Page 6 of The Last Love Story (Baker Girls #3)

CHAPTER FIVE

JADE

Three cute dresses. Check.

One fancier dress. Check.

I really only need a dress for the signing and a dress for the mixer the night before, since I travel looking dumpster-chic at best, but I like to have options. Plus… I want to have something cute to meet Justin in. Even if it’s just two online friends meeting up, I can still look cute.

Speaking of Justin, my phone dings again.

We’ve moved past messaging on social media, and we exchanged phone numbers a couple of days ago. Now we text.

Justin: Question… do you have anyone assisting you at the signing?

I’m signing at the narrator event in the morning, but I’m free for the rest of the day.

If you’re comfortable with it, and don’t have anyone to help, I’d be happy to step in.

Plus, you know I can fangirl about your books.

Unless you’re tired of listening to me do that.

Me: I’m never tired of hearing you talk about my books. That’s always fun for me. Especially when I tease you with what might come next.

Justin: So you’re saying you like edging me?

I blink at my phone several times. Talking with him tends to have a flirtatious side, but that’s a little more overt than we’ve been. Not that I necessarily mind.

Unfortunately, though, that’s mostly because my parasocial crush morphed into a real crush, and it grows the more I talk to Justin. Especially as we sprinkle more details about ourselves in. He seems like a good guy.

Obviously, I’m not going to believe that until I meet him in person and check the vibes. Men are excellent pretenders, and there can be predatory ones in the romance community. I refuse to fall victim to that.

Justin: Sorry. That was too far.

Again, I stare at my phone, unsure how to respond. I don’t mind having fun. But boundaries are still necessary until we know each other better.

Me: No worries. I walked right into it.

Me: Plus, edging is part of my job as an author.

To keep from going anywhere more than that playful space, I quickly change topic.

Me: But back to your question, no, I don’t have anyone assisting me.

I’m coming with my friends, Zoey and Trish.

Zoey is also an author and Trish is her lifelong bestie.

Trish does some social media stuff for me and offered to help assist me at the event, but I think she’ll primarily be with Zoey.

Short answer is: sure. Assuming you pass my vibe check.

Justin: More than fair. You’ll be there tomorrow, right? Want to meet up tomorrow night? Assess the vibes?

Me: LOL. Sure. Just let me know what time.

Justin: Sounds good. We can meet at the hotel bar. Should be nice and public. Feel free to bring your friends if it makes you more comfortable.

Me: Thanks.

I get back to packing, making sure I have plenty of shoe options available.

After checking those off, I head for the bathroom and pack up all my cosmetics.

I’m a makeup girl through and through. It started as a way to boost my self-confidence when I was young.

Then an act of rebellion against my mom who hates makeup.

Now it’s a part of me. I’m fine if I don’t wear it, but it’s a fun part of my routine, and I love how I get to play with colors and styles of makeup, give off an entirely different persona depending on the choices I make.

Usually I keep it simple, but it’s always fun to explore and experiment.

From the other room, my phone pings, and when I get back, I laugh out loud at the message Justin sent .

Justin: Okay, I know this is random, but… have you ever thought of having Evvie, Taylor, and Josh end up in a polyamorous relationship?

It takes me a second to stop laughing about that.

It’s cute how invested in my characters he is.

He’ll be excited to know that the back half of book eight leads into Evvie’s story.

She’s a character I’ve been dying to write more of ever since the end of the second book when her husband Josh cheated on her with her best friend Taylor.

Since then, her story has mostly been about healing herself and living her life.

She hasn’t been a central focus for a couple of books, but there’s still plenty of tension there, and with her coming back to town after a healing journey, I’m excited to dive back in.

The thought of typing out all my thoughts in response to that is too much, so I click on the voice note and continue packing as I answer him.

“Actually, yes. But it didn’t occur to me until book three, and as much as I love the idea, I didn’t lay any groundwork for a relationship between Taylor and Evvie.

And that’s the only way I could do it. Tay and Josh would have to realize how much they love her and fight for her.

Because otherwise, it would just be Josh getting the best of both worlds and Evvie going back to him after he cheated on her.

Not something I can get behind. And I don’t think I could randomly add the right amount of tension in there now.

It wouldn’t be believable. Buttttt I also have the most perfect ending for Evvie, so stay tuned.

But back to the poly thing, I keep thinking I want to do some sort of One Tree Hill retelling where Brooke, Lucas, and Peyton are in a poly relationship. ”

The three little dots appear, and after a moment, another message comes through.

Justin: I would read the fuck out of that .

The idea has been dancing around in my brain forever. I look down at my aching hand. If only I had more time. Though I will need something new for my subscription service at the beginning of next year.

Me: Hmm. Maybe it’s something I should do for my subscription service.

Justin: Hold up. How did I not know you have one of those? Literally running to sign up.

He adds a little running man emoji to the end of his text. I appreciate the support, even if it feels a little strange as I become friends with someone.

Taking strangers’ money is fine. Taking your friends’ money will always feel weird. It’s why Zo and I trade books. We both feel icky asking the other to pay.

“Jade? You here?” my dad calls from the living room.

“Yeah. Be out in a sec.”

