To get through spending time with Trent and writing his life story, while writing herself out of it, she was going to need a lot of cookies. A lot.
Seven
Kate pulled up to the restaurant right as the skies opened up. There was no valet parking and no nearby spaces, so she ended up pulling into one of the last spots in the lot. She leaned over to look in her back seat—
And no umbrella. No raincoat. They were back in her apartment beside the door, drying off after her walk to Grandma’s earlier today. The time had been tight when Kate had gotten home, so she’d hurried to get ready, and left in a rush. Without any raingear. Again.
The only thing in the backseat was the fleece jacket she’d borrowed from Trent after they’d gone to the bowling alley. As soon as she had gotten into her car that night, she’d tossed it in the back, because having the scent of him against her skin made her think about him altogether way too much. Even now, just seeing the pale-green soft fabric, she remembered the feel of his hand on hers, the tender way he’d draped the jacket over her. Protective and sweet.
She tried not to inhale as she slid her arms into the jacket, tried not catch his cologne or remember his touch. She failed.
Kate hurried across the parking lot, hunching into the jacket to protect her hair and dress from the rain, then ducked into the hotel entrance. The lobby opened up to a Twenties’ themed bar and restaurant, already teeming with attendees for the party. Kate tugged the fleece jacket off, shook the worst of the water onto the carpet, then draped it over her arm.
The crowd in the restaurant seemed to move as a unit, with conversation and laughs flowing between the groups as easily as water running down a hill. Kate lingered on the fringes of the room, unsure and hesitant. She didn’t see Loretta anywhere, or anyone else she knew. Stepping out of her comfort zone and just jumping into a conversation was akin to bungee jumping off the Space Needle—somewhere in the realm between not going to happen and never ever going to happen.
A passing waiter gave her a glass of champagne. Kate clutched it and took tiny sips, glad to have something to do with her hands. She smoothed her black dress over her hips and tried not to look out of place.
“And so I told my editor, if she wanted me to put a dog in that story, she was going to have to write him in herself,” an older man with a thick white beard said to a young woman in a pale purple dress. “I’m not the kind of author who gets pushed around by my publisher. You make sure you stand your ground, miss, or the next thing you know, you’ll be writing a Pomeranian into your political thriller.” With that, the older man moved toward the bar, hefting his empty rocks glass in the direction of the bartender.
“Can you believe that guy?” the younger woman said as she turned toward Kate. “If I ever become that kind of diva, shoot me.”
The woman, who looked to be around thirty, had a wide smile and long blond hair that she’d twisted into a messy bun on the top of her head. She thrust out her hand and gave Kate a smile. “I’m Penny Wilkins. I don’t write political thrillers, and I love Pomeranians.”
Kate laughed again. “Kate Winslow. I don’t write political thrillers either, and I’m more of a cat person than a dog person. Either way, I think having a Pomeranian in any kind of book is a great idea.”
Penny grinned. “Good. Then we can be friends, because we agree on that.” She raised her champagne glass in Kate’s direction. They clinked, and each took a sip. “So, who do you write for?”
The writing question again. Kate stammered out an answer. “Oh, well, I…well, I don’t publish under my own name.”
“Pen name?” Penny guessed. “I get that. I should have used one when I first started. Then I wouldn’t be stuck with my ex-husband’s last name on all my books.”
“Oh, no. No pen name, exactly. I mean, I have a women’s fiction novel I’ve started but haven’t finished yet, and that will go under my name. I am already published, sort of, because I’m…well, I’m a ghostwriter.”
“Cool.” Penny’s face brightened, and real interest shone in her eyes, unlike the judgmental sneer Loretta had given Kate a couple of weeks ago. “So you write other people’s stuff? That sounds fun.”
“It can be. I love learning about people and putting the puzzle of their lives together.” Kate accepted a teeny-tiny wonton from a passing waiter and popped it in her mouth. She asked Penny about her writing, which turned out to be young adult fantasy. She had five published books already, under her own name.
“That’s so cool, Penny.” All these years, Kate had dreamed of her own name on a book, yet had never submitted anything as herself. The dream had a nightmare on the fringes of it that held her back from finishing and selling that novel in her computer. “But weren’t you worried your books might flop?”
Penny took a sip of her champagne. “Of course. I wrote them anyway.” She let out a little laugh. “At first, I was terrified people would hate my books and leave bad reviews. But then I realized that not all readers are going to like my books. As long as I love them, that’s all that matters.”
“What if what I wrote is a hot mess?”
“Then you make friends with a fellow author who will gladly talk about novels.” Penny grinned.
Kate liked Penny already, and the two of them exchanged business cards. Penny glanced at the subtitle under Kate’s name. “So…ghostwriter. Have you written anything I’d know about?”
Kate thought of the actress and race car driver she’d worked with, both well enough known in the public. And then there was Trent, who had three hundred thousand followers on Instagram, many of them, Kate was sure, women who’d fallen for that crooked smile and shaggy haircut.
Women like her. No, she hadn’t fallen for him…exactly. She’d gotten wrapped up in a spell cast by a shared dinner and a few laughs over bowling. Nothing more.
“No one I can tell you about,” Kate said, because sharing any of that would create a complicated conversation. “That’s all part of the deal when I ghostwrite. I’m supposed to be invisible.”
“Then it’s about time you were visible with your own book, Kate Winslow.” Penny took her hand and tugged her across the room. “My editor’s here, and I know she has some colleagues who are looking for new authors. Don’t say no.”
Kate’s own book had been started and stopped dozens of times. Maybe Penny was right, and it was time for Kate to pursue her own dreams. She took a deep breath. “Okay, introduce me.”
Penny brought Kate into the middle of a conversation between two editors and an agent. Penny knew all of them and made introductions all around. Her endorsement piqued the interest of the editors and agent, and Kate found herself telling them all about the four sisters and mother in her book. “They find a stray dog who changes all their lives,” she finished.