Page 12 of Pumpkins & Promises
"Nice throw," I manage.
"Thanks." Her cheeks are pink, and she's looking anywhere but at me. "Good teamwork."
Dylan and Sienna congratulate us with good grace, and Sarah presents us with our gift certificate with appropriate ceremony. But I can see Dylan watching us with that thoughtful expression again, and I wonder if our "good teamwork" was a little too convincing.
As the crowd disperses and families pack up their blankets, Emily and I find ourselves sitting on hay bales, sharing the last of the cider and trying to pretend that moment after our victory was just excitement about winning.
"That was fun," Emily says, swinging her legs like a kid.
"It was," I admit, and I'm surprised to realize I mean it. "I can't remember the last time I played a game just for the sake of playing."
"What do you usually do for fun?"
The question catches me off guard. "I read. Write. Go to gallery openings and book launches." I pause. "Actually, those aren't really fun. They're more like work obligations."
"That sounds lonely."
"I prefer the term 'focused,'" I say, but even as I say it, I realize how hollow it sounds.
Emily studies my face in the late afternoon light. "When was the last time you did something just because it made you happy?"
I try to think of an answer and come up empty. Everything in my life for the past few years has been about career advancement, networking, maintaining my image. Even my relationship has felt more like strategic partnership than genuine connection.
"I don't know," I admit finally.
"Well," Emily says, hopping down from her hay bale, "consider today a start."
The next morning, I'm sitting at the cabin's kitchen table with my laptop open and my phone face-down beside my coffee mug, trying not to think about the text I received from Oscar twenty minutes ago.
Publishers want to see some social media engagement. Personal stuff. Show them you're human and relatable. Post something today.
I've been staring at the message ever since, my coffee growing cold while I try to figure out how to be "human and relatable" on demand. My Instagram account has exactly twelve posts, all of them book-related. Professional author photos,quotes from reviews, the occasional bookstore appearance. Nothing personal. Nothing human.
Nothing that would convince anyone I'm worth a second chance.
My phone buzzes with another text, this one from Emily:Thanks for yesterday. I haven't had that much fun at a community event in ages.
Before I can overthink it, I type back:Want to grab coffee at Novel Sips? I have a favor to ask.
Her response comes quickly:Everything okay?
Yes. PR stuff. I'll explain in person.
An hour later, I'm sitting across from Emily in the same corner booth where we planned our fake relationship rules, watching her wrap her hands around her coffee mug and trying to figure out how to ask for help without sounding completely pathetic.
"So," she says, "what's the favor?"
I pull out my phone and show her Oscar's text. "My agent thinks I need to show my human side on social media. Apparently, my current feed makes me look like a robot who only exists to promote books."
"Ah," Emily says, understanding immediately. "You need to seem more relatable."
"Exactly. And I was wondering..." I hesitate. "Would you be okay if I shared some photos from yesterday? The cornhole tournament, maybe one of us together? You know, 'enjoying small-town life with someone special' kind of thing."
Emily considers this. "That makes sense. Plus, it'll help sell our story."
"Would you be okay with that?" I ask. "Being in a post that goes to my followers?"
"Of course," she says easily. "It's part of the arrangement, right?"
