Page 26 of Text Appeal

I don’t have any strong feelings about soup. But it’s interesting how both Ava and Denise were crowned Miss Port Stewart.Having things in common might account for why Denise is such a hardcore fan.

“In other news,” says Noor, stopping to sip her drink, “we heard about your writing and decided to try one of your books.”

My brows rise. “You did?”

“Yes. You were the inaugural choice for our new book club,” says Joyce. “We also let the local bookshop know there was a new author in town.”

“Oh. Wow. Okay.”

“Connor told me you write romance,” says Martha. “That’s quite an accomplishment, Riley. You should have said something.”

I shrug. “People can be weird about the genre. Call it smut and porn and other nonsense.”

“People don’t know what they’re missing. We read the one about the rich man and his assistant,” says Joyce with a twinkle in her eye. “Boy, were those bedroom scenes racy. You have quite the imagination. I had to borrow some of my grandchildren’s dolls to sort out the sexual positions. What limb went where and such. But don’t you worry, I figured it out in the end.”

Martha frowns at her tablet. “I am not done yet. Don’t tell me how it finishes.”

“Thank you,” I say, a little surprised. “I appreciate you reading it.”

Noor smiles. “Of course.”

This sort of thing is always a little awkward. But my curiosity is real. “Dare I ask what you thought of the story?”

“I was hoping you would,” says Noor. “I was an English teacher here at our local high school for many years.”

“That’s great.”

“Yes. You’re a wonderful writer. The book we read was a lot of fun. Very hard to put down, and I found myself getting choked up during the emotional parts. You have a way with words and a gift for telling stories, Riley. I am working on your backlist, but when can we expect your next one?”

I wince. “Let me get back to you about that.”

“Oh no,” says Joyce. “What’s wrong?”

“Is it writer’s block?” asks Noor.

I just nod.

“For how long?”

“Since I moved to town.”

“Just this week?” asks Joyce. “That’s not so bad. You’ve been busy. Give yourself a chance to settle in and get comfortable.”

Martha sets down her tablet on her lap. “If you lot are finished, I want to talk about you and my grandson.”

“Time to spill the tea, huh?” I respond.

Someone walks into the café and up to the counter to order. Business is quiet, though the weather can’t be helping. Things probably pick up around lunchtime.

When the patron is out of earshot, Joyce asks with much enthusiasm, “Did your heart beat all fast and fluttery when you first saw him?”

“Yes, it did,” I answer. “Though some of that might have been due to there being a large, strange male standing outside my door.”

“But some of it was also thanks to him having a nice tush, right?” Joyce says.

I laugh.

“He is very nice to look at,” says Noor. “So tall, blond and handsome. And so strong too. This one time he was moving abig tree branch that had come down in a storm for me. I’m not ashamed to say I poured myself a glass of iced tea and took a seat on the patio to watch.”

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