Page 28 of Is This for Real?
He kissed me on the cheek. “You’re looking stunning.”
I should have hernotlooking gorgeous to be realistic, but dumped girlfriends should always be looking good when running into exes who still make their blood pound. And she would be dressed up for an art opening.
Then he said, “Let me find Charity. This will be a great opportunity for you two to get to know each other before the wedding.”
I didn’t want to get to know Charity. I wanted to attend the wedding with my new, amorous “boyfriend,” looking like I was completely over him and then only exchange Christmas cards for the next thirty years.
Rob returned and slid his arm around me. “Champagne, Piper?”
“Yes, please, darling.” “Darling” was our code word to add extra affection.
Ooh, I should suggest that to Rory. But not “darling.”
Rob slid his arm around me and pulled me close. I suddenly felt breathless, but it was the contact with Rob that was making my blood pound, not the conversation with Julian.
I could never let Rory read this.
I might have to write another book for him to view.
Chapter nine
Rorysaidhe’dstopby after work. He had to work late preparing for the client party on Thursday.
I set up a miniature scene where Piper and Rob have a date cooking in the kitchen of my mini town’s restaurant and then post it to my blog. My followers are still excited that Piper may be dating someone after being dumped abruptly by Julian. Not that past posts didn’t give signs that it wasn’t going to work out with Julian: Julian not supporting her artistic career or Julian flirting with another woman at the gym.
I just wrote the same scene inFake Dating Folly, but now I’m stuck. Rob seems romantically interested, but if he is, he is assured enough to say so. And Piper doesn’t trust her gut because she thought Julian was the one, but he definitely wasn’t. She can see that in hindsight, but she should have been able to see it at the time. Still, it feels like both Rob and Piper wanted to kiss after the cooking date, and now they’re frustrated that I blocked them.
I submit my resume for a position teaching writing at a local high school. That will make Theresa happy. Because of the continuing string of agent rejections, I also sendMidnight Masqueradeto yet another developmental editor, but this one writes mysteries.
I work on some miniatures for my Etsy store.
An email from Maya, my dream agent, pops up. When I pitchedMidnight Masqueradeto her at a writers' conference, she asked me why I wrote the book. I talked about my love for comic caper movies. I said I was going for the vibe ofThe Thin ManwithMidnight Masquerade. She asked for my first thirty pages at the end of my pitch.
To: Penelope
From: Maya
I love the premise and your writing is very strong. Please send me the full manuscript.
Yes! Finally, a request for a full manuscript.
But I’ve just sent it to the developmental editor, who is not going to get back to me until the end of the month. And then it will take me some time to do revisions. I could wait, but that might look unprofessional. Ugh. The question of “Is the manuscript ready to send?” and the politics of following up with agents cause me more stress than the actual plotting of a novel.
I had thought it was good enough to send out.
I submit the full manuscript via the portal, and then I return to making miniature roses.
My materials are spread out on the table. All the buds are done, and I’m adding the first row of pink petals to each rose. Each petal has to be shaped on an eraser with a ball-pointed tool. The store Instagram account post is doing well enough so far—about eighty likes.
The doorbell rings. Benson and Gilda bark. I buzz Rory in and wait in the hallway for him to come up the stairs. The top of his head finally appears and then a big smile. I smile back.
“All okay with Theresa?”
“Yes, I think so. If all goes well, she’ll be home in a few days.” I hold the door open for him to enter our apartment. Gilda and Benson come to greet him. He hangs up his coat and bag on the hooks by our front door.
He pulls out a chair by the table. “The Best You’ve Ever Had” by Andy Powell is playing.
I clear some of my papers off the table. “Did you eat? I can heat up some lasagna.”
