Page 48 of Just a Distraction

My heart’s pumping like crazy again. A woman as incredible as Rose reads fantasy? Could a guy get any luckier? I sit on the floor near her, stretching my legs out long so I can better see the titles.

And so I can better see Rose.

We talk about our favorite characters and storylines for that series and a few others, talking over each other, reminiscing when certain bestsellers came out.

“Do you have memorabilia or any fandom type things?” I ask her.

“I work in housekeeping at a resort, have a kid, and am trying to save up for nursing school, so no.” She makes a face, which makes me laugh. “Most of these paperbacks I got from the used bookstore. Do you have any memorabilia?”

I rock back and forth on my heels. “Not really. It’s sort of a secret hobby. Not many people in my life know about it.” No one who knows my real name knows I write fantasy. All my online friends and readers know me as Thaddeus Blackthorn.

“Oh. You keep secrets, huh? Have to hide who you really are, huh? Interesting.” She rests her hands in her lap as she sits cross-legged on the other side of the bookshelf.

I can’t tell how serious she is, but knowing how much Blaine hurt her—and I’m assuming her father by his abandonment—I can see how that might be a sticky thing.

“I totally would wear it more proudly, but I’m sort of . . . biding my time a little bit. I’ll come clean soon.”

“Come clean?” She clicks her tongue. “Like it’s something to be ashamed of.” She gently pushes my shoulder.

“It’s just that . . . my brothers don’t read much. And as I got older and more and more of my siblings left home, I had to find something to do to occupy myself. And when I read Sanderson and Jordan, that was it for me. It was the escape I needed.”

Rose holds up a finger. “Oh. Speaking of escape, I have to show you my latest obsession.” She grabs her phone off the sofa and swipes through an app before showing me the screen. “If you like Brandon Sanderson, you’re gonna love this.”

My mouth drops open. I can’t believe it. It’sZehma of the Night Loch, my own serial story, the one I’ve been posting on Turnip every week.

Rose reads my stories? Andlikesthem? A low hum of panic filters through me. What are the odds?

I should tell her it’s me. It feels strange not to. She deserves to know the truth. Still, I’ve been so used to having this be my secret for so long that I panic.

“Zehma of the Night Loch? Huh. Where’d you hear about this?” I take the phone from her and scroll through, reading the very description I wrote months ago. It sounds so foreign in my head right now.

“I think it was a customer at the restaurant who told me about Turnip in the first place. I did a free trial, saw this story was a top trending one and got hooked. So I pay the subscription fee now. He posts a new chapter every week. It’s my one guilty pleasure as a mom.”

“That’s great. Of course you need to do things that make you happy and are just for you, you know?” My mouth is like sandpaper. This is strange.

She nods, trapping her bottom lip between her teeth. “I figure I’m going to have to give up the subscription when I start school, though. I can’t fathom how I’ll have the time. So I’m enjoying it while I can.”

I’m tempted to ask her more, to find out what it is about the story that she likes, if the plotlines are satisfying, if the character arcs feel right, if the timing and pacing are working for her.

But I can’t, because I might accidentally give myself away.

I wasn’t kidding when I told Rose I was preparing to come clean about my fantasy fiction hobby. What she doesn’t know is that includes mywritingfantasy fiction. I want to tell my family about it, I’m just not quite ready.

I need to before I start the Professional MFA Program at Greenleaf in September.

But every time I think of mentioning it, that’s the prevailing feeling. I’m not ready yet. Maybe that’s my whole problem at this point. Maybe I’m waiting for some sort of outside validation, like hitting number one on Turnip or the Top 100 on Amazon to belike,See family? See? This is legit. I’m not just a fantasy writer. I’m agoodfantasy writer.

I got another rejection from a literary agency today, which stung. My brothers and my parents seem to be good at whatever they try. Whether it’s playing sports or growing their wealth, they’re naturals. So it tracks that I’m going to want some outside validation before I admit my secret.

And I’ve gotten that validation from the readers of Turnip. Somehow it doesn’t feel like it’s enough yet.

Rose loves my work, though. How wild is that?

And how’s she going to feel when she finds out it’s me?

Chapter 20

Rose

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