Page 49

Lanie

This is the first email I send from my new office. I’ve been wanting to write it ever since Friday night. I keep thinking back to the moment when I showed Noah my Ninety-NineThings. I expected him to laugh. I thought if he’d laugh, then I could, too, and my entire failed view on love might feel a little less grave. I thought maybe he could help me lighten up.

But he didn’t laugh. He seemed humbled holding the wood panels. He read the whole list carefully, then looked up at me, his expression more serious than I’d ever seen it before.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get your happy ending this time,” he said. “But you’re not like Cara from the book. Sheneededthe list. Because she had no faith in love. You, on the other hand...”

“What about me?” I found myself leaning forward in the booth, like Noah was about to tell me an important secret.

He thought a moment, then said, “If faith in love were a source of energy, you could power a small planet.”

It was the single most reassuring sentence anyone had said to me since my breakup with Ryan. Also, it felt true, and as if all I’d needed was for some kind soul to point it out.

“Lanie?”

It’s Sue in my doorway. Sue, who hardly ever leaves her office, who makes everyone come to her.

“I see you’re all moved in. Sort of. Is now a good time for a chat?”

“Of course,” I say, inviting her into my disaster of an office. “Did I miss a meeting?”

“Oh no,” Sue says, closing my door then mazing throughmy boxes. “I was just in your neck of the woods to see Emily.”

Emily Hines is Peony’s other editorial director. For years, she was Alix’s low-key rival, due to her unconcealed jealousy of Noa Callaway’s success. Every year Emily tries to acquire a knockoff Noa Callaway, and sometimes they’re good enough to make the list for a minute. When Sue says if I can’t deliver Noa’s next book then she’ll find someone who can—I know who that someone is.

“Emily’s been raving about her new madeleine molds,” Sue tells me. “I finally bought one over the weekend, and it’s marvelous.” She glances at me. “Do you bake?”

“Oh... sometimes,” I lie, trying to think of a single successful thing I’ve pulled from my oven. “Brownies are... good.”

“Yes.” Sue nods slowly.

This is not going well. Do I have to start buying random crap at Sur la Table so I can stay on Sue’s good side?

No. I just need a manuscript from Noa Callaway.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I say, taking control of the meeting. “Noa and I had a breakthrough the other day.”

This is true—though our breakthrough was more personal than professional. Before Sue can ask for specifics, I push on, pulling confidence out of thin air.

“Noa wants to visit the Cloisters on Saturday to do some research,” I say. “I have a feeling, soon after that, I’ll be able to share the premise of the new book.”

Sue nods, a hint of approval in her eyes. “The Cloisters is an interesting setting. But what’s the hook?”

“It’s still a bit inchoate, but we’re getting there—”

“Get there by sales conference. Three weeks from tomorrow. And by ‘there’ I mean a title and some catalog copy. What about the manuscript deadline?”

“Still on track,” I say, steadying my voice. “May fifteenth.”

Ten weeks from now. It’s in the outer limits of possible.Ifhe gets an idea incredibly soon, and then proceeds to write like the wind.

“Good.” Sue rises from my guest chair and makes her way out of my office. When she opens my door, she leans down and picks something up off the floor. A mason jar brimming with dusky purple tulips. “How nice. Your fiancé sent you flowers.”

I force a smile and take the vase from her, walking it back to my desk. An envelope from Flowers of the World winks from beneath the ribbon.

As soon as I’m alone, I tear open the card.

Today’s expectations: That these will make your move less hellish.