midair. “You at the back, please make way for my adventure companion and fellow castaway, Connor Duffield! Let’s give him a big round of applause!” I stop a moment to give the crowd enough time to register what I just said and part, creating a free path for Connor to reach the front while they applaud him excitedly. “Connor will be joining me today to co-sign your copies of 143 Days into the Wilderness. He will also be available to answer all your questions.”
Connor is too stunned to say anything, and can’t do anything other than awkwardly shuffle forward as the crowd is prompting him to do. He’s wearing his surfer-lumberjack uniform—checkered shirt, faded jeans, longish hair, and one-day signature stubble. By the time he reaches me, he has a strained grimace that he probably thinks looks like an encouraging smile stamped on his face.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he hisses once he’s by my side.
“Saving you from making a scene that would have lived forever happily ever after on YouTube,” I murmur. “Now be a good boy, smile for the cameras, and be nice to the ladies. You can annihilate me later.”
I don’t give him time to retort as I turn to the next reader. Thank goodness we’re in a very public space.
“You’re Connor?” I hear Mia squeak.
Ah, poor girl. I have to admit that he is much more striking in a city environment than he was on a deserted island. Yep, all the six-three-tanned-with-crinkly-mocha-eyes-and-sun-bleached-hair-very-masculine feet of him seems so out of context here.
“You’ve heard of me?” he asks, raising one sarcastic eyebrow. “Or, ‘read’ would be more appropriate,” he adds, throwing me a filthy look.
I ignore it and pass on to him a very enthusiastic housewife to keep him busy.
***
“How many phone numbers did you collect?” I ask Connor three hours later.
The signing took a long time. The customers who’d already had the book signed by me decided to get in line again to add Connor’s signature as well. Plus, the buzz about him spread on social media and many more people showed up than anticipated. We signed a lot of autographs. But after being the center of the fans’ love, especially lady fans, for the better part of the morning, Connor seems a bit mollified and less keen on bloodshed.
“About a dozen, I think,” he says. “Along with a couple of improper butt squeezes, and one indecent proposal.”
“Ha, ha. Not bad! So, what do you say I treat you to lunch, and you can submit all your literary complaints to my attention?”
“Lunch it is,” he agrees curtly with a nod.
“Okay, let me just clear things with Mia. I’ll be back in a sec.”
I move back to where Mia is collecting our things to tell her about the change of plan, but I barely reach her and she’s already giving me big eyes and whispering furiously, “That is Connor? That?”
“Yes, why?”
“I thought you were a good writer, but you suck. He doesn’t sound half as hot in your book.”
“I don’t think—”
But she isn’t interested in hearing what I think, since she interrupts me almost immediately and continues with her rambling. “And don’t tell me you spent five months on a deserted island with him and didn’t do anything, because if so I’m quitting today. I don’t want to work for a stupid boss.”
“Mia, I was on my honeymoon remember?” I defend myself. How many times do I have to repeat this?
“Well, you’re not on your honeymoon anymore, so go ahead and make me proud.”
“I don’t think he has any romantic intentions—he probably just wants to snap my neck for writing about him without his permission. I’m taking him to lunch. Do we have anything planned in the afternoon?”
“No, boss, I’ve cleared your schedule for the day.” She grins mischievously. “Just in case.”
“All right, I have my phone with me in case you need me,” I reply, ignoring her insinuations.
“Boss, unless there is a nuclear war on the verge of happening and you’re the only person in the world who can stop it, I’m not going to call you. Now, go and have fun. You deserve it,” she concludes before she shoos me away.
Why do I feel more often than not that she’s the one bossing me around? I wish I had me as a boss when I started out in publishing.
43
The One and a Half Year Reunion
“So, I’m curious. What were you going to do if I hadn’t stopped you?” I ask Connor once we’re seated at our table in a Mexican restaurant I love that was conveniently just a few blocks away from the bookshop. “Were you about to give me a public spanking?” I tease.
“You would have deserved it after the things you wrote about me.”
“What things, exactly?”
He takes out a copy of my book from his backpack, and I’m surprised to see he has folded some of the pages to create bookmarks. He shuffles through some of them, apparently to select the most offensive one, and he reads it aloud.
“‘…in the few hours following our tragic accident, I came to understand that the man standing in front of me would not be easy to tame. His general status of unkemptness led me to believe that he did not have a woman by his side in his everyday life. His simple language of primordial snorts and grunts confirmed I was dealing with a lone wolf unaccustomed to the social rules of a human pack. I found it almost easier to communicate with the monkey
s than trying to have a civilized conversation with this modern day version of a caveman.’”
“Oh come on,” I say, chortling. “I made you sound barbarously adorable, and it says it’s a work of fiction.”
“But everyone knows it is not, for the most part. And where is the adorable? Here…” Connor goes on reading. “‘His lack of good manners was matched in its blatancy only by the sheer arrogance emanating from his every pore. Some women might have defined his bulkiness as attractive—if muscles and rough brutality were things that appealed to them—but to me he looked like a beefy man too full of himself and too similar in nature to his animal counterpart to have any sort of appeal.’”
“Oh please, Connor, half of the American female population wants to be with you. Are you or are you not one of America’s most wanted bachelors?” He made this year’s list.
Connor doesn’t answer me, and just shuffles through the book for other passages to criticize.
“I am not reading other parts because there are kids and families around here,” he finally says, shaking his head. “Gosh, Anna, my dad read this damn book!” he protests, slamming the offending piece of literature on the table.
“Oh, what did he say?”
“That I should make an honest woman of you,” he answers without blinking.
My insides melt and I think, please do.
“You told him the sexy parts were most definitely fiction?” I turn fifty shades redder.
“About that—I didn’t know you could be that creative.” He raises his sexy eyebrow and gives me a wink. “Are you included in that half of the American female population?”
I’m glad I’m spared the embarrassment of answering by a server interrupting us to ask for our food orders: tacos for him, and a chicken quesadilla for me. After the waiter is gone, an embarrassed silence lingers between us.
Connor is the first to break it. “My ex-wife called me.”
“What did she say?”
“She was crying.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Was she upset? I thought she would have actually been happy to read your side of the story.”