Page 105 of Yes No Maybe

“We’ll probably all be in the next one,” she says, smiling.

“Yes. I pull from real life all the time. When I write a love story, it’s almost subconscious for me—putting the people I care about in it.”

The class moves on to literary devices, techniques, and my process—I just try to be honest. I admit that every first draft sucks and has to be rewritten. I confess to getting angry at salesmen and Jehovah’s Witnesses at my front door when they interrupt my writing and being an asshole generally when words aren’t flowing. I talk about my music playlists and how I organize them by writing moods—pissed off, sexy, upbeat, ominous, beast mode, love sucks, and so on. I even share my insecurities about imposter syndrome and anxiety when someone first reads my work.

Turning to Rowan, my eyes narrow. “Tell the truth. What did you think ofBare?”

Her soft, easy grin answers my question. “It’s my favorite Jack Graham romance to date.”

“Really? YourfavoriteJack Graham romance?” My brow cocks, and she blushes. Hard. This is turning out to be a very good day.

Always chase.

She clears her throat. “It was the extensive annotating that did it.”

Her students groan, but I laugh.

Then, almost like she catches the vibe between me and her teacher, Mia speaks up again, her doe-eyes huge behind her glasses. “How do you know if you’re in love?”

Now, I’m blushing. “Damn, Mia, you’ve brought your A-game today.”

She giggles.

“Okay, how do you know if you’re in love…” I square my shoulders as the class leans forward for the answer. “I’ve asked this question often, and everyone has different answers. A neighbor knew he was in love when she laughed at a terrible joke to make him feel good. My Aunt Susan fell for Uncle Rob because he kept showing up to her tennis matches even though he hated tennis. My parents claim love at first sight—not sure I buy that—but they’ve been together nearly forty years, so anything’s possible…

“But my favorite answer is what my brother Devin told me when he was your age. It’s love when home is no longer a place but a person, and that’s where you always want to be.”

A long, silent beat breaks when the bell rings. Students moan with irritation.

“Ms. Mackey, if we get permission from our other teachers, can we come back?” Julio asks.

“Of course, if they agree. But you have to give up your seats for the incoming class.”

Satisfied, they file out, promising to return. The classroom empties.

Rowan stands, kicking her cushioned foot-chair and losing her ice pack. I rush to her side, bracing her as she winces.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To you. I owe you a huge—”

“No. You don’t.”

“I said things I didn’t mean,” she says desperately. “It’s just seeing you with her—it was a shock—”

“You had every right to be angry. I should’ve considered that you might see us. She came over late, upset about her fiancé. We talked—that’s all. There is nothing between us anymore. Hell, we spent half the time talking about you.”

“Me? Oh, no.”

“No, don’t worry about it. This is my fault—”

“But I’m grateful you’re here, anyway. I didn’t think you’d—”

“Rowan.”

Her pleading face relaxes when she meets my smile.

“I willalwaysshow up for you.”

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