Page 44 of Pick Me

It didn’t feel like real life.

Or at least my life.

I was used to going to book signings for my friends, and authors I fangirled over and wished were my friends, but to be sitting in front of a crowd of people in between the tall bookshelves at the Strand, who were

all there for me?

I was fizzy with nerves but I couldn’t stop smiling.

And then there were the familiar faces in the crowd smiling back at me. Owen. My parents. Meredith and Colton. Howard and

Susan. Celeste. And two rows’ worth of students from the Introduction to Pickleball classes I’d started teaching at CPA.

I still couldn’t quite believe that the rest of the people I didn’t recognize were here for me. I glanced over at Nia, my

conversation partner for my launch event. The full house was probably due to her added star power, but I couldn’t complain.

By the end of the event, I hoped they’d all be walking out carrying signed copies of The Archer’s Paradox thanks to her endorsement.

Nia had been through dozens of author events, so she’d been a stabilizing presence beside me during my inaugural book chat, leading the discussion with insightful commentary that allowed Archer to shine. We’d just opened the floor for questions, so I was now at the mercy of the audience.

My dad’s hand shot up before anyone else had a chance.

“Mr. Murphy?” Nia said with faux formality. “What’s your question?”

Of course he stood up and projected like he was using a megaphone. “Do you think the new HBO fantasy series about fairies

and unicorns impacted your path to publication?”

I smiled at him because he already knew the answer and he was teeing me up to draw the parallels between my book and the wildly

popular new show. “Great question! So Archer went out on submission right as the publicity for Light from Darkness started gearing up, and while there are no fairies in my book, there’s hearty alicorn representation, as you can tell from

the cover”—I held up the gorgeous thing—“along with some unicorn cameos. I guess the buzz for the show helped drum up interest

in my manuscript. The world is taking a breather from dragons and refocusing on hooved creatures, and I happened to be in

the right place at the right time. Archer went to auction and had a speed run to publication, to capitalize on the craze.” I paused. “It usually doesn’t happen this

quickly.”

Nia nodded. “Yeah, it moved fast . That’s not normal.”

We both laughed, because when it came to publishing, nothing was predictable.

Another hand went up and my stomach twisted. Someone I didn’t know.

“Yes?” Nia pointed toward the woman.

“Hi, Brooke, I can’t wait to read your book. I’m an aspiring writer and I was hoping that you’d talk about your process. I’d

love to get your advice.”

I chuckled. My process was still an unpredictable mess, with one major change.

I no longer believed that I needed a muse.

The final laps to completing Archer had been the most satisfying of my writing career. There was no writer’s block or blank-page stress, just a smooth highway

of words and words and words. Not all of them were good , but that’s where editing came in. Once I wholeheartedly committed to Einar and Zandria, I was able to hammer out the rest

of the book in record time. Writing their story was nothing but joyful for me.

“You definitely don’t want to follow my lead as a writer,” I cautioned. “I’ve gotten in trouble because of my process.” My

eyes flicked to Owen and he winked at me. “I guess my best advice is to commit to a word count every day and hold yourself

accountable. How you get there is up to you. Should you write an outline? If you think it’ll help, definitely, but if it trips you up, move

on. Is it better to use Word, or should you invest in a writing app? Totally up to you.” I saw the woman start to frown at

me since I wasn’t providing much direction. “What I’m trying to say is, your process is just that— yours . Sure, there’s a ton of advice out there for how to write a book, and definitely audit it and steal what you can use, but

above all, get the damn words on the page.”

A few people applauded.

My mom raised her hand. “What are you reading and loving right now?”

Another tee-up question.

“Well, I’m lucky enough to be a beta reader for this one.” I hitched my thumb toward Nia, and she shimmied her shoulders.

“She’s currently scaring the crap out of me with her work in progress that I’m not allowed to talk about.

It’s so good.” I paused and waited for Owen to look at me.

When he did, we shared a secret smile. “I’m also reading the final draft of another debut author’s book that I’m so excited about.

” I took a beat before mentioning the title that his publisher wanted and he wasn’t in love with.

“It’s called Unlocking Potential: Mindful Coaching by Owen Miller. Owen, say hi.”

He shook his head like he was pissed at me, which I knew was an act, then half stood and gave the crowd a wave. My heart swelled

with pride.

“When most of us think ‘coach,’ we think sports, right? But all of us are coaches, whether we know it or not.” I refocused

on the woman who’d asked about my writing process. “I just coached you. Not well , but I did offer you some guidance. At least I hope I did.”

My dad laughed loudly.

“Parents coach their kids. Managers coach their employees. Coaching is just unlocking a person’s potential to maximize their

growth, whether it’s on the pickleball court, in a dog-training class, or in the boardroom. This book is going to help all

of us learn to be better coaches in every aspect of our life. I’ve been on the receiving end of Owen’s coaching, and let’s

just say he brought out a side of me that I didn’t know existed.”

