Page 115 of One More Chapter

“Listen, I know I’ve already thanked you guys a million times over, but I have to say it again. Having you here—in New York City, away from your families right before Christmas—to support me at my first author event, means the absolute world to me. I…”

I don’t cry, I don’t cry, Ido notcry.

And yet, tears clog my waterline and swim up my throat, sluicing around my words.

“You guys having my back makes me better. I couldn’t stand up there if it wasn’t for you sitting in the front row.”

I let Rafe in, and he gives me the rundown. A limo is picking us up to take the crew over to the event in an hour. The guys should be landing soon, but still, I check my phone. My last text to Ant was a few hours ago. Even though he set a ton of alarms, I still sent him a text to remind him. I know how he can be in the middle of a project. He’d responded right away—Right on schedule, boss. About to head home.—and I’d be lying if I saidhomedidn’t twine a pretty pink bow around Ant and me in my mind.

We drink champagne like classy women in the back of the limo, take tons of selfies in our gorgeous new outfits, and it reminds me of what I never did in high school. I didn’t go to prom with friends or a date, and this is filling a hole in my heart I didn’t realize was there.

We arrive at the hall before the crowds, giving us time to take photos with the marquee that saysA Night with PJ Laynein block movie theater letters.

There it is. My name in lights.

All of the books on store shelves and on websites and in PR packages have led up to this moment. I haven’t let myself be “in the wild.” It’s like this one singular decision makes it all real.

Because after we take our photos—me with the girls on our cell phones, and a few that Rafe does for marketing purposes—I see the crowd.

There is a small gaggle of women waiting to do the same thing I am—take photos in front of the sign. The star inside my chest shines outward with a little bit of apprehension and a lot of pride. And, okay, maybe those pesky tears are back.

Because when a woman approaches me and asks if I’ll take her photo, she has no idea that the woman whose name she’s posing in front of is holding her phone.

“Are you guys here for the PJ Layne signing?” I ask.

“Yes. She is hands down my favorite author of all time. I know the tickets weren’t really public, but I figured if I wait outside afterward, I might be able to spot her and get my books signed. Did you get tickets?”

“We did,” I say, eyeing the tote she’s holding labeledJust One More Chapterthat is filled to the brim with my books. Jealousy fills her smile, but it doesn’t waver. She calls my friends and I lucky, then poses with her group for photos.

“Where did you come in from?”

“Montana.”

“Oh my God,” I gasp. “Just for this?”

“Just for a glimpse,” she smiles. “And, okay, we turned it into a girls’ trip.”

Chewing on my bottom lip, I beckon Rafe over, whisper in his ear, and ask for her email. Her face turns white as a ghost, her hands trembling when I tell her that I can get her into the event.

“You-you’re serious?”

I smile and nod, then do a head count. Rafe transfers five tickets to her phone. This woman hugs me like I’ve just handed her a winning lottery ticket.

“You havenoidea how much this means to me.” Tears fill her eyes and I tilt my head. “I’m going to overshare because I’m so overwhelmed, but PJ Layne’s books gave me hope again. I lost my fiancé a month before our wedding, and I didn’t think I’d ever find a love like that again until I picked upOne More Day. She writes hope into all of her happily ever afters. I haven’t found him yet, but I know there’s someone out there for me.”

I don’t allow myself tears. But today, I can’t seem to stop them.

I shuck them away from my waterproof makeup job and hug her tightly.

“Can we get a photo together?” I ask. She lifts her brow in question, but humors me. After Juliet snaps a few with both of our phones, I break the news. “You are why I write,” I choke out, clasping her hands in mine. Her eyes widen, hands shaking in mine.

“You…”

“Mhm,” I nod, biting my bottom lip to shield the rest of the tears before I ruin my makeup.

I assure her that I’ll sign her books during that portion of the event, but ask for a copy of her favorite. I’ve signed thousands of books, but this one brands itself into my memory as I personalize it with a line from its text—You are deserving of a happy ending.

We hug goodbye, and then realize that more of a crowd is starting to form.

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