Page 20 of Hidden Vows
“When you say worst, what do you mean?” Trying to appear nonchalant, I lean against the counter, bringing myself close enough to get a brief whiff of lemon and lavender—Abbey.
“Well, I mean, I absolutely hated it. It’s nothing like any of his other work. It felt far more like a romance than a thriller, and he clearly doesn’t have the knowledge to write a romance.” She turns, grabbing a pile of books from the shelf behind her andmarching toward the shelves in the back of the store.
“What does that mean?” I follow behind her but finally let my eyes travel the store.
This place is a reader’s dream.
The shelves span almost three walls, standing floor to ceiling without an inch of open space. Their deep mahogany color with large armchairs in front of them help create a cozy atmosphere. It feels more like a cozy home library than a bookstore.
“I know this was a fictional story, and I shouldn’t apply real-world logic to it, but characters that in love with each other should have better communication.” She shrugs, returning books to their proper place on the shelves. “What made it worse was that the first half was phenomenal. It was everything I expect from an AJ Doherty novel, and then he threw it all away in the second half. And that spicy scene?” She scoffs. “What the hell was that? Has the man ever had sex?”
“Wow, don’t hold back,” I mumble.
I want to disagree with her but struggle to find a leg to stand on. My editor and agent had very similar comments when they read the manuscript. They both seemed surprised the publisher picked it up. But I’d built a name for myself and had proven time and time again I could sell books, so they ran with it.
It helped that I’m a faceless author writing thrillers. The mystery behind who I am seems to drive fans mad, sending them out to buy my books, looking for clues in my writing to figure out who I am. My publisher ate it up and uses the mystery to their advantage.
I ignored all of it and focused entirely on the writing. I would’ve laughed in your face if you asked me when I was younger if I ever thought I’d be aNew York Timesbestselling author. The idea that I—a kid with no future beyond running thefamily bar—could make such a big name for myself was so far out of this world it never crossed my mind.
When I left Ashford Falls, I took whatever job was available in the town I stopped in for a short time. It’s a miracle so many people were willing to take a chance on someone like me. A kid with no plan, simply passing through on their way to who knows what.
“Sorry.” I think I detect a small wince, but it’s gone before I can be sure. “I know you’re a fan, but I’m not willing to lie about my feelings on a book. There are too many in the world for people to waste their time reading something that’s not good.”
“It’s so bad you’d tell peoplenotto read?”
Her lips purse for a second as she looks at me, but then she’s spinning back to the shelves. “I can’t think of a single person I’d recommend it to, which says a lot about my feelings. I can always find at least one reason to recommend a book, but this one?” She shakes her head like she can’t even bring herself to say the words.
My gaze shifts to the section of thrillers to our left, my eyes landing on the shelf filled with my books, specifically the little notes under my previous releases. I can’t read them from here but I imagine it’s praise for the books.
I wish I could say I don’t remember what led me to write in the first place, but I remember it like yesterday.
It started with a journal.
Almost a year after leaving everything I loved, I officially ran out of money and needed to stay in one place long enough to save up again before moving on. Somehow, I ended up in a little town in Minnesota where the local mechanic took pity on me. He gave me a job cleaning up after the guys and organizing the office at his shop. It wasn’t fancy, but it paid.
He also let me stay in the shop’s backroom—at least until hiswife found out. Once she learned I was sleeping on a cot in what essentially was the supply closet, she gave me the spare room in their home.
I thought it’d be easy enough to go unnoticed in their house, but she wouldn’t have it. Barely there two days, and she made sure I joined them for every meal, making sure I shared things about myself. It was hard, but she saw me for who I was: a kid suffering from so much guilt I thought I didn’t deserve their kindness.
To this day, I still don’t think I do, but I’ll be forever grateful they gave it to me.
Willie and Mae were barely old enough to be my parents, but they felt something like parents all the same. Even though I stayed in constant contact with my dad, his support from miles away never felt like the support I got from the Larsons. I still make it a point to talk to them regularly and visit them whenever I’m in their area.
Staying with them for those few months set me on the path of healing—even if I haven’t achieved the final goal yet, I’m much closer to it because of them.
Mae was the one who gave me my first journal and told me I was only making it worse by keeping it all locked inside. She said if I couldn’t talk to her or someone else, writing it all down was the next best thing.
She was right, of course.
I started writing in that journal, and I couldn’t stop. It became a part of my daily routine, to the point I couldn’t sleep if I didn’t write in it—even if it was only a few words.
One journal turned into two, two turned into ten, and ten turned into twenty. Even being the nomad I am, I still own every one of those journals. They may not go on the road with me, but I know exactly where they are if I need them.
And one of those journals, started in another small town in the middle of nowhere, inspired my first novel.
I never thought it would turn into what it did, but that little town was hit with a terrible kidnapping case that had my mind spinning with all the possibilities, and I couldn’t stop writing them down. That fascination with the case turned into a need to get the words out, and the first draft of my first manuscript was the result.
I’d gotten better about saving money over the years after staying with Mae and Willie, and while I questioned my decision to spend a large chunk of that money on a laptop, it turned out to be one of the smartest decisions I’ve ever made.
