Page 27 of Strider's Misstep

“All ticked off,” I confirm.

“Do you need me to do anything else?”

“I think we’ve got it covered for now. But, Sheri, please do keep checking in. It grounds me and helps. How are you doing?”

“I’m as big as a house. I can’t see my feet now. I’m sure I wasn’t this big with Maria.”

I hear the sigh in her voice and work to keep the envy out of mine.Foolish dreams.“You know the sex yet?”

“No, we want it to be a surprise. But I’m leaning toward a boy as I’m carrying it differently from last time.”

Briefly I wonder what it would have been like to have carried on with my pregnancy, but I shake that thought out of my mind. It’s a rabbit hole I can’t afford to go down.

Reference to her expectant state politely discussed, and Motorcycles, Mobsters and Mayhem prep out of the way, we talkabout everything and nothing for a few minutes, then end the call.

TWO WEEKS

ONE…

Going through what I hope will be my final preparations, I’m again interrupted by another phone call from the person who’s given me so much help. “Yeah, Sheri, what is it? Have you thought of something I’ve forgotten?” I wedge the phone between my shoulder and ear as I skim through the piles of newly arrived books, sorting them into order.

“I think we’ve covered everything,” she replies. “But I’m calling to ask a favour. Do you think you’d be able to fit another assistant at your table?”

It takes a second for me to get on board with the subject. “I’ve got a six-foot table, so it’s possible, I suppose. I’ll have to ask. Who have you got in mind?”

“Wweelll.” She draws out the word then hesitates. “It’s Helo. Chaz’s woman.” She huffs a laugh. “I didn’t think she was the reading type, but she apparently has read your books and loves them. She’s said she’d love to come along if there’s space.”

Helo is already a legend in the Wretched Soulz, albeit she’s not an old lady in this charter. She was a Night Stalker, medically discharged, and now pilots a helicopter owned by the Arizona club. How she managed to tame Chaz, their president, I’ll never understand, but apparently, she did. He’s a beast of a man.

My mind suddenly starts racing. As a new author, I doubt my table will be too busy during the event, and at down times, it would be nice to talk to the woman with such an intriguing background. Maybe I could star a Night Stalker in one of mybooks. I could certainly pick her brain. “I’ll ask the organiser if she can come.”

“Thank you. It seems to matter to her a lot.” I hear the surprise in Sheri’s tone but dismiss it. I find it understandable that anyone would want an invite to such a prestigious event.

After the call, I shoot a message to Sapphire. She’s busy as all get out, so I’m grateful when, just a day later, I get a response and permission for Helo.

It’s starting to feel all too real. As the day approaches, when I’ll need to drive to the resort, I get more and more nervous. Sheri’s daily calls kept me grounded, and I thank fate that our paths ever crossed. I don’t know what I’d do without her doses of common sense. When I was looking for something suitable to wear, we FaceTimed, and I appreciated her invaluable advice.

Suddenly, the day comes when I need to pack up my car. Using my indispensable trolley—another of Sheri’s suggestions—I easily manage to get all the boxes of books and swag into my car. I then pack my clothes, an outfit for the meet and greet, one for the signing, and one for the evening event. Wearing new jeans and a flattering off-the-shoulder top, I finally collect all my toiletries and makeup and manage to get my small case into my now crammed trunk.

Like me, Sheri is going to arrive a day early so she can check the preorders with me. I don’t trust myself.

My stomach flutters with nerves and excitement as I drive to the resort. I’m excited to see Sheri again, intrigued to meet Helo, and above all, half terrified, half buzzing to meet the authors whose books I’ve devoured. I know I’m going to feel like a fraud among them. As for the readers? Hell, I’m going to be so nervous. People have actually preordered my books, and now I have to face them. Will I be tongue-tied? Will I make a fool of myself? Have I the right swag or sufficient to please them? Will they be disappointed when they meet me in person? What willthey expect me to say? I’m actually glad Sheri’s StoryTeller will be hanging around. He may be enough man candy to distract them.

My phone buzzes, and I put it on speaker.

“Hey, girl, it’s me.” Sheri’s voice comes through loudly. “Where are you?”

Checking the GPS, I answer, “Almost there now. Five minutes to go.”

“We’ll be about half an hour behind you.”

“Amazing,” I tell her, genuinely happy that I won’t be alone. “I’ll wait in reception for you.”

“Great. See you soon.”

With no more to be said, we end the call. I drive up, park, then sensibly leaving my stock of books and other paraphernalia in the car until I can get Sheri’s muscular man to help me, I wheel my small suitcase to the hotel entrance.

A wave of nervous excitement goes through me as I walk inside.

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