“That’s a great idea,” I say encouragingly.
She nods, has some of her drink. “Aye. And Jana said that she has a good feeling about it. She’s going to contact the editor today and tell her that the genre changed but that we can still sell it as women’s fiction, if needed. Just because it’s women’s fiction, doesn’t mean it has to have a miserable ending. But she has a feeling they might be up to the romance. I hope so. It would be nice to have a publishing company stand behind it and back that genre up. She says people will definitely read it. I might even need to make it a wee more sexy.”
“More sexy?” I question. “How is that even possible?”
She shrugs. “I can always try.” She gives me sly eyes and looks me up and down. “Besides, I have the best inspiration right here.”
I puff out my chest and grab my dick. “That you do.”
She bursts out laughing, spilling some of her drink on her dress. She stares down at the stain and then shrugs. I’m sure she has a replacement dress somewhere.
“So, I know I’ve asked you this before, but do you have a name for your book yet?” I ask.
She beams. “Yes. I’ve finally decided on one.”
“And so? What is it?”
“When Tomorrow Comes.”
I frown. “Okay. What does it mean?”
“I don’t know…but it sounds good.”
I laugh. “That’s what counts.”
At least when it comes to us, we know what tomorrow will bring.
More of this.
More of us.
Epilogue
Grace
One Year Later – London, England
“I have to tell you, I’m your biggest fan!” the girl standing in front of me says, clutching a copy of When Tomorrow Comes to her chest.
“Thank you,” I tell her, though in the back of my head I’m trying to understand how she could be my biggest fan if she’s only read this one book.
“I’ve read all of the Sleuths of Stockbridge series a million times,” she goes on, sounding panicky. “You really can write it all.”
I slowly hold out my hand for the book. “You mean, you’ve read everything?”
She nods violently, handing it to me. “Yes. It’s all so good. Sorry, I’m shaking.”
I stare at her for a moment, letting it sink in. I’ve been signing books for an hour and it’s been so perfect so far, really everything I could have dreamed of. I’m signing in Waterstones off Piccadilly in London, there’s a line of people, my romance released to both critical success and sales. Maybe not as many sales as my publisher hoped for, but this reader aside, readers don’t always follow you when you switch genres.
And yet, through all of this, I’ve had that imposter syndrome snaking through my veins. Whispering in my ear.
You’re not good at this.
This was a fluke.
You only got this because of your agent.
No one will read your backlist.
Robyn should be signing with you.
And some of this is true, of course. My agent did help me land this deal, most people won’t read my backlist, and Robyn should be here.
But sometimes I find myself wondering if Robyn and I were meant to write together forever anyway. It’s hard to speculate after someone dies, because you really don’t know what direction their life would have gone in. There are so many choices we have to make along the way, each choice pushing us down a different path, as slight as it may be. It’s like my poorly worded Dr. Ian Malcolm analogy from Jurassic Park. A butterfly flaps its wings in Scotland and suddenly our world is different.
I still think, though, that Robyn would be with me at this signing if she were alive. Perhaps we would have branched out on our own at this point, but we would have remained the best of friends. And she would be here, either hovering over my shoulder, running outside to get me Starbucks, or hiding in the back row, watching me with a smile on her face. In fact, sometimes when I look up, I swear I see her. I feel her, at any rate.
And she’s proud of me.
The reader is still staring down at me expectantly, shaking slightly, and I snap back into it. I can’t afford to let my thoughts drift when I’m signing books, I can barely afford to talk. I’ve spelt quite a few names wrong because I’ve been distracted.
I open the cover and look at the dedication page.
To Robyn, my muse.
Because she really was my muse all this time. Someone’s whole life can inspire you, even after they’re gone.
My throat grows tight with suppressed tears, and I quickly flip the page back and sign my name just below the title, When Tomorrow Comes. I’ve looked at that dedication page over and over again today, but right now, right now it really hits.
I take my time making sure my writing looks neat (it doesn’t) and then hand the book back to the reader. She gives me a funny look, perhaps worried that I have tears in my eyes, but then again, she has tears in her eyes too, just for different reasons.
Then she comes around the table and we smile for a picture that Claudio takes of us.
“Say formaggio,” he says, grinning his perfect white smile as he peers into the girl’s iPhone.
“Formaggio,” the reader says, giggling. I just smile, staring more at him than the lens. As you can imagine, I have been saying formaggio all day. Claudio really needs to mix it up.
“Thank you so much,” the reader says. I remind myself that the name I signed was Sarah, and that I’ll try to remember her later, but of course my absent-minded brain probably won’t comply.
“Wait, wait,” Claudio says, switching to his phone. “One for us.”
The reader looks thrilled as she poses with me again, smiling. “Formaggio!”
It was Claudio’s idea. He thought that we should document every person that comes to the table and put the pictures on my website, or maybe a scrapbook or something. I don’t know anyone who makes scrapbooks anymore (I certainly don’t have the time), but the intention is good. He said since it’s my first solo signing, that in some ways, it’s my first one, and that we have to capture the memories.
Little does he know that I’ve been mentally capturing the memories for a year now. Before I go to bed at night, I take out my journal and I write down moments from the day. Every moment with Claudio, every second, is so precious to me, I can’t afford to lose any of them.
I am so in love with you, I think, staring at him with doe eyes as he steps back and lets the next person in line come through. I can’t wait to be your wife.
Ah yes. Aside from my book finally being published (publishing takes eons), another big change has happened since Claudio and Vanni found me naked in their swimming pool. We’re getting married!
He proposed only a month ago, so it’s all very fresh in my mind. It wasn’t much of a surprise, because we already knew we’d get married when I agreed to move in with him at Villa Rosa. But because of Vanni, because Claudio had been married before, we agreed to take it slow.
Even now, our wedding isn’t planned for at least another year, which is fine by me. I’m in no rush. Plus, after my book tour is over, I’ve got two books to finish by the end of the year…and it’s already August! So planning a wedding will have to take the backseat for a bit.