Page 36 of The Ruse of Romancing

Dani

The days following my kiss with Allen passed in a blur.

I quickly fell into a rhythm of beach meetups with Allen in the morning, writing in the bakery or bookstore during the afternoon, and outings with Allen to visit one tourist location or another that would leave me inspired enough to keep writing late into the night.

Having internet back up and running at the duplex made it easy to coordinate plans, but I didn’t spend much time texting my family or scrolling on social.

I was too busy writing and enjoying all Oregon had to offer with Allen.

One afternoon, we drove up to a nearby lighthouse. Another evening, we tried the legendary fried cheese curds he’d raved about after the cheese factory tour.

Tonight I was finally getting to see an Oregon coast sunset.

We’d come to the beach with a dinner picnic, spreading out a blanket on the sand.

Both of us brought devices so we could work after we were done eating.

My efforts to be productive had lasted all of ten minutes after dinner was put away.

I was too busy stealing glances at Allen as he worked on his tablet, using his stylus to make quick, confident strokes on the screen.

“Stop looking at me and get to writing! Avery’s going to hate me if she thinks I’m distracting you from your deadline,” he said when he caught me staring once again. To be fair, the man was wearing swim trunks and an unbuttoned shirt, leaving miles of tanned muscles visible.

“Well, if you weren’t so distracting,” I muttered to myself as I ducked my head and committed to at least finishing the chapter in front of me.

“How am I distracting?” Allen asked, pointing his stylus at me. “I’m just working like I’m supposed to be. You’re the one who keeps staring!”

“And you’re the one putting all of that,” I gestured at him, “on display out here in the open. What do you expect me to do?”

“I expect you to hold still and work because that’s what I’m doing even though you’re putting all that,” this time he gestured at me in my floral print swimsuit and shorts, “on display and I’m still focused.”

“Oh yeah? Let me see how focused you’ve been.” I reached for his tablet, which he quickly moved out of reach.

“It’s not done. I don’t like showing anyone my work until it’s finished,” he said, locking his tablet screen.

“But I’m not just anyone! And you really haven’t shown me much of your artwork.

I want to see,” I said, knowing full well my voice was coming out whiney and not really caring.

Over the last few days, this man had seen me hangry, twitterpated, tired, discouraged, excited, and so many other emotions. Why not add exasperated?

“No, it’s not ready.”

“Please? I’ll let you read my first chapter.”

“That won’t do me any good since I haven’t started the first book yet,” Allen said with a laugh, leaning away from me as I tried to reach for the tablet again.

“Please?” I asked, this time resorting to dirtier tactics as I leaned in close and pressed my lips to his ear. “I’ll give you a kiss.” I said this last part in what I’d hoped would come across as sultry and enticing, though honestly I just felt silly doing it.

He turned his heated gaze on me, one of his hands reaching up to cup my jaw.

“Promise?” His voice was a low growl that did funny things to my insides.

“Promise.”

He lowered his hand and unlocked the tablet, but hesitated.

“Just keep in mind this is a rough sketch. It’s not finished yet.”

Allen extended the tablet, and I took it eagerly.

He’d mentioned working on a commission for a florist, so I’d expected to see sketches of bouquets.

But instead of roses and peonies, I found myself on the screen.

Me typing on my laptop. Me in front of the lighthouse.

Me eating ice cream in a green dress with his jacket on top.

“Sorry, I should have asked before drawing you, but you’re so expressive and I wanted to see if I could capture your emotions and—”

I pressed a finger to his lips, cutting him off.

“They’re incredible. How did you even draw these? The only place I remember taking pictures was the lighthouse.” I continued to stare at the images, noting a rough sketch down in the corner, this one an outline of our current moment with me wearing a swimsuit, my hair twisted into a claw clip.

“If you think I could forget how beautiful you are at any given moment, you’re wrong.”

I carefully locked the tablet screen and placed it in his bag before throwing my arms around Allen and all but tackling in him an enthusiastic kiss.

We had kissed several times since our first date, but this kiss held something deeper as his lips seemed to answer every unspoken question my lips posed.

