“What’s your story about, Jane?” Britt asks.
All eyes turn to me.They’ll think I’m a wanna-be, an amateur … an unqualified dreamer.
A heavy sigh leaves my lips as the weight of expectation cloaks me. “Well, ha. I’m trying to write the perfect romance.”
“Aren’t we all,” Janice says and chuckles. “Am I right, ladies?”
Hannah rolls her eyes. Leonie nods.
“If only love was perfect in real life, too,” Britt says.
“Love is subjective,” Hannah says. “We all have our own experiences.” She starts cackling to herself.
“What’s so funny, H?” Leonie asks.
“I write thrillers for a reason. Romance isn’t my strong suit, on the page and in real life.”
What makes me think that I’m qualified to write about love when I’ve never truly experienced it for myself? Perhaps I should write about my failed relationships to date. I could call itThe Diary of a Douchebag Magnet. Best-selling author status, here I come.Not.
As we sip on our coffees, we talk about books and making characters unique and plotting. I sit back and lap it all up, relishing the company I’m in and the knowledge they openly share. They all seem like really nice women. I have a good feeling about them, so I decide to put myself out on a limb.
“The council has a fundraiser coming up in a couple of weeks,” I say and shrug. “They’re raising money for a new humidity crib for the hospital. Would you all like to come? It’s fancy dress. Superhero theme.” It’s normally something my besties and I would do, but this year they’ll miss out.
A wide smile stretches across Leonie’s made-up face. “I love fancy dress.”
“Sounds like it could be fun,” Hannah says and grins.
Janice shrugs. Her brows pull together. “Maybe. Need to see how I’m going with edits.”
“Count me in,” Britt says. “Anything for the hospital.”
I swear I walk that little bit taller for the rest of the day. I’ve found some new friends to talk books and dress up with.