Page 4 of How to Write a Rom-Com

“Yep,” Terri says. Terri has been at Heartwarming almost as long as Anne and is our only senior editor.

“Okay, send it to me,” Anne responds, shuffling papers around in front of her. “There’s one last important thing we need to talk about.” Her face is serious, even for her. We all look at each other, slightly bemused.

“Ruby Jones is threatening to dump us.”

Chapter Two

The silence in the room stretches on for what feels like an hour.

“Ruby Jones, as intheRuby Jones, the biggest earner on our list?” Terri repeats, as if we all don’t know who Ruby is.

“What?” The disbelief in Elle’s voice speaks for everyone in the room.

I do my best to conceal my surprise, and the subsequent disappointment, that Anne withheld this monumental development from me. I know basically all about every author and book on our list, but most definitely everything about all of Anne’s authors. Why didn’t she tell me?

“Maybe that wouldn’t be the worst thing. Ruby has always been a little off her rocker,” Nicole adds cautiously.

“Well, while that may be true, she sells books, so we need to get herbackon her rocker,” Anne quips, her boss-voice in full effect. We exchange a look.

I’m more than familiar with Ruby’s eccentricities. She’s an older woman who lives in Oklahoma and writes trope-driven romantic comedies. She’s done cowboys, enemies, friends, co-workers, neighbors, best friends of older brothers—the list goes on.

“What is her problem this time?” Terri asks.

“According to her, we’ve been treating her like a ‘backlist author,’” Anne explains, using air quotes.

“Her last two books have been instantUSA Todaybestsellers. How is that treating her like a backlist?” Elle snaps. I’m glad Elle said that, because that was my exact thinking. But I’m still a little too shocked by the news that one of our biggest authors—one who quite literally keeps some of the lights on in this place—is threatening to leave, to say anything.

“She says she doesn’t feelcreativelysupported. Her sales have been slowly dropping over the course of her last four publications, and apparently, we’re not doing enough to ‘vary her brand in the ever-changing marketplace,’” Anne continues, once again, employing air quotes.

“Jesus,” Terri says with a groan. Nadine rolls her eyes. They’ve dealt with Ruby a bit longer than Elle and me, so they can have those types of reactions. My brain goes right to problem-solving mode.

“I’m really hitting a wall with her, and we need to come up with something new, something fresh, or we’re going to lose her.”

“Isn’t it kind of the author’s job to come up with the ideas?” Elle asks, a hesitant tone in her voice.

“It’s Ruby. Weallhave to be willing to compromise,” Anne says. “So, I have some small-town ideas lined up, but we really need to focus on the specifics. Ruby’s not giving me much to work with here. She basically wants us to outline the book for her.” Anne rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised she doesn’t get dizzy. “Any thoughts?” she asks the group.

Small-town romances are usually set on whimsical streets like Blueberry Lane or Chestnut Creek. They’re mostly PG and form the inspiration for almost every Hallmark Christmas movie ever produced. They’ve never been my favorite subgenre of romance. Well, that’s putting it nicely. They’re myleastfavorite. I grew up in a small town in Pennsylvania, right on the border of New Jersey. It wasn’t so small that I had cows as neighbors, but it was small enough that there was one high school with a graduating class of about a hundred students.

My parents are small-town people, even if they don’t like to admit it. They raised their family—well,me—there, and always talked about how much they hated it. No good restaurants, no diversity, and no potential for upward movement.Sameness—that’s the word my father always used.

“You’re the generation that is going to make a difference out there Lucy Loo,” my mother always said.“And you’re not going to do that here.”

“Strong female friendships,” Terri offers.

“Restoring a house or an inn, returning home, maybe second-chance love story,” Nicole suggests, listing the plot for basically every small-town romance we’ve ever sold.

“The market is already full of those stories. What about something else?” At first, I don’t believe it’s me speaking out loud. I never offer opinions. Rarely, if at all. That’s not what I’m here for. I’m here to make sure the whole team doesn’t fall apart and blend into the wall while doing it.

“Such as?” Anne asks, clearly as surprised as I am that I’m speaking up.

That’s a great question. At that moment, with half a dozen sets of eyes staring at me, I have no choice but to go with the line of thought that drove me to open my mouth in the first place.

I have a terrible problem with keeping my mouth shut. My mother calls it “foot-in-mouth syndrome.” I’ve been working on it, Ireallyhave. But sometimes, when something pops into my head, it just comes out of my mouth.

“Well,” I say, waving my hands to buy myself some time, “what about a spin on the small-town romance? Instead of the heroine embracing her life in the small town, she hates it.”

“Why would she hate it?” Terri asks.

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