The Secret Life of a Romance Novelist

chapter five

Friday came, and Ingrid was up, dressed, and ready twenty minutes before her alarm went off. Then she paced. She worried. She tried to write. She picked up her phone to call Liling, but thought better of it and threw it in her purse.

She laid on her bed, flexing her fingers then balling them into fists. She was crazy, this was never going to work.

But what if it did... She rolled onto her her side and wrapped her own arms around her. With a little sigh, she pretended it was Mr. Roberts, curled up behind her. It'd feel so nice to snuggle in bed with some one, cozy and warm.

They would spend all day Sunday in bed, talking and... doing other things. Or maybe they could read or go out for breakfast at one in the afternoon. That sounded nice.

Ingrid could feel herself dozing off again, when she jerked awake. She had ten minutes to get to work and she did not want to be late.

Ingrid half sprinted to work. Half excited, her stomach bubbled with nerves. Would he notice her number right away? Would he look at her like she was crazy? Maybe he'd not notice at first, only to see it once he was back at his office.

(She imagined him at an office a lot)

(Sometimes she imagined herself there too, and sometimes they were doing things that weren't exactly work appropriate.)

Then, at his office, noticing her number, would he call right away? Would he wait an oddly determined amount of time?

With shaking hands she unlocked the front door.

"You just keep getting weirder," Hannah said, watching her, "I hope it's not contagious, I'd hate for the customers to get it."

Ingrid glanced over her shoulder in disgust. Then Hannah's face erupted into a giant smile.

"Just kidding! God, Iggy, you have no sense of humor at all!" she laughed.

"Haha yeah," Ingrid replied, deadpan.

Time dragged on as Ingrid waited for the moment Mr. Roberts would enter, asking for caffeine. She fidgeted. She practiced writing her phone number on little pieces of paper that were quickly thrown away.

But finally eight forty-five came. Ingrid bounced on her toes as Mr. Roberts got in line. She was nervous but really excited, and felt like, for the third time, she was taking control of her life.

The first was when, at fifteen, she submitted a draft of her first romance novel. Then again, when she moved to New York City.

"Good morning, Mr. Roberts! The usual?" she asked, stupid grin on her face.

"Yes, thank you. Aren't you chipper this morning," he said, slow smile tugging at his lips.

Ingrid giggled, "Any plans for the weekend?" she rang up his order.

She scribbled his order- Venti double shot mocha with extra cream- and added her number. Then, without thinking twice, she added a little heart. Perfect.

"Just the usual, working from home," he shrugged.

"That's no fun!" Ingrid leaned on the counter while his drink brewed, "All work and no play makes Mr. Roberts a dull boy."

"I'm hardly a boy, Miss Ingrid."

Ingrid didn't have a reply to this, only sucked her lower lip into her mouth and locked eyes with him. But of course their almost flirting moment was interrupted by his drink finishing its brewing. Ingrid added the extra cream and secured the top.

"There you go!" passing him the cup, her heart skipped a beat as their fingers touched.

This happened at least once a week, but it never failed to thrill her. She flashed him a big smile.