Page 102 of After All This Time

I’ve spent years fine-tuning my debut romance novel.

It hasn’t hit me by this time next year, I’ll be a published author.

Fucking insane.

I hear the sound of the garage door opening which means Mom’s home. I don’t get up because I’m too lazy to.

Noah’s still at the kitchen table, writing his heart out and wearing those Buddy Holly glasses that make my heart skip a beat.

The laundry room door slams closed.

“I’m home.” I hear a sweet voice that belongs to my mother, traveling its way into the living room.

I decide to get up, running over to her. I just about knock her down like a bowling ball knocking down a bunch of bowling pins. Wrapping my arms around her tight like a Grandma does with her grandkid, I hear her huffing.

“What’s the occasion?” Confusion fuses with happiness in her tone.

“I know I don’t say this enough but I love you and I appreciate you so much.”

“I love you too, Sweet Girl.”

I take in her scent. A combination of florals and the sea.

She releases me, looking at me with admiration.

I narrow my eyes slightly. “What?”

“I’m so proud of you. Some days I can’t believe you’re my daughter.”

“Thank you but…what the hell are you talking about?”

“You have this drive I never had when I was your age. You’re inspiring, Dani. Look at the community you’ve built on your social media platforms. You’re a leader. You always have been. I’m just so proud of you.”

Don’t cry. I’ve cried enough today.

Reaching out to grab her hands, I interlock them with mine. “Thank you.”

I glance in Noah’s direction. He’s totally unaware that Mom is home because he has his wireless earbuds in. His head is bobbing around to the beat of whatever song he’s listening to.

From where I’m standing, he looks like an idiot.

A very cute idiot.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

noah

There’s something about music that transports me into the world I’m writing about.

I’m sitting at Dani’s kitchen table, editing my debut novel for the millionth time. Okay, maybe not the millionth time, but it sure as hell feels like it.

Editing is something I was excited to tackle in the beginning, and now I want it to end. It never stops. It keeps going on and on.

I do enjoy it when I’m able to refine the story and take out unnecessary scenes that don’t make sense for the characters or the story.

Nobody warned me how intense the whole self-publishing process is.

It’s not just writing and editing the damn thing, but you have to market that shit like your life depends on it. I don’t think a lot of people realize that independent authors wear a lot of hats, figuratively not literally.

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