Page 69 of Is This for Real?
“Thanks again,” I say.
“Anytime,” Jamie says, smiling. “Have fun tonight.”
I close the door behind Jamie and say to Rory, “You don’t have to feel guilty. My characters are going on a ghost tour. I need to be able to describe it—and the house.” I go to the kitchen to get drinks and plates.
I place the pitcher on the table. Rory takes off his coat and hangs it on the hook with his messenger bag.
I say, “Plus, it’ll give me more ideas for window display decorating. And I can’t wait to do a mini blog scene where Rob and Piper visit a haunted house. That will be perfect for my Halloween post.”
Rory is fiddling with the dollhouse. Piper and Rob are eating on a miniature patio. The patio lights up. Rory picks up a dog from the dollhouse apartment and adds it to the patio. I sit at the dining room table and unwrap my burrito. Rory is still standing away from the table, his back to me.
“Are you excited about going to London for the shoot on Friday?” I ask.
He turns around to face me. “Yes, but nervous, too. I wondered if you want to come along and use it as a writing retreat. I’ll be working late, so I won’t see you much, and I know you need to write, but maybe we can squeeze in a few hours of fun. I can pay for your ticket with my frequent flyer miles.”
I only have thirteen days until I submit my manuscript to Strawbundle Publishing. I can’t say yes.
“I know I shouldn’t ask you, but you did say that you had one scene in London and you were worried that you were not capturing it correctly from memory, so this would give you that opportunity,” he says. “And I just think it’d be more fun with you. You’ve been such a part of this campaign, and you should come to the wrap dinner. But not at the cost of your book.” Rory looks at me as if he really wants me to go. He walks forward, closer to me.
My book—which could be rejected upon receipt by Strawbundle Publishing—or London.With Rory.
I can’t say no to Rory. And I love London. I was last in London a few years ago when I attended the Romantic Novelists’ Association Conference. And I’ll be writing in a hotel, with no distractions. Couldn’t be better.
“Yes,” I say.
He smiles, and it’s such an unreserved smile of joy that I catch my breath.
“Myrtle is coming, so I was hoping we could fake date one more time in front of her,” he says.
I hesitate.I don’t want to fake date anymore. I want to be the real date. I should say that now.
“Or we can say we broke up and we’re just friends,” he says. “I don’t want to fake date anymore, either.”
Why? Is it a hardship to fake date me?
“But why don’t you want to fake date?” I ask.
“It’s not for real,” he says flatly. “I can book a room with two beds.”
It was real for me. It doesn’t sound like he agrees.He turns away. I stare at his back. It looks stiff and unyielding.
I had really hoped and believed . . . I stare at the Robert Doisneau picture on the wall, swallowing my disappointment, and say, “It’s fine. We can fake date one more time. We shouldn’t destroy all our hard work to deter her. To paraphrase you, when I suggested I change the Rob doll, and you said we couldn’t devastate my blog followers. And I’ll pay for my ticket.”
“No, really, it’s okay. These points are about to expire anyway.” He smiles, and it’s the warm smile from before. “So, one last time fake dating? It would probably be weird to tell them we broke up and we’re still traveling together.”
“Yes,” I say, smiling back. The important thing is keeping our friendship. “When do we come back?”
“Back the following Sunday.”
Luckily, no dogs are booked to stay with me. Benson, Gilda, and Cleo are all at home with their owners. And Zelda can take care of my cat, Goldie. “I’ll have to write.”
“I’ll be working most of the time.”
“Yes. Ooh, I can email my writing friend Julia, whom I met at the RNA conference, and see if she’s free to meet up for lunch, if I have time. I’m excited.”
We eat our burritos quickly while Rory explains his schedule in London. He’ll be working most nights as well, so I will really be on my own. But that’s perfect. We agree that we will take off the Saturday we arrive and enjoy London. This trip will be my reward for finishing a third draft tomorrow.
We take the subway down to Eighth Street and walk over to East Fourth Street. The Tradesman’s House Museum is a three-story, brick house, Federal style. A black-clothed wreath hangs on the door. We walk up the stone stairs to the front entrance and push open the heavy, wooden door.
