Page 1 of The Ruse of Romancing
Chapter 1
Dani
Herriman, Utah
Wasittechnicallyavoidingsomeone if you happened to be intentionally unavailable every time they called? Or texted? Or stopped by? I mean, I typically talked to my older sister, Avery, every day, multiple times a day. But lately, I didn’t want to hear what she had to say, so I’d found creative ways to be too busy to answer the door. Or the phone. Or my texts.
Right now, I was fairly certain Avery was calling to tell me to finish packing before she got here to take me to the airport, but I needed both hands for that and my earbuds were already in my carry-on. Avery hated speaker phone, so not answering the phone was really a favor to her.
Of course, I’d never admit that her call had startled me mid-social media scroll, about to read the comment section on a post by The Starlit Review. Reading comments as an author was always a terrible idea, but Starlit had just posted a review of my book, and I couldn’t help myself despite knowing the majority of the comments would just amplify the imposter syndrome that had become my constant companion of late.
In my defense, it wasn’t every day one of the biggest romantasy social media accounts shared their thoughts about my debut novel, a novel that had, according to several news outlets, taken the fantasy world by storm. An unexpected storm that had, for the most part, been a positive one, with thousands of five-star reviews and dozens of features of my book on news sites and book blogs. Unfortunately, as with all storms, there was also a not insignificant amount of collateral damage, but I tried not to think of what the more negative reviews had said.
Of course, this post from Starlit Review was less review and more speculation about my upcoming novel and what was next for “promising young debut author Danielle Baldwin.”
I wish I knew.
What Ididknow was that I was struggling to write.
Sure, I had words on the page, but they were... less than impressive. A fact that had been made painfully obvious when Sadie, my cousin, editor, and best friend, sent me feedback on the few chapters I’d emailed her a couple of weeks ago. Her comments had been... disheartening, to say the least.
I hadn’t written a single word since then, and my publisher was understandably nervous.
I haven’t missed my deadline yet.I reminded myself. That was why I was flying to Oregon in just a few hours. The change of scenery would be good for me, help me disconnect from life and really dig into the story. Assuming I could get the charactersto speak to me again. And assuming the words they said to me weren’t complete garbage.
Sadie, along with our other female cousins, who were essentially bonus sisters, assured me in our “Cheaper Than Therapy” group text, that my writing would start flowing again soon. But growing up they also thought Max fromA Goofy Moviewas the epitome of sexy, so what did they know?
That was why I needed to go on this trip. If anywhere could snap me out of my writing funk, it would be the Oregon coast with its tree-covered mountains and misty beaches that seemed to ooze creative energy from all the photos and videos I’d scrolled online. I’d never visited Oregon before, but the pictures I’d seen of my vacation rental looked cozy and welcoming, if a bit dated. Not to mention the owner of the rental was a complete doll, messaging me regular updates and low-key trying to set me up with her grandson who she assured me was “very single and attractive, underneath all the hair.” I appreciated the thought, but I had neither the time nor desire to look for romance while I was in Oregon. As much as my hopeless romantic heart hated to admit it, I needed to focus on writing, not the possibility of meeting a bearded Oregon man.
I just had to get to Oregon first then let it work its magic.
Shaking my head to clear it, I set my unanswered phone on the nightstand and recommitted to packing. I could do this!
I reached for the remote and turned up the volume on the TV mounted on my wall. Doris Day and Rock Hudson bantered on screen, their commentary keeping me company as I worked. There was something soothing about having my favorite movie,Pillow Talk,playing in the background. It was so comforting that I sank onto my bed, hugging a pillow to my chest, and stopped packing, getting completely sucked into the story. No matter how many times I watched it, it never grew old.
The sound of my front door banging open startled a scream from me, and I hurried to stand and look busy, throwing my pillow back onto the bed and reaching for a shirt to roll up and place in my suitcase. I knew exactly who was storming through my front door and it would be better for me if Avery didn’t catch me procrastinating. Again.
“Are you seriously screening my phone calls?” She asked from the living room of my townhouse, her voice drawing closer as she approached my bedroom. The clack of paws on the tile floor outside my room told me Hercules, my black 75-pound giant schnauzer, had decided to leave his spot in the living room to greet my sister. From the moment I’d pulled out my suitcase, he’d retreated to his dog bed, moping because he knew I’d be leaving soon, and he wouldn’t be coming with.
For all his appearances of a giant, intimidating defense dog, Hercules was the world’s biggest softy. He hated when I left, which had been happening a lot lately thanks to my recently completed book tour. If I thought Avery wouldn’t have a conniption, I would have tried to bring him with me on this trip, but I knew he’d just serve as a distraction from what I was supposed to be doing: writing anotherNew York Timesbestseller. No pressure.
I raced to the dresser and pulled out some clothes, hurriedly stuffing a few more shirts into my luggage in hopes of disguising just how little progress I’d made. If Avery was here, it meant she was ready to drive me to the airport, which meant more time had passed than I’d realized. Good thing the airport was only thirty minutes away and Avery had insisted we leave significantly earlier than necessary in case of traffic.
“Should I even ask how many times you’ve watched this movie?”
Avery was leaning against my bedroom door frame in her usual blouse and slacks, her hair slicked back in a tight bun thatemphasized her cheekbones. Hercules sat at her feet, his whole body vibrating with excitement at having one of his favorite people in the house. As she took in the scene, her hand resting on Hercules’s giant head, Avery’s lips tipped up into a small smile that emphasized the freckles on her cheeks. My sister and I were nothing alike in coloring, but we had similar facial features, our cheekbones and noses clearly indicating to the world that we were related despite the difference between her gorgeous auburn locks and my average brown hair cut into face-framing layers. We did have the same brown eyes, but people tended to miss those. Especially when Avery was dressed to the nines for a day at the office while I sported leggings and a well-loved t-shirt in anticipation of my flight.
“There is literally no such thing as watchingPillow Talktoo many times,” I said, walking over to give her a hug. Just because I was avoiding her and the pressure I felt to write every time I was in her presence, didn’t mean I wasn’t happy to see her.
That was the one downside to being represented by a publishing house that was run and co-owned by your sister and her ex-fiancé. The pressure was always there, even if you didn’t want it to be.
Avery returned the embrace, allowing me to hold on a little bit longer than normal, seeming to sense that I needed the hug.
And I did need the hug. I couldn’t tell her that after receiving Sadie’s feedback, I’d deleted the few chapters I’d written of the book Avery’s been waiting for. Or that I was one more frustrating writing session away from deleting my outline too. What she didn’t know wouldn’t kill her. And it wouldn’t add to her already overflowing plate of stressful things.
“There is when you owe your publisher another novel,” Avery said. “By the way, I hate to add pressure, but have you given any thought to design suggestions for the cover for this book?The designer who did the last cover is dealing with a family emergency and I sent you a list of potential designers—”
I squeezed her a bit tighter, making the air whoosh from her lungs.
