Page 9 of Accidentally Yours
“That sounds lovely, doesn’t it?” Alice paused her knitting and looked up with a dreamy expression. “Is there a bakery that serves pie by candlelight? What a perfect place for a date.” Alice was the hopeless romantic of the group. She believed in love at first sight and happily ever-afters. Her DVR was full of sappy romantic movies from the Sweethearts Channel, and Paige loved her for it. Someone had to believe in that stuff. Even if Paige knew it was a fantasy.
“It does,” Gigi admitted with a grin, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. “I’d totally go there.”
“Girl date?” Alice suggested.
“Guys.” Paige rubbed her temples, getting distracted with thoughts of dessert. “I think we’re a little off track.”
Pushing off the counter, Gigi raised her finger as if struck by inspiration. “What about a place with a wood-fired oven? Like one of those artisan pizza spots? Maybe that’s what the ‘hearth’ means.”
Paige perked up. “Good idea.” She turned to her laptop, entered a few keywords in the search bar, and started scrolling through the results. Her shoulders slumped again almost immediately. “Holy cannoli. There are hundreds of wood-fired pizza places in downtown Chicago. And that’s assuming the clue is even pointing to this city. For all I know, it could be a restaurant in New York. Or, Italy.”
Gigi’s eyes widened at the suggestion. “If it’s Italy, we’re coming with you. Can you imagine all the pasta and wine?”
“I’m in!” Alice said, beaming.
Paige shook her head, laughing despite herself. “I don’t exactly have time for a worldwide tour. But if I went to Italy, I wouldn’t want to go with anyone other than you two. Obviously, we’d have a blast.”
“Obviously.” Gigi smirked, and Alice agreed, before resuming her knitting.
With only theclackingof needles filling the apartment, Paige stared at her laptop, ruminating over the search results and the unopened contract that sat in her inbox. Both were ramping up her frustration. “Pizza. Hearth. A favorite spot. Where love could bloom.” Paige was mumbling, trying to connect the dots.
“So . . . remind us why you don’t want to work with Ethan?” Gigi asked, pulling out a chair at the table and taking a seat next to Paige. “He’s basically a walking, talking cheat code for these clues. Wouldn’t this be so much easier with his help?”
Paige sighed. “I don’t need his help,” she replied simply, though the words rang hollow, even to her. “I’ve got you guys. We can figure this out.” Paige offered her friends a big smile, hoping for reinforcement.
In response, Gigi slid Paige’s untouched margarita closer. “Drink up. You’re gonna need it.”
Paige set her forehead in her hand, but before she could protest, the oven timer beeped.
“Perfect.” Gigi sprang to her feet and stepped toward the oven. “We need food for brain power.” She grabbed a pair of mitts and removed a bubbling tray of saucy meatballs. The rich, savory scent wafted through the apartment, a welcome distraction, and all three of them gathered in the kitchen. As they plated pasta and spooned meatballs over it, Gigi grated fresh parmesan onto each dish.
“Let me know what you think,” Gigi said as they sat down at the table. “I tweaked the recipe a little. Thinking of offering it at the farmer’s market this weekend.”
Paige and Alice took their first bites and groaned in unison.
“Beyond delicious,” Paige said, her words muffled by a mouthful of meatball.
“It’s perfect,” Alice added, licking her lips. “You’ll sell out in an hour.”
“You’re amazing,” Paige added, marveling at her friend. Gigi navigated corporate life beautifully, as the sales and marketing director of a popular beauty brand. And she still somehow found time to pursue her passion—Italian cooking. This past spring she’d started offering her delicious premade meals at the Chicago farmer’s market, and her booth quickly became a local favorite.
“Thanks, guys,” Gigi replied, her face lighting up at the praise, and Paige was truthfully so happy for her. Still, she couldn’t help but wish she could make her own life seem as effortless. Instead, she’d put herself in a bad spot with her readers and her publisher, and now she was floundering over a clue she couldn’t solve and wrestling with the fear of failure—again.
“I can’t believe I blew up my career with one stupid decision. I shouldn’t have killed Hans.” Paige groaned, dropping her forehead into her hand. “But it was one book. One chapter, really.”
Her friends gave her a sympathetic look.
“Look,” Alice said, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “You can come back from this, Paige. Your writing is incredible. Your readers will forgive you. Just give them a reason. Get the next book out and make them forget about Hans.”
“What Alice said,” Gigi chimed in.
Paige managed a crooked smile. Her friends would think she was amazing, even if she were a total failure. But they also told the truth, even when it stung. Maybe she should listen?
“I’m serious,” Alice pressed, like she was reading Paige’s mind. “Readers move on faster than you can mix a margarita. Give them a book that blows their minds, and that’s all anyone will talk about. No one will even remember who Hans was.” She leaned in, her voice firm with conviction. “Trust me. I see it all the time at the store. Readers are always looking for the next big thing.”
Alice was part-owner of a bookstore with her aunt. She understood the market. And her words gave Paige a flicker of confidence.
“And if you have to do it with Ethan Cole, so be it,” Gigi added, shrugging one shoulder. A forkful of meatball hung near her lips. “We all watchedSurvivor Xtreme: Tropical Editiontogether. You have to admit, he was amazing on that show. Remember how he built a whole treehouse by himself? And how he convinced his team to vote off that scheming redhead?”
