Page 25 of Paper Hearts & Plot Twists

“I mostly stick to fantasy,” he hedged.

“He’s acting like his books aren’t New York Times Best Sellers,” Miles said with a chuckle. “Emily, meet Patrick Rothfuss, author of the Kingkiller Chronicles.”

Her eyes widened. Straight fantasy wasn’t her genre of choice, but even she’d heard of the fantasy series that rocked the genre and was an instant favorite among readers around the world. She actually had a copy of The Name of the Wind at home that she wanted to read, but she was waiting until the trilogy was complete before she jumped into it. Waiting for the continuation of a series she’d already started made her anxious.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” she finally stuttered.

“Don’t act differently on me now,” he responded. “I’m just a normal guy who likes to write in my spare time the way other guys like to hit balls at the golf course.”

“Well in that case, I’m Emily and I love reading, especially poetry. I’m so excited to be here to meet other like-minded people.”

“Nice to meet you, Emily! Let me introduce you to the others at the table,” Rick said.

Miles leaned close, his breath teased over Emily’s ear, “What did I say about introducing you to authors?”

“This is amazing,” she whispered back, before she turned back to Rick. She had a million questions and didn’t know where to start. This was the beginning of a perfect night.

Chapter 18

“Thanks for dinner,” Emily whispered. She leaned into Miles’s arm as the two of them walked down the hallway toward their shared room.

“Thanks for being a lovely dinner companion and fake girlfriend,” Miles responded. He used his arm that was wrapped around Emily’s waist to gently squeeze her against him for a moment before loosening the grip, though his arm remained loosely around her.

Miles pulled his keycard out of his jacket pocket and swiped, unlocking the door. He held the door for Emily before following behind. The two of them shared the space, each taking turns getting changed, cleaned up, and ready for bed.

Miles lowered himself to his floor bed as Emily stepped out of the bathroom. Her hair was tied in a loose braid and she wore fleece pajama pants and a black tank top. Emily looked from Miles to the bed. She bit her lip as indecision warred in her eyes, visible in every line of her body.

“You don’t have to sleep on the floor,” Emily finally said.

Miles rolled over to face her. “I’m not making you sleep on the floor. My mama would kill me if I even considered letting that happen.”

“Neither of us have to sleep on the floor,” Emily responded. She crossed her arms over her chest. “The bed is big enough for the two of us. We can put some pillows in place to provide a level of separation.”

“Are you sure about that?” Miles asked, looking from the bed and back to Emily. He was tempted by the offer. A night next to Emily sounded nice, and not sleeping on the floor again was even more tempting. Miles had been dreading another evening of floor sleep. That’s why he felt like kicking himself when he said, “This bed isn’t all that big.”

Emily shifted from foot to foot, obviously nervous, though resolved, judging by the stubborn set of her jaw. “It’s plenty big enough for the two of us. I’m sure.”

Miles pushed himself to his feet. “We better get this bed set up for the both of us then.”

Emily moved closer to Miles and bent over to pick up the pillows he’d abandoned on the floor. She settled them in the center of the bed in a line down the center. It really didn’t leave all that much room for either of them to sleep, but they’d make do.

Emily and Miles slid into their respective sides of the bed, shifting to get comfortable. Emily turned onto her side, facing the stack of pillows. She stared at them, wondering what Miles looked like, relaxed in sleep. She pressed her hands against the pillows and imagined what it would be like to press the hand against his warm chest instead. With thoughts of hazel eyes and suave smirks, Emily fell into an uneasy sleep.

Part 4

Conference Day 2

An excerpt from Emily Parker’s Whispers of the Heart

Yielding to him, the subtle art

Submission blooms, I willingly part

Surrender to him, bound as one

Strength in yielding, the journey begun.

Letting go, true freedom is spun.

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