As our kisses slowed, we pulled apart and settled back in to work and wait for the sunset, but my eyes were still drawn to him again and again.

I could feel myself falling a little more in love with Allen with each passing moment, but I pushed the feeling aside.

I lived in Utah. He lived in Idaho. And while both locations were only separated by a state line and a couple hundred miles, I worried what the distance would do once we returned to our homes.

It seemed I was headed straight for heartbreak, and I wasn’t sure what to do about that fact.

The next day, Allen convinced me to give up an entire writing day for an adventure in Portland.

He’d promised it would be worth it, so, much to Avery’s chagrin, I’d agreed.

I’d kept Avery and the cousins apprised of the situation with Allen and, since I was making good progress on book two, Avery hadn’t protested too much when I told her I wouldn’t be writing today.

I knew she was just concerned I was going to get my heart broken, but I remembered a time before she started dating Captain Vanilla when Avery would have run away on an adventure without hesitation.

I hoped she could find at least a piece of that Avery and her happiness again.

As Allen and I walked down the street in Portland, a sign caught my eye and I froze, knowing immediately where he was taking me.

“Seriously?” I looked back and forth between Allen and the red and white sign above the store across the street. “You’re taking me to Powell’s Books!”

“When you said you’d never been, I knew I had to fix that,” Allen said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as we walked across the street to visit one of the largest independent bookstores in the world.

As we got closer, I hesitated, realizing that I was about to walk into a bookstore without a disguise. And while being a famous author was a level of celebrity that didn’t come with much public recognition, being in a bookstore increased those odds exponentially.

“What if someone recognizes me?” I asked, slowing to a stop a few steps away.

Allen stopped beside me, seeming to consider the situation for a moment before taking off his hat and placing it on my head.

“How’s that for an instant disguise?”

I snorted a laugh. “Now the challenge is: spot the author in a hat.”

Allen paused, studying me before reaching over and tucking my hair back behind my ear.

“Now you’re really in disguise.”

Rolling my eyes, I took off the hat and, working quickly, tucked my hair up into the hat so that it came through the back. Then I snagged the sunglasses Allen had tucked into the neck of his shirt. I’d feel ridiculous wearing sunglasses inside, but it would have to do.

Even with my disguise, questions continued to circle in my mind, and I bit my lip, hesitating even as other customers passed us to enter the store. Allen watched me expectantly, seeming to sense there was more to my reticence than the need for a disguise.

What if someone recognized me? What if they started asking questions about book two? What if they hated Of Curses and Pomegranates ?

Yes, I had written the last several days and I was cautiously optimistic that what I’d written wasn’t complete crap, but I still felt like a sham.

A fake. It was part of why I’d struggled so hard to write book two.

No matter how many copies of my book sold, I still vividly remembered the words of my first few negative reviews.

There was a reason I didn’t read reviews anymore if I could help it.

The words “flash in the pan,” “overhyped,” and “a complete waste of money and time” echoed in my ears if I wasn’t careful.

It terrified me to think the critics might be right and that I wouldn’t be able to live up to the hype with my second novel.

I guess that’s what came from being an “overnight” success.

Though what the magazines and reviewers didn’t see were the years of work I’d put into Of Curses and Pomegranates .

The late nights writing and revising around my day job.

The two unfinished novels that would forever stay buried on my laptop, never to see the light of day.

The writing conferences and retreats and forums I’d participated in, trying to hone my craft and learn how to be an author.

Yes, some people on BookTok and Bookstagram loved me, but did that really make me an author if all I’d done was publish a single book?

Would my career live past this summer and the initial hype of a book that happened to hit the trends just right?

If I couldn’t write a best-selling conclusion to my duology, I had a horrible, sinking feeling that I would fail on a fundamental level to the point that I’d never truly recover.

And yet, here I was, about to walk into this giant independent bookstore with a man I was starting to fall for, pretending like it was no big deal.

Yes, he’d seen my books back at Seabreeze Reads, but it wasn’t quite the same.

For some reason, this felt different. Would I even be able to find my books?

Or would they be relegated to a back corner, like some kind of dirty, unimpressive secret?