Page 10 of The Now in Forever
I will Robin not to say it.Don’t say it.
“Hattie picked it for book club.” There it is. Now he’s going to think I’m some kind of super fan, going to his signings, talking about his book in Story Club.
He finishes chewing. “Which one?”
Which? I hadn’t realized he wrote another one. After that signing, I stopped searching him on the internet, and I quit all social media after high school.
“Vex,” I answer.
“Sounds about right. What’s on the docket for this month?”
“It’s not a monthly club. When we were little, Hattie used to visit every summer?—”
Ed is nodding slowly. “From Montana.”
My heart is beating fast. Did I say I’m from Montana? Robin and Nathan could’ve mentioned that’s where I drove from today. Honestly, I’m so tired I may have said it, and I don’t remember. I set my wine down, deciding I don’t need any more tonight.
“Right.” Robin smiles brightly. “We each pick one book for the three months of summer.”
“What are the books this time?”
“The Motorcycle Diaries,” Robin says.
Nathan tips an imaginary hat. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Robin snuggles into Nathan’s side as she finishes, “The Likenessby Tana French andBeach Readby Emily Henry.”
Ed makes a face—not one I can entirely read—as he chews a large bite of burger.
“You want in?” Robin asks.
I gasp—I can’t help it. We don’t let people into Story Club. It’s the three of us, that’s it. No boyfriends, no girlfriends, nobody else. Why would she invite Ed?
“I have to work on my book. It’s due to my editor at the end of the summer, but I’ll read one if I have time.”
I’m relieved he basically politely declined. “What are you working on?” I ask, proud of myself for pulling it together enough to join the conversation.
“It’s a novel about a time slip. A man meets a woman, and they slide through a vortex to the future.”
“Ooh, that sounds interesting.” I grab some pita.
“Yeah, it does.” He laughs. “But so far, it’s not. At all. I have a lot of work ahead, and I’m not sure if I should scrap the idea and do something else.”
“I know what you mean. I’ve hit a point in my mystery, too, where I don’t know where to go with it. It feels flat, and I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
Robin slams her wine down on the table, her hands flapping. “Oh my God. You guys! You should do a genre switch, just like that book we’re reading!”
Ed backs up reflexively, but there’s only so far you can go at a picnic table.
Robin’s enthusiasm can be a lot for some people, but it’s one of the things that I love about her. “The Emily Henry one?”
“Yes.” Robin points to me with her bright-red, sensibly short nail. “You write a speculative literary fiction book.” She turns her finger on Ed. “And you write a mystery. It solved all their problems in the book, and they fell madly?—”
My glare stops her from finishing that sentence.
“It might shake up your writing process anyway,” Robin says then takes a healthy drink of her wine.
I know she’s trying to find ways to throw us together, but this isn’t a terrible idea.
