Page 53 of Not in the Plan

“My grandfather opened it over fifty years ago.” Ken motioned her to an oversized sitting chair. “I expanded about ten years back.”

“Incredible. Really lovely.”

He checked his watch as his foot tapped against the floor. “We’ve got water, coffee, snacks, and all the pens you may need. The office assistants will keep the line moving and have strict instructions to allow thirty seconds for every interaction.”

She peeked up at Viviane. “We changed that from sixty?”

Viviane nodded. “We don’t want a situation like we had in Brooklyn in the spring.”

Timing the interactions sucked, but it’d be unfair if she burnt out by depleting her energy on the people in the front, which happened in Brooklyn after the crowd doubled from the anticipated size.

The buzz of the people murmuring behind the thick velvet curtain triggeredher hands to sweat. She shoved them under her arms. Viviane nudged her, her indication to take a more welcoming stance. Apparently, her need to self-soothe reflected she was a snob. She rolled her eyes with a quick grin and picked up a pen to twirl instead.

Viviane held open the curtain, and Mack tiptoed through. An uncomfortable gentle chorus of claps erupted, and she waved. The audience wasn’t like a rock show. No thunderous applause or screams bellowed from the room. But all eyes burrowed into her as she settled.

She gulped down a quarter bottle of water and slid over to make room for Viviane. A notepad lay in front of her, and she scribbled to confirm the ink worked. She scooted back and forth on the chair until she got comfortable, every movement seeming to echo in the engulfing open space.

The crowd moved clunkily at first as she got her bearings straight. A solid twenty minutes into signing, a beautiful woman with a shaved head and black chipped nail polish rested a book on the table.

“Hi there.” Mack smiled. “Who should I make this out to?”

“Sophie.” Her lip piercing lifted as she grinned. “I loved this book. Can’t wait for the next one.”

“Thank you.” As she wrote, the black ink turned gray. Mack snatched a new one from the pile.

The woman rested her palm flat against the table and leaned forward. “How do you like the city?”

“Seattle’s beautiful. Loving all the trees.”

She scribbled the same message as she did for all people. Their name, then:

Thx. M. Ryder

“Thx” was lazy. She knew it, and they maybe knew it, too. But after signing thousands of books over the years, the lack of letters saved her wrists.

The woman slid a card over. The fourth one today.

“In case you find yourself needing a tour guide.” She bit the corner of her lip and the bookstore assistant motioned the next fan forward.

“Thanks.” Mack put the card in her pocket with a smile—an automatic response meant to defuse a situation and ensure the other person didn’t feel rejected. Even though it’d been a few months since she slept with anyone, and the hammock kiss from Charlie had her body screaming, she wouldn’t call. Only one woman occupied her mind.

Ninety minutes later, Viviane called for a short ten-minute break.

“I need a massage.” Mack rolled her fist up and down the tangled knot in her hip. “Next time, can we put that in the rider? Comped ass massage with peppermint lavender oil.”

“Do you need me to rub your butt?”

“I thought this day would never come.”

Viviane shook her head with a giggle. “You’re doing great. We’ve got an hour and a half left. Not sure if we can get through the crowd in that amount of time, so it’ll be up to you to call it. I’ll let you know when you meet the obligatory time.”

Mack returned to the table with fatigue interrupting her nerves. She peeked at her watch. 4:05 p.m. She stifled a yawn, and Viviane leaned in to ask if she needed more coffee. At this point, Mack needed something way more potent. A shot of adrenaline to the heart or a defibrillator might do the trick. She twisted her neck for relief when something caught her eye. Her pulse flew into her throat.

The red hair. The septum ring. The signature flowy dress, this one an emerald color that highlighted her eyes from a hundred feet away. Mack’s eyes locked with Charlie’s, and everything else faded into portrait mode.

She came.

“Mack.Mack.” Viviane gripped her forearm. “You all right?”

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