Page 27 of Sunsets at the Beach House

“It won’t bother me if you’re in there, too. I’ll be in my chair. You can have the couch.”

“All right.”

He held his glass out to her. “If you take the drinks in, I’ll go get the pages and two pens.”

“Will do.” She headed off to the living room. It was a very manly room, with beige shag carpeting, a blue and tan plaid sofa, and a large tan leather recliner. The sofa had a throw on it with the Marine insignia. Most of the art and knickknacks were nautically or patriotically themed. A big-screen television was the main focus of the space, but there was a stack of books on the table beside Conrad’s recliner.

She set the drinks down, but quickly pulled out two cork coasters bearing the Marine insignia on them and put those underneath the glasses. One on the table by his recliner and one on the coffee table for her.

That done, she went to get her phone out of her purse on the kitchen counter, just to be sure she didn’t have any messages.

There was one from Claire. Need anything from the store? Kat and I are headed there next.

Margo typed back, You’re getting groceries, right?

Yes.

I like that salad Jules made last night. Let’s have that again this week. But with shrimp and some feta cheese. Margo had enjoyed her lunch with Conrad at the Olive Grill so much she wanted those flavors again.

Okay, Claire responded. Anything else?

Nothing I can think of, Margo answered.

Conrad returned. “Here you go.” He handed Margo a stack of papers and a pen but gave her a look that held some uncommon tension in his gaze. “I hope this holds up.”

She nodded. “I know what you mean. I hope so, too.”

She went to the couch. She supposed they wouldn’t really know if the book was any good until someone else read it. They were obviously too close to the words to be truly objective, even if they tried.

But she felt like reading it this way, as a whole body of work, as opposed to just the snippets they reread on a daily basis, would definitely give them a feel for how the book was coming along. She hoped it would also help them uncover any obvious flaws or plot holes.

For a moment, she questioned their decision to write a thriller that required so much setup and intelligent planning, but they’d made it this far. Might as well push on. If nothing else, it would be a learning experience.

She sat down, pulled her reading glasses off the top of her head to settle them on her nose, and began.

In his recliner, Conrad did the same. Almost immediately, he paused and made a notation in the margins. She looked more closely at the words in front of her. What had he seen that she hadn’t? She read a little further and found the typo she suspected he’d marked. They’d missed a preposition.

She made a note of her own, just in case that wasn’t what he’d spotted, and read on. More than once, she found her attention disappearing into the story. She had to remind herself that she was supposed to be reading critically, looking for places to tighten or improve.

She backed up once or twice to reread certain paragraphs. She made a couple of notes. Found a few spots that needed different words. Added a line of description. But nothing major. She even underlined a particularly good phrase she liked, uncertain which one of them had come up with it.

By the time she was done, an hour had passed. Conrad finished a minute or two after her. She waited, watching for him to look up.

He did, his gaze focusing on her expectantly. “What do you think?”

“I found a couple things to improve on. Some words to change. A spot that could be expanded. Minor things, really.”

He nodded. “So did I. But what did you think of the story so far as a whole?”

She hesitated. “We’re both biased, obviously.”

“Obviously. But we’re also going to be our own worst critics.”

“Right.” She glanced at her pages again. “It feels odd to say this, but…”

“Yes?”

She looked at him again. “I loved it.”

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