Page 17 of The Nicest Thing

Note to self: Include more almost kisses in your books.

They are severely underrated.

Oh, and shirtless scenes.

The words seemed to laugh at me.

I'd written them in my notebook as a reminder, the same way I'd jotted down countless other things. Character names. Plot points. Possible titles. Pieces of dialogue. Ideas for romantic scenes I didn't want to forget.

They usually helped me get unstuck.

But it was days later, and my mind was still in my room, sitting next to Finn, trying not to stare at his glorious chest, abs, whatever those muscles creating that defined V at his hips were called—and failing miserably. I was a master at overthinking.

I assumed the impact of that night might've diminished.

But the almost kiss was a powerful thing.

So were Finn's abs apparently. When I woke up this morning, I could've sworn I still smelled his scent on my pillow.

Did I inhale that pillowcase like a drug while hugging it to my chest? Yes. Yes, I did.

It was totally unacceptable behavior.

Even worse?

I dreamed of him.

And not in a friendly way.

In my dream, we hadn't been interrupted.

Finn's mouth had taken mine in a kiss that was hot, wet, and wild.

He'd flipped me over onto my back, hovering above me.

And what did dream me do? She moaned. Dream Finn smirked at that and proceeded to devour me, laying sucking kisses along my neck, breasts, stomach, and…

lower. I felt my thighs quiver with the memory of Dream Finn grinning up at me from between my thighs.

But it was only a dream, I reminded myself for the millionth time.

There was no reason for me to feel embarrassed.

Naughty dreams were totally natural.

Even ones about your best friend.

With a groan, I shook my head.

Part of me blamed Finn for this.

I mean, what was he thinking, saying what he did, putting that out there as if it wouldn't rock my world?

In bed, thinking of you.

I'd dutifully pretended like I didn't hear him.

But God.

Those five little words wreaked havoc on my senses.

Then there was that almost kiss, the one where Finn leaned toward me, and I closed my eyes without thinking, craving his mouth, wanting it like I wanted oxygen. Like he was the only soul who could give it to me.

I came up with one explanation.

Finn O'Brien's touch drove me crazy.

And I could not let it happen again.

I'd successfully avoided him for the past few days, dodging his calls—Finn's voice was something I wanted to curl up in like a warm blanket, so it was for the best. I replied to texts but kept it brief, telling him I needed to work on my novel—which was true.

Whenever I knew he was coming by Magnolia House, I made an excuse to not be there.

Yaya had seen more of me recently, which she loved.

But even she could tell something was up.

"You look tense," she'd said at our last tea.

I gave an awkward laugh.

But she just squinted her eyes, refusing to let it go. "Is this about your Finn?"

"No! Absolutely not. Why would you ask that?"

"Men always make things complicated."

And wasn't that the truth?

Instead of confessing my secrets, I'd simply said, "It's all good, yaya. And he's not my Finn."

The conversation moved on to other topics, but I still remembered the pain I felt in my chest. Honestly, although I was in love with him, I didn't let the fact that I'd never have him get me down.

Finn was my best friend. I was not the woman for him—for so many reasons.

It was understood, an accepted fact in my mind.

So why did this melancholy hit me every time I reminded myself that he wasn't mine?

I'll go anywhere—as long as it's with you.

Finn had no idea the effect he had on me.

None.

But that was for the best because despite my unfortunate feelings, this wasn't one of my romance books. It was real life. And my happy ending had never been a sure thing. Whereas Finn, he deserved happiness more than anyone I'd ever met.

"Are you almost ready? Also, do you prefer Liv or Miss Lamoreaux?"

I looked up to find Mrs. Ried, staring at me with bright eyes. She was the librarian here at Chapel Hill High School. Ana and her writing group were waiting on the other side of the bookshelves in front of us. I could see her peering at me through the gap. She looked concerned.

"Yes," I said, snapping out of it, "I'm good to go. Oh, and it's Rose."

She nodded. "Of course. It's so cool to meet a real author and have you come speak to the students."

"Not sure I'd call myself a real author," I mumbled.

"Pssh, you wrote all those novels. Didn't you?"

"Yeah, but it's just romance, and—"

Her cool look froze the words in my throat. "Romance gives people love and hope in a world that desperately needs more of both."

I started to smile. "That's exactly why I write."

"Hmm. Romance also keeps the publishing industry, both trad and indie, going. It's the highest grossing fiction genre. We are happy to have you here, Rose."

"Thank you," I said, meaning it.