I check off the couple of items I just packed, then set my list back on the bed. Grabbing my phone, I aim for the living room.

“Hey, Dad. What’s up?” I give him a quick hug and follow him to the kitchen.

“Thought I’d bring you a little something for dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow so you don’t have to worry about ordering out. Pre-made breakfast sandwich and hash browns for the morning. Just microwave and go. And some lasagna for dinner tonight.”

“You’re the best. Thank you. Mm. Feel free to put a whole pan of lasagna in my freezer.”

He laughs. “Maybe you’ll come back to a surprise or two.”

I laugh too, but my attention shifts to my phone as it goes off.

Justin: BTW please tell me if I’m ever annoying you with all my random thoughts and feelings about your characters.

Me: Feel free to keep messaging me random thoughts. It makes me smile.

I don’t know if I should say that or not, but we’re talking about more than books these days, and… it’s the truth.

Justin: If it makes you smile, I’ll message you my random thoughts all day.

Damn. I guess I should expect the swoony stuff from a guy who loves reading romance as much as I do, but still. It makes me feel all melty inside.

It’s not until after I’ve made some kind of happy little squeak that I remember I’m not alone in my kitchen.

I look up to find my dad’s eyes fixed on me.

“Who are you talking to?”

I clear my throat and set my phone down. “Just a friend.”

“A friend, huh? Is this friend a boy?”

“Dad. I’m not fifteen.”

“So, that’s a yes. Do I get to meet him?”

“I haven’t even met him yet.”

Dad’s brows lift, and I slap a hand over my mouth. Whoops.

Then Dad’s grinning at me, and I don’t have to ask where I get my troublemaking smile from.

“But you’re planning on meeting him?”

“We’re. Just. Friends. But yes. He’ll be at the convention this weekend. He’s a narrator. And cover model,” I mutter.

“Well, as long as he treats you right, I approve of your friendship .”

“Dad, I’m thirty years old.”

“And no matter how old you are, I’ll always want the best for you.” He kisses the side of my head. “By the way, I brought your mail up. I think I saw something from your insurance company in there.”

I scramble for the pile of mail and find the letter with my insurance company’s logo on it.

They’ve been giving me a ton of crap about my surgery for the past two weeks.

They instantly denied paying for it, so I had to send in more information.

Then that still wasn’t enough, and I had to send in a second appeal with more information.

The woman on the phone last time assured me they had everything they need, so it should be…

Denied?

My heart slams against my ribs. They’re denying it?

Oh, no. They’re not just denying my surgery, they’re denying any related follow-ups with my doctor, and any physical or occupational therapy related.

Then there’s the damning bolded two words. Final decision.

Tears rush to my eyes.

When my dad turns from the refrigerator and sees me, he crosses the room to me. “What is it?”

“They denied the surgery.”

“What?” he demands, taking the letter as I pull out my phone and, with shaking hands, dial the number for my insurance company’s help line.

Of course, I’m put on hold. Usually it’s anywhere between twenty and forty minutes before I get through to someone.

When my dad finishes reading the letter, he hands it back to me. I pace the apartment, reading the letter over and over while I’m on hold. Dad tries to busy himself unloading and loading the dishwasher, but I can feel his eyes on me.

There’s all kinds of stupid medical and legal jargon that don’t make any sense to me.

I pay this company thousands of dollars a year, and they aren’t covering this?

No. This has to be wrong. I need this surgery. Do they think I just want to do it for fun? Because not being able to use my dominant hand for over a month doesn’t sound fun to me.

When the line finally connects, I force myself to be calm, willing my voice not to shake, and reminding myself not to yell at the person on the phone because it’s not their fault.

The woman is deeply apologetic as she does her best to explain the letter.

It’s clear she disagrees with their decision.

She tells me seeing another specialist, going through what I’ve already done to try to prevent surgery again, and then scheduling a surgery with a different doctor is my only hope, but even then, it’s unlikely.

And it would take too long. Who knows how much more I would suffer in that time.

A mix of fury and sadness wars within me as I hang up the phone. Grabbing my laptop, I sit down on my couch and do some rage researching.

Six to eight thousand dollars. That’s how much the surgery will cost out of pocket, and that doesn’t include any extra little things they might try to charge me for. It doesn’t include any of my follow-ups or therapy which will be thousands of dollars more.

I jump over to my bank account and look through all my finances.

The monthly income I give myself won’t cover that.

Not by a longshot. Then I look at the one account I don’t want to touch.

The one for my audiobook savings. This would be anywhere from a quarter to a third of that. Assuming everything goes okay.

“Honey,” Dad whispers, sitting down next to me as I sniffle. “It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out. We could do one of those online fundraiser things.”

I slowly shake my head at that. “We don’t have that much reach that it’ll make a difference. And I am not asking my readers for this. There’s something inherently wrong about that to me. It’s not like I’m dying. I’ll just have to figure it out.”

Audiobooks will have to wait.

That guts me, but it is what it is.

If I can’t type without horrible pain, I can’t keep doing this anyway. There’s no other choice, no matter what my insurance company thinks.

Now I have to hope that this doesn’t completely derail my career and force me to burn through even more of the money I’ve been saving up.