Written With Hearts

Written With