Page 16 of The Opposite of Romance
Sandy
Be glad I even told you I’m coming.
That is … the truth. I click save, satisfied with today’s progress, and grab myself another cup of coffee. Logan is outside, working on the deck like every other day, completely in the zone. The sound of the doorbell snaps me out of my thoughts.
“Stellaaa!” The baby voice that comes out of me is completely involuntary. I take her from my sister’s hands and kiss her little belly. She started smiling a few days ago, so my ultimate goal is to make her do just that.
“Nice. Hello to you, too,” Sandy fake scoffs. I stick out my tongue at her.
Using muscle memory, I hold Stella in one hand carefully, while I spread out the baby mat I got for when she’s here.
“Don’t even bother. She hates tummy time.” Sandy reminds me, but I still give it a try.
Turning her toward the enormous window overlooking the backyard, I set her down. She wobbles for a second before calming down. Her little neck muscles are getting stronger by the day.
“Huh.” Sandy follows her eye line. “Guess she doesn’t mind it when there’s a hot guy in front of her.”
“Her Mommy’s daughter,” I joke, making Sandy laugh out loud.
“Ain’t that the truth. Let me enjoy the five minutes this is going to last.” She drops to the couch, and I bring her a fresh cup of coffee from the kitchen. “Did you get the covers?”
“I did. Here…” I open the book cover mockups on my phone, and she scrolls through them, her brows furrowed.
“What do you think?” she asks.
“Umm, I don’t know. I like them … I guess.”
She rolls her eyes at me. She knows how I am. I am the writer. I know how to make a good story, but that is pretty much it. Everything else related to publishing, I suck at. That’s why having Sandy as my PA was a godsend. She made every single decision regarding the covers, marketing, choosing the right people to work with, etc.
“Number one is disgusting. Number three is fine, but not for your book. And number two has the most potential, but there are quite a few revisions needed.”
I nod as if I understand, though they looked pretty similar to me. “And the revisions would be?”
“You’re really hopeless, aren’t you? Send them to me, and I’ll type up what they need to do.”
I exhale a relieved breath. “Thank you.”
Stella interrupts my relief by letting out a loud wail.
“There you are,” Sandy murmurs, picking her up right away. She grabs the diaper bag and digs through it in a way only a mom can. Pulling out a pacifier, she pops it into Stella’s mouth, and the crying stops instantly. Sandy also pulls out something else, her lips transforming into a devilish smirk. “I almost forgot why I came here.”
She drops the thing onto my lap. It’s a silver envelope. I open it, finding a fancy piece of paper inside. It’s an invitation.
“What’s it for?” I ask.
“The National Writing Awards. You got the invitation a while back, but what with the birth and everything, I completely forgot.” As my PA, she handled all my mail.
“I don’t really feel like going,” I groan.
I used to love going to these things. When I first started, getting invited was incredible, and I felt like Asher in an ice cream shop. But that was back when my husband would share the excitement. When we would dress fancy together and spend the night giggling over cocktails. The last few I attended, it was either with Sandy, answering a million questions about David’s whereabouts, or with David, feeling like two strangers faking a date. And not the fun, romance book, fake date kind. No, it was the awkward, we’re forced to be here together kind. And it was horrible.
“Too bad, because I want to get out of the house, and you’re my way in.” Sandy tries to make it about herself, but I know it’s not the real reason she wants to go. I know she wants me to have fun and feel sexy.
“I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Neither do I.” She points to her midsection.
“You know you look great.”
