Page 53 of Where the Little Birds Are (Little Bird Duet 2)

Her head picks up. “So…?”

Shoulders tight, I say, “We’ll go to Lincoln tomorrow and talk to our families. You’re right. They need to hear it from us first.”

I can tell she’s relieved, but the tight feeling in my chest only intensifies. Seeing Mom I can handle. Dad is an entirely different story.

Kinley must sense that. “We’ll get through this together. We don’t have any other choice at this point.”

Licking my lips, I nod once. “How much do you think your parents hate me? On a scale from one to ten?”

She rolls her eyes. “I think they had it out for you for a while, but they’re over it. You may not believe it,

but I do. The only people who haven’t moved on from us is … us.”

Sounds about right.

“And Gavin?” I press, knowing that will be trickier because of our sordid past. He’s made his feelings clear from the start. Regardless of the rift between he and Kinley, I doubt those feelings about me have changed. I’m sure they’ve become tenfold.

Her nostrils twitch in the tiniest way, but she sits up and gives me the best smile she can muster under the circumstances. “My mom said something when she came over that made a lot of sense. He’s my brother. We’ve both made mistakes, and I don’t want to ruin our relationship by staying mad. Especially not if I want him in our baby’s life.”

The Kinley Thomas I’ve always loved sits before me, her heart of gold always offering room for forgiveness. I never thought we’d be here even having a conversation that makes me fall in love with her even harder than I already am. And that’s when it’s cemented that we’ll survive even in the roughest storm. I find new ways to love her when I didn’t know loving her any more than I do was possible.

Like always, Kinley proves me wrong.

Chapter Eighteen

Kinley / 17

With some revisions, this book will sell, Kinley.

I try taking the news the best way I can, but knowing that I need to change what I’ve bled onto paper leaves me feeling anything but good. The full notebooks littering my bedroom have this story plotted exactly how I want it.

It’s raw.

But it’s real.

And Jamie wants me to change it.

“Kinley?” she says, snapping me out of it.

Nibbling on my bottom lip, I hold my cell a little tighter. “Sorry, I’m here. What kind of changes exactly? I thought it was good…”

“It’s not a bad draft, Kinley,” she insists lightly, typing something on her keyboard. “The editor I spoke to is interested in looking it over again when the suggestions are taken into consideration. In fact, she thinks it’ll be a good fit for the company down the line if you just add something a little more to it.”

My jaw locks. I know I shouldn’t take it personally that somebody wants me to work on my book. This is only the second draft—lightly edited by me and revised when I reread it the first time around. But the story leaks a truth that I don’t want altered in any way.

“What about a different editor?”

“Kinley—”

“I know I’m asking for a lot,” I cut her off, straightening in the office chair Dad bought me for the spare room. He and Gavin found some secondhand furniture for me to create a little office next to my bedroom. “I just think the story is good as it is. I mean, sure, there are some typos and errors, but the plot shouldn’t need to be changed. What more could she want?”

She sighs, and I can only imagine what her face looks like. Is it pinched with irritation? Is she fed up with the teenager she took on? I wince at the possibilities.

“As you know, the manuscript was rejected as is by three other publishers,” she finally says. “I told you that some of these houses will be hard to reach, but this woman’s interest is a good sign. You could sign with Rave Publishing if you just work with them on this. Her notes are very helpful, Kinley. She thinks if you added a larger conflict it could heighten the development of the couple. Right now, she feels like Beck and Ryker fall a little flat.”

Pressing my lips together, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I’d be stupid to turn down this opportunity just because of personal opinions. And, realistically, I had the slightest doubt in my couple’s relationship development when I revised it. I knew it was because the story I started writing was one I felt from the heart, and the happy ending I gave them was forced at best.

“I’m forwarding you her notes,” she tells me, clicking a few times before my phone buzzes with a new email alert. “Look them over and see what you think. I’m telling you this is good news. I have a great feeling about this potential working relationship. In six months, we’ll resubmit—”

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