Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73568 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73568 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
She watches me with a raised eyebrow as I load up, and I snicker. “What? I’ve got to keep up the calories,” I say, shrugging. “Race car drivers eat more than you’d think.”
I get an awkward smile and I’m suddenly reminded of the fact that we barely know each other. We’ve been thrown together by Harley and the team for this “article,” but I haven’t really had the chance to figure out who Posey is. I gesture to an empty table by the window, and we sit down.
“So,” I start, stirring my noodles, “tell me more about this romance gig. How did you get into that line of work?”
Posey shifts in her seat, looking a little unsure, then straightens her posture like she’s giving herself a pep talk. “Um… I guess I started as a reader. I’ve always loved reading romance novels,” she says, unwrapping her sandwich and I don’t miss her cheeks turning red, as if that admission is embarrassing.
“Don’t they label those types of books bodice rippers?” I ask with a smirk.
Her cheeks flush a deeper red, but her eyes narrow on me. “Don’t call them that. That’s an antiquated term.”
“Mommy porn?” I say with a chuckle.
She’s poised to take a bite of her sandwich, but she sets it down. “Ewww… no. That’s not what romance novels are about.”
“But there are porn scenes in them, right?”
“No! Where are you getting this?” she demands.
I lift a shoulder, holding up a forkful of noodles. “I did some research on romance novels today. Looked at your website… which is very nice, by the way.”
“Well, I’m so sick of people saying stuff like that, or referring to it as nothing but smut. There are some wonderful stories out there full of complex and rich plots, amazing character arcs and emotional experiences.”
“And sex,” I add before taking another bite of my lunch.
She rolls her eyes, cheeks still red, but waves her sandwich at me threateningly. “Yes, sex, but what are you? Like, twelve or something? Sex is a natural and essential part of a romantic, loving relationship. I portray it in a positive way—”
Holding up my hand, I swallow my bite. “Relax, Posey. I didn’t mean to offend you. I think what you do is cool. So you went from reading to writing?”
She eyes me warily, as if she doesn’t trust my earnest interest, but there’s no doubt… I do find her fascinating. I keep my smile in place, swirl some more noodles, and I notice her shoulders relax a little. “I never thought I could actually write one but my dad kept encouraging me to give it a try. I was working in retail—a floral shop, actually—and I decided to give it a go.”
I lean back in my chair, curious now. “A florist? I can see you doing that.”
“My mom was a floral designer. I guess I inherited her talent.”
“You said was,” I point out gently, coming to an obvious conclusion.
Posey nods but I don’t hear a lot of emotion in her response. “She died when I was three years old. I don’t really remember her but that’s what she did for a living and well, I guess that was my way of maintaining some connection to her. She’s the one who nicknamed me Posey.”
“A bunch of flowers,” I quote, remembering when she said that before. “Did your father remarry?”
A sadness creeps into her eyes. “No. He never remarried. Raised me on his own. Just the two of us.”
There’s too much sorrow in her tone. “And he’s dead too?”
She blinks in surprise, perhaps at my blunt question, but nods. “Yeah… three months ago from cancer.”
Ouch. I didn’t figure it would be that recent. “I’m sorry. Sounds like you two were close.”
“The closest,” she whispers, a fond smile playing at her… very full lips. “He was always supportive of my writing, even when I thought I’d never make it. He had these… weird sayings, you know? Like, he’d try to pass off wisdom, but they never really made sense.”
I grin at her. “Yeah? Give me an example.”
Posey’s eyes shine with memories. “Let’s see… he’d often say, ‘You can’t climb a tree with a spoon, but you’ve got to give it a good stir.’”
A bark of laughter erupts. “What the hell does that even mean?”
Posey’s laughing too. “It’s basically advice about perseverance and trying new angles if something doesn’t work. And I only know that because he had to explain it to me. He always had to explain it but once he did, it made sense.”
“Brilliant.” I chuckle with a shake of my head. “And yeah… it does make sense now that you say it. Sounds to me like he would have totally supported this little charade you have going on.”
That makes Posey laugh and fuck… it’s really pretty. Sweet and lilting. “Yeah, he would have totally pushed me to do this.” Her eyes sparkle. “But to get back to your original question about how I became an author, as a voracious reader, I was curious to see if I could translate that into writing my own stories. I definitely have a deep creative side, so I worked by day and wrote at night, after work,” she explains. “I self-published my first story, and it took a while, but after a few books, I started building a fan base and the business just grew from there. I was able to quit my floral designing job after about a year as an author.”