“Surprise,” he said, sounding half asleep. “Bartley decided it would be a waste of money to have any events after Thanksgiving.”
In less than forty-nine days he’d be home with me where he belonged.
“Is it Thanksgiving yet?” I asked.
A chuckle rumbled in my chest when I heard clear, even breathing through the phone. I closed my eyes and listened.
After a minute he whispered, “I think I fell asleep.”
“Get some rest,” I said, wishing it was tomorrow already.
“Hmmm. Okay.”
“Love you, Wild.”
“Love you, too.”
WILDER
This shop was the smallest on the tour so far and I loved it. From the outside it looked like a small brick cottage. The architecture like something out of a fairytale. It had this hobbit-hole-esque vibe to it, with earth tones and mossy-looking plants adorning the porch. When I’d walked in, I’d admired the rows and rows of books, and how close they’d been stacked together. Almost too close. But it was cozy and friendly, and I liked the way it smelled like pine and old paper. If time had a scent, it would be this bookshop. Ameren, the owner, had set up a large table in the back of the store and covered it with a green velvet cloth. Everything here was magical, including Ameren’s beard. He looked like he’d stepped out of a fantasy novel. I half expected him to pop on a wizard’s cape before the day was over.
I stretched my fingers before picking up the cup of coffee Andrew had set down only a moment ago. Having Andrew at the last stop had been helpful. I’m not sure why Bartley hadn’t sent me with an assistant to begin with. I was helpless and unorganized and traveling alone wasn’t in my top five favorite things. Moving through each city, by myself, had made me miss Jax even more. Not that Andrew was any type of replacement for my boyfriend, or even that interesting to talk to, but at least he was here. I was curious if the tone of my emails and texts to Anders had clued him into my depression, and he’d packed Andrew up himself and sent him like a gift via overnight delivery.
“Thanks for the coffee,” I said, tipping the cup.
“No thanks needed. It’s my job.” Andrew gave me a smile, and I didn’t think he hated being here.
“Did Anders or Bartley send you?”
He cringed and I smiled.
“I knew it.” Smug, I shook my head. “Anders is such a mother hen.”
“Well, technically, it was Anders and Bartley. He just politely reminded your very generous publishing company that in the contract, they were to offer you an assistant for any business-related travel.” He shrugged. “And I don’t mind… I’ve never been to Nashville.”
“Me either. But I don’t think it gets better than this book shop.” I glanced at the staff running back and forth through the tight spaces between the racks like hurried little mice.
I had the sudden urge to read The Tale of Despereaux.
“The crowd outside looks pretty decent.” He sipped his coffee, hiding what looked like a mischievous grin.
“Oh no.” He blinked at me with big, innocent eyes. “You know I hate surprises.” Nervous, I stood, trying to peek at the front door. “Is the crowd big?”
“I’d say it is considering you’re a debut. Some of the more seasoned authors I’ve worked for haven’t drawn that big of a crowd.”
“Shit, I knew I should’ve had you spike this latte with Sambuca.”
One thing I’d learned about being on tour was I did not like large gatherings, or long lines of people staring at me. I had no idea what to say to them when they came to my table. I got anxious and shut down, and they probably thought I was an asshole or a snob. I did much better at the venues that allowed me to have a glass of wine.
“You’ll be fine,” he said. “I ran into one of the fans when I left to get coffee. Seems like a really nice guy.”
I glared at him. “Nice guy?”
Andrew’s laugh, for some ungodly reason, calmed me down.
“Jesus Christ, I don’t think I’ll make it past the end of the week.”
“I don’t know…” he said in a sing-song voice. “Something tells me today is going to be a great day.”
“We’re opening the doors, Mr. Welles,” Ameren warned me.
“Thank you… and please... call me Wilder.”
He nodded and scratched at his beard. “Will do.”
One of the staff members brought me a bag of Sharpies, and I exhaled as much nervous energy as I could. I ran my fingers through my hair and shifted in my seat trying to find a comfortable position. Legs crossed? Uncrossed? I tapped my fingers on the table and chewed my lip as I heard the owner talking to the people outside.
“Stop fidgeting,” Andrew said, and chuckled when I flipped him off. “That’s the spirit.”
I didn’t think this anxiety would go away, regardless of how many of these signings I did. I was an introvert by nature, only extroverted with the people who knew me or when plied with alcohol.
“Do I look nervous?’’ I asked.
“Not at all.”
“Liar.”
“I like your outfit,” he said, distracting me as a few people walked in.
I looked down at my white skinny jeans and pale-blue shirt. I didn’t think I looked fantastic by any means, but I was comfortable.
“Stop trying to flatter me.” I grinned. “But for real, don’t stop.”
“I’m not trying to flatter you. The eyeliner looks good with the light blue. I couldn’t have dressed you better myself.”
I looked at him and my mouth popped open. “Did Anders tell you I needed help with my wardrobe?”
He looked out toward the door. “Look, here they come.”
Fucking Anders. I could dress myself, thank you very much. A few people trickled in and I plastered on a smile as they approached the table.
Through gritted teeth, I mumbled, “You tell Anders to fuck off.”
“Noted.” Andrew laughed as he took the book from the reader, opened it to the title page, and handed it to me.
Uncapping a Sharpie, I looked at the yellow sticky note with the girl’s name on it.
Becky.
“Thank you for coming out today, Becky.”
Her hands shook as she took the signed novel from my hand.
“This is one of my favorite books of all time,” she said, her smile wobbling.
She looked about eighteen, or maybe even younger. I couldn’t be sure. She was short, and pixie-like, and fit in with the whole theme of the bookshop.
“Thank you,” I said, self-conscious. I was terrible at compliments from strangers. “Seriously, thank you, I’m really glad you liked it.
Ugh.
I sounded like a moron.
Becky gave me another excited smile, hugging the book to her chest as she walked away. Once she was out of my line of sight, the room unveiled itself, wall to wall with people. Maybe I was overwhelmed because the store was small, but the collar of my shirt suddenly felt too tight, and as I pulled on it, several people filed in along the table. Andrew did his best, opening up as many books as he could, marching people through the line in a quick and orderly fashion. His ability to keep things organized made me less frazzled, and with the speed people were ushered through, I barely had time for more than a quick smile and a thank you for each guest. My hand had started to cramp after the first hour, and I was grateful I only had thirty more minutes to go. But like Jax had reminded me last night, I was privileged to have people care about my book at all. How incredible was it that my hand had a fucking cramp because I’d just signed a mazillion books?