Heads craned to look at Owen, and I noticed a few women’s glances lingering on him. But how could they not? He’d opted for

literary smolder tonight, in a black button-down and glasses that he’d finally admitted he needed since he’d been doing so

much screen staring.

Another hand went up.

“What are you working on next?” a man in the back row shouted.

“Thanks for asking!” I exclaimed, since both Nia and I had forgotten to talk about it. “I’m deep in book two of the series, holed up in my writing cave.”

The writing cave that Owen had created for me in his basement, which was bright enough to not qualify as subterranean. It

was a cozy spot with an antique desk we’d found in London and bookshelves of my own filled with my color-sorted collection.

Merging our lives hadn’t been a discussion until Meredith forced the issue when she’d come home wearing an engagement ring

right as our lease was up. Owen and I had only been a few months into dating, but we agreed that fate was pushing us together.

Once I was settled in, it felt like I’d always been there. Marti gracefully accepted me as a new bedmate, opting to snuggle

against me instead of Owen, to his dismay.

“Okay, folks, I’m seeing the ‘wrap up’ signal from our host,” Nia said. “Everyone, grab your books and get in line for the

signing portion of the night. Thanks for being here; now go buy a bunch of copies of this wonderful book!”

I fought off a new swarm of butterflies as the applause died down, and I made my way to the table that had a massive bouquet

of peach roses and ranunculus, courtesy of Wes and Claudia.

Holy shit, I was about to sign my book.

Nia gave me a quick hug before I sat down.

“I’m so sorry I can’t stay,” she whispered, clasping my arms. “But you’ve got this. You were fantastic.”

“Thank you for making it so fun,” I replied. “And for believing in me.”

She left to go to a family function before she could get cornered into a conversation, leaving me to face the hordes on my

own.

Celeste slipped in to give me a quick hug and hand over a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. It turned out that my book was her biggest sale yet.

“Onward,” she said excitedly. “It’s just the beginning!”

As I signed, I blanked on old friends’ names, wrote “Bryan” instead of “Brian” inside a book and had to scrap it, spent far

too long talking about pickleball bags with one of my students, and never stopped grinning.

Because it was real. The hardcover book with bold typeface over the top of a darkly romantic illustration had my name at the

bottom.

When Meredith and Colton wound up in front of me, I paused to pull something out of the pocket of my pretty new dress.

“What’s this?” Meredith frowned as she took the slip of paper from me.

“I had an outstanding debt at the Bank of Waxman,” I replied. “I’d like to close my account now.”

“Oh my god, you dork.” She swatted at me. “I totally forgot! Sign the book and we’ll figure it out later.”

“ Books ,” Colton said as he hoisted a stack of a half dozen on the table in front of me.

“You don’t have to do that,” I gasped.

He pulled a receipt out of the top copy. “It’s done. And they’re gifts. Sign, please.”

They moved on quickly since Meredith knew the drill, and I continued signing, pausing to stop for photos and hugs.

My parents edged up to the table.

“I can’t wait to read The Archer’s Paradox ! I hear it’s amazing ,” my mom sang out overly loud so the people just happening upon my table might be convinced to pick up a copy.

“Mom, you’ve read it three times already.” I laughed. “You were one of my first readers.”

I’d dedicated the book to them, which had made my mom weep when she saw it.

“They don’t know that,” she said out of the corner of her mouth. “Still good for dinner after? Owen said he picked a really

nice spot.”

“Yeah, I’m dying of hunger,” I whispered.

“Hey, don’t complain,” my dad said as he gestured to the line behind them. “This is a good problem. We never doubted you,

sweetheart. We knew this day would come.”

My eyes welled up, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep the tears from spilling over.

The rep from the bookshop did a great job gently moving people along, until there was just one person left waiting, hugging

my book to his chest.

The person who’d helped make the words happen.

Not a mystical source of inspiration, but a very real, very loving, very supportive person who’d helped me find my way to

myself and, with that, my book.

Every time I looked at Owen, my heart did a little stutter step. He felt like home and an adventure at the same time, two

impossible extremes that somehow both existed within him.

“What are you doing?” I asked him as he placed the book in front of me like it was an offering to a queen. “You know I have

a boxful at home.”

He glanced around, then leaned across the table to kiss me.

“ Numbers , B, numbers,” he scolded softly, cupping my cheek. “Every sale counts. Now, sign please.”

He opened it to the title page and flattened it before sliding the book to me.

The love on his face, the pride , was the perfect end to a whirlwind evening.

During the event, I’d struggled with every signature, not sure how to encapsulate my deep appreciation for the person on the

other side of the table. But this time, I knew exactly what I wanted to write.

For Owen,

Thank you for being my favorite plot twist, and my very own happily ever after.

Love forever,

B