Page 37 of The Ruse of Romancing

“You okay?” Allen asked, resting a reassuring hand on my lower back. It was a welcome contact, like he was trying to guide me through this emotional rollercoaster.

I bit my lip before nodding and squaring my shoulders. I could do this.

“I’m fine. It’s just always... weird walking into bookstores now that I’m published.

Bookstores used to be my favorite places in the world but now.

..” I shook my head, not fully sure how to finish the thought.

“Now it’s complicated. There are so many thoughts and emotions every time I walk through the door. ”

“Tell me more,” Allen said, guiding me away from the door and off to the side, out of the flow of traffic going into and out of the bookstore.

“It sounds so stupid to say it all out loud,” I said with a self-deprecating laugh, even though I knew I needed to speak the words.

“Every time I walk into a bookstore, it’s this obstacle course of emotions.

Will they have my book? Won’t they? If they do, will someone recognize me?

Do I want them to recognize me?” I pulled off Allen’s sunglasses to rub at the bridge of my nose, trying to relieve the pressure building behind my eyes.

“That’s a lot of questions,” Allen observed, watching me closely.

I gave a small snort. “That’s not even half of them.

Those questions are just what run through my head when I go to a bookstore.

It’s exponentially worse if I’m going to a book signing.

Then I add in questions like: What if no one comes?

What if hundreds of people come? What if they love it?

What if they hate my book?” Here I paused, not wanting to give voice to the last thought that I’d been struggling with since the moment other people started reading my words.

Taking a breath, I continued, my voice quieter than before as I finally spoke aloud my biggest fear since I’d started this author journey, my throat constricting around the words. “What if they hate me ?”

“Oh, Dani.” Allen’s voice softened and he pulled me into his arms.

I buried my face in his chest, careful to turn my head sideways so as not to knock off my hat, the soft cotton of his sweatshirt brushing against my cheek as I closed my eyes and fought back the tears that wanted to escape along with my confession.

I hadn’t cried in front of anyone since publishing my book, and I wouldn’t start now.

I couldn’t. Otherwise, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop.

I’d grappled with these thoughts and emotions since Of Curses and Pomegranates hit shelves and the first reviews started coming.

I’d heard advice from several author friends to not read my reviews, but I couldn’t help myself.

That was my book baby people were reading, and I wanted to know what they thought.

At the start, the reviews were positive, glowing even.

Then the negative reviews had started. One-star reviews questioning my intelligence.

Social media posts that tagged me, calling me the bane of the literary world.

I’d finally stopped reading the reviews, but the damage had been done.

Each word stung, digging in deep and making me question my abilities and how I could possibly have the gall to write another book.

I didn’t tell anyone about the self-doubt that haunted me, not as I quit my day job, not as I flew to book signings and press interviews, not even when I stepped on the plane for Oregon with the goal to write another best-selling novel.

I couldn’t let my loved ones down by showing them this scared, hurt side of me.

Avery’s business, Sadie’s career as my editor, even Poppy’s job selling books in the airport depended on me to a certain extent, and I couldn’t let them down.

I was fairly certain Avery suspected that I was struggling in ways I wasn’t telling her, but I couldn’t find the words until now, in this moment with a man I was coming to care for deeply, standing outside of a bookstore terrified someone would recognize me as romantasy sensation Danielle Baldwin.

“No one in their right mind could hate you, not once they got to know you,” Allen murmured into my ear as he smoothed a comforting hand up and down my back.

“How could you possibly know that? You barely even know me.” It was true. Even though I could feel myself falling for Allen, we’d only known each other for a handful of days. He couldn’t really know me that well.

Allen paused, seeming to ponder his response before finally speaking.

“Because what I do know about you is incredible. You’re creative and funny and feisty.

Based on our conversations and the number of texts you’ve gotten from your cousin group chat, you’re loyal and love your family.

And you’re a very good kisser.” His voice turned sultry and a little wicked with this last comment.

I blushed, remembering our time on the beach yesterday, but pushed away his compliments. Now that I’d started, I needed to get these thoughts and fears fully out into the open.

“What if I’m just a hack, someone who doesn’t actually have what it takes to do this author thing?”

Allen released his embrace and grabbed my shoulders, taking a step back so he could see my face.

“I’m a creative too. Trust me, I get it. There’s so much fear and worry. What if I’m not actually good enough? What if I can’t sustain myself with my art?” He looked into my eyes intently, reading my every reaction.

He’d hit my fear right on the head and could likely see it in every line of my face.

“Dani, I’m just a graphic designer who’s barely scraping by, nowhere close to being an internationally best-selling author, but I know how you feel.

For every reason there is to create, there are at least five more reasons not to.

It’s so much easier to take the expected path.

To do something without emotional risk, like become an accountant. ”

I snorted. Clearly, Allen didn’t know my ability with numbers. That career would have involved emotional risk of a different variety, mostly the emotionally scarring variety because I would be forced to do something I hated every single day of my life.

“At the end of the day, you have to ask yourself why you’re doing this. Are you writing because you want fame, money, love, and notoriety? Or are you writing because, even if no one read another book you wrote, you have stories inside you that need to get out?”

His gaze was intense as he spoke, and I felt each word in my soul.

“You know, for ‘just a graphic designer’ you seem to know exactly what to say,” I said, giving him a half smile. “Are you sure you’re not a secret motivational speaker?”

“No, I’m just a guy who sees how incredible you are and wants you to see the same thing.”

I ducked my head at the compliment, heat suffusing my cheeks.

“Thank you, Allen.”

“You’re welcome, Dani.”

I took one more deep breath before straightening my shoulders and turning to the bookstore entrance, slipping the sunglasses back in place.

“So, are we going to visit the world’s largest independent bookstore, or what?” I asked, trying to push aside any lingering emotions and exude a confidence I definitely didn’t feel. Allen had given me a lot to think about when I was alone once more, just me and my laptop.

Maybe it was time I let go of all the expectations and pressures that were holding me back and finally write the story inside of me, not the one everyone else was expecting and hoping for.

If I was being honest with myself, that was what I had been doing since arriving in Oregon with the help of Joane and Allen. Now I just had to keep doing it.

“I thought you’d never ask. This way, my lady.” Allen darted around me, opening the bookstore door and ushering me inside. “After you.”

He gave a gallant bow, making me snort a laugh, releasing the last of the tension that had settled in my chest.

I stepped into the unfamiliar space and let the wonder of the moment wash over me as a childhood dream finally came true.

I was inside Powell’s, surrounded by books and standing next to a man who knew how to make me smile, even when I was feeling my most overwhelmed. In this moment, nothing else mattered.