Page 66 of A Novel Summer
Forty-Seven
Shelby organized her clothes in piles around Hunter’s guest room, wondering how she seemed to have so much more than she thought she’d packed for the summer.
Picking up her belongings from Colleen’s place made the sudden turn of events more real. The entire time, she felt a sinking feeling in her gut. She wasn’t sure what was making her the most upset. To put things in perspective, she called Anders. But he sounded distant on the phone. When she told him she was staying at her friend Hunter’s because of the storm damage, he didn’t invite her to his place instead. It wasn’t that shewantedto stay at his place. But if the situation had been reversed, she would have at least offered.
Although, now that she thought about it, maybe he was insulted she hadn’t gone straight to his place during the storm. She briefly considered it, but didn’t feel comfortable enough yet to show up like that. Maybe that had been a mistake.
“Are we still on for Boston next week?” she said. Before she went back to New York, she had her book reading at the Boston Arts Club.
“Wouldn’t miss it. In fact, I reserved us a suite at the Four Seasons.”
So maybe she was imagining things. Maybe she was projecting.Shewas the one spending too much time with her ex-boyfriend. She was the one who’d felt a disconcerting little pang when she said goodbye to Justin that afternoon. Anders hadn’t done anything wrong.
And then there was Colleen; she hadn’t answered any of her calls all day. Shelby stopped by Doug’s apartment before meeting up with Justin, but no one answered the door. Colleen was no doubt devastated by her parents’ decision. Shelby wanted to talk to her about it, but maybe it was best to give her some time. What could she really say, anyway? There was no silver lining to this.
She heard the back door slam shut. Hunter was home from work. She needed to talk to her.
“Hey,” Shelby said, walking down the stairs.
“Hey.” Hunter headed straight for one of the living rooms and sank onto a blue velvet Jonathan Adler lounge chair. Shelby followed, sitting on the nearby champagne-colored settee with pointed brass legs. The “second” living room was the least beachy room in the entire house. Maybe Hunter wasn’t feeling the summer vibes today. She opened her tote bag and pulled out a thick manuscript, setting it on a coffee table.
“So, I have a book event in Boston in a few days,” Shelby said. “I’d rather not go back to New York just to turn around again. Is it okay if I stay here until then?”
“Sure,” Hunter said absently. She stared at the floor.
“Everything okay at work?”
“No,” Hunter said, rubbing her left eye and smudging her already smudged smoky liner. “I read the most amazing novel over the weekend. I asked Duke to check it out and he agreed it’s great. So I was like, let’s try to publish it.”
Shelby nodded. “Okay. That sounds good.”
Hunter pulled a vape from her bag and took a hit. She shook her head on the exhale.
“Nope. He’s shutting down Seaport Press. Game over.”
Shutting down? Seaport was Duke’s passion project. She’d never once heard him talk aboutslowingdown, never mindshuttingdown.
“That’s hard to believe. Did he give you a reason?”
Hunter sank back against the chair. “Distribution issues. I mean, I know the press operates on a small scale but isn’t that part of the charm?”
Shelby sighed. “I don’t know. Clearly, he doesn’t think so. At least, not anymore. But Hunter, you’re going to find a new job. And there are countless other manuscripts out there waiting to be discovered.”
“Easy for you to say.” Hunter leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “What if you lost your publisher, and I told you, well—there are plenty of other publishers out there.”
Point taken. “I’m sorry. I get it. I do.”
Hunter toyed with the gold hoop in her right ear. “I’m rethinking my whole career strategy. I’ve been talking to Ezra. Your agency guy.”
Shelby leaned forward. “Ezra Randall? How do you know him?”
“We met the night of your book launch,” Hunter said, as if it were obvious.
Shelby tried to remember seeing them together, but she was certain she hadn’t.
“At the Red Inn?”
“Well, technically yes. But he was also at the Bollard after.”
