Page 10 of Can We Skip to the Good Part?
Max smiled. Sonya had a way of pulling those out of her. “You nailed it, Sone. See you tomorrow.”
“I will count the suspenseful seconds.” As Max passed by, Sonya kissed the shoulder of her jacket with a loud smack. “Hey. Look at me,” she said with a voice tight with sincerity.
Max paused and met her gaze. “Yeah?”
“Love you or something.”
She felt her muscles relax and warmth sprout in her chest. “Love you back.” That simple exchange was enough to lift Max right out of her post-birthday party hangover. Kindness mattered, and Sonya had her back. Hell, she had Sonya’s right back and would take a bullet for that woman in an instant.
“Now, go get your sexy girl-on-girl action.”
“On the page.”
“Whatever.”
Max walked backward through the small six-person waiting area outside her office. “It’s a good one tonight. They get it on three and a half times.”
“How do you account for half a time?”
Max paused, stared, and waited.
“Ohhhh.”
“And there it is.”
THREE
Porchlight Chemistry
Ella wasn’t sure why she was nervous climbing the stairs of the cute little one-story, beige and blue house that had maybe seen better days. It could have used a new coat of paint, and the second of the three stairs leading up to the porch was a little wobbly, but the house came with warm and homey vibes. The sheer volume of colorful pillows piled onto the wooden porch swing out front suggested the owner loved this place and valued soft, comfortable spots. A miniature garden spread to the right, with a happy little gnome kicking his heels in the air.
“And a good day to you, too, sir,” she told him quietly, a manifestation of her nerves. She closed her eyes and hoped to God no one inside heard that.
She turned back to the house, ascended the remaining steps, and knocked on the smoky-blue door, all the while remembering to stay cool and breathe like a human. At her side, she clutched her copy of the book Doug sold her, notes on the reading, and a bottle of twelve-dollar Merlot that she probably couldn’t afford.
The door swung open, and a glamorous woman with shoulder-length blond hair, likely from a bottle, looked back at Ella with a smile. She was older than Ella, maybe in her mid-fifties. But there was nothing motherly about her. If she’d been her teacher, Ella would have had a crush. She wore jeans with noticeably frayed hems and stood barefoot, a tattoo of a turtle showing on her big toe. She grinned with a warmth Ella hadn’t been prepared for. “Well, hi. Are you Ella?” She reached out and placed her hand over Ella’s.
“I am. Stevie?”
“The one and only, other than Nicks. No one can top her, so I don’t try.” She tossed open an arm and gestured behind her. “Come in and get comfortable. The couch, the floor. Hell, if you can climb the wall and sit on the ceiling, we won’t discourage you because you’re new and have wine.” The words sounded more like a celebration. “Welcome to Weepers. Follow me.” She accepted the bottle and led Ella down a short hallway, past what looked to be a small room with shelves lined with books. Stevie had her own mini-library, complete with an oversized, white, comfy chair. Nice. Ella already liked the feel of this place.
“And here are the rest of our club members,” Stevie said. “They get here early to eat and gab.” Only the members were in the midst of what seemed to be a boisterous conversation and took no notice of Ella’s arrival.
“I don’t care if the meet-cute is on page two or ten, but it needs to be early enough in the book that I’m not starved for character connection,” a young brunette said from her spot on the couch to the left, feet tucked beneath her. She looked very much at home. Pretty with her long hair pulled partially back and noticeable dimples.
“That’s Ariana,” Stevie called from the adjacent kitchen. A square, open window separated the two rooms.
“Hi,” Ariana said with a cheerful wave. “Stevie said we were getting a newbie tonight. Come in. Come in. I promise we’re friendly.” She went right back to her conversation with theyoung blond woman across from her, her hair pulled halfway up, with wisps escaping. They both seemed to be in their twenties.
“Meet-cutes shouldn’t be rooted in rules,” the blond said in a calmer voice, offering Ella a wave in the exact moment she was making her point. “If the author wants a cute later, I’m flexible.”
“Morgan!” Stevie shouted and pointed through the window at the blond. Aha, she was introducing them as they came up via shout. Ella nodded her understanding.Morgan, it was.
The living room was more spacious than it looked from the outside. Cozy without feeling cramped. Two plush couches faced each other across a weathered coffee table that reminded Ella of a tree stump. A pair of oversized armchairs angled inward at the corners, as if they were leaning in to listen. The whole setup invited conversation, the kind that lingered. Ella could easily picture a lively book debate happening here, with members going back and forth, wineglasses in hand. Maybe Stevie had arranged it with book club nights in mind. Intimate, intentional, a little magical. Ella loved everything about it.
“And that over there is Olive!” Stevie called. A woman on the couch next to Morgan nodded, but didn’t speak. Her hair was dark, and in a past-her-shoulder French braid. She seemed more reserved than the other two, sitting upright with her legs crossed. She offered a conservative smile.
“Hi,” Ella said, raising a hand. “I’m new.”