Besides my complicated thoughts about Finn and the dream that I couldn't forget no matter how hard I tried, worries about Grandma Rose and making enough to keep her where she wanted to be, this had been the thing I was nervous about.

I was an adult.

I was in a library—one of my favorite places.

I'd written several books.

Speaking to teens about writing should've been easy.

But I loved my cousin Ana, and I didn't want to disappoint her.

Okay, deep breath.

I inhaled, held for four, then released a long exhale.

I could do this.

Mrs. Ried stepped out, and I followed until we were standing in front of the group.

"Students, as you know, we have a very special guest today," she said, smiling and gesturing to me. "Liv Lamoreaux writes sweet and spicy contemporary romance featuring strong, quirky heroines and the sexy, stubborn men they bring to their knees."

I winced, wondering if I should've reworked that description for a high school audience, but it was too late now.

"From college sports romance to small-town love to cowboy romance, she's written several best-selling books."

Not recently…though I hoped my current WIP would be a hit. Kinda needed it to be. For Yaya. And yes, for me too.

"Her fans love her delicious mix of humor, honesty, and heat."

Again, maybe should've tweaked that for this audience.

"She prefers to be called Rose, and we only have her for today. So, have fun, be respectful, and make sure to ask all of your questions." Mrs. Ried nodded to me. "The floor is yours. If you need anything, I'll be over by the front desk."

I shot her a grateful smile. "Thank you, Mrs. Ried."

Once she was gone, I turned back to the group and swallowed.

"Hello," I said with an awkward wave, ignoring Ana's sigh. "So yeah, I'm Liv Lamoreaux aka Rose. Um, I'm really excited to be here—and also slightly terrified. It's best to be honest, right?"

The quiet laughter that followed made me perk up a bit.

"I'm also Ana's cousin." I gestured to her as she lifted a hand. "Who I love very much and don't want to embarrass. How am I doing so far?"

Ana shrugged. "Not too bad."

"Okay, I can work with that," I said then ran my eyes over the group. "So, what do you want to know?"

Crickets.

"Um…"

Finally, as if taking pity on me, the girl to my left raised her hand. She looked really familiar for some reason, and I pointed to her.

"Yes, thank you…?"

"Lola," she said with a nod. Her heart-shaped face split into a bright smile. "We actually met before at one of Dex's games. You're friends with my sister, Maisie."

"Oh yeah, I remember now! You had purple hair then," I said.

"Yeah, the school has a new rule this year, so I went brown. But I kept some highlights."

"You look good as a brunette too. And I love Maisie," I said. "She's the best. What was your question?"

"I was just wondering what made you want to write."

"Honestly? I was a reluctant reader growing up," I admitted. "I didn't like what they assigned us to read, so I thought books just weren't for me."

The kids were listening intently, so I kept going.

"Of course, I was wrong. One day, when I was about 16, my grandmother gave me a whole bag of romance paperbacks.

They were mostly historical with some contemporary and sports romance thrown in there.

I probably shouldn't have been reading half of them, but Yaya said it was okay, so. .. I inhaled those books like oxygen."

I smiled at the memory.

"They made me laugh. They let me escape. Showed me what true love could be like. That's when I knew I wanted to be a writer. I wanted to give that feeling to others, help them through tough times, bring some happiness."

Lola nodded. "I love that."

Another girl grinned. "So, were the books spicy?"

Ana scoffed. "Come on, Freya."

"What? I'm just asking."

"Not sure I should answer that," I said slowly.

But yeah.

They definitely were—nothing in comparison to some of the steamy romances I'd read since then—or written—but the books had contained spice.

"I will say," I added, "that there's no shame in reading or writing what you like—as long as you're mature, and your parents are good with it."

"Exactly." Freya sniffed. "Don't yuck someone else's yum, Ana."

"I'd never," Ana said dryly.

"And everyone here enjoys steamy books—well, except maybe Hazel."

A girl with raven black hair, Hazel I assumed, sent her a glare. "I like good books, any and all heat levels, thank you very much."

"Different books work for different people," I said. "That's the beauty of reading—and writing."

Another hand went up, and I pointed to the girl in the far corner.

"Hi, I'm Scotlyn," she said.

I nodded. "Good name. Can I use that in one of my books?"

Her cheeks went pink, but she nodded. "Sure."

"Thanks! What did you want to ask?"

"Um, I just wondered if you experience any backlash. For writing romance," she clarified.

I tilted my head from side to side. "Sometimes, but that's usually from people who've never even read my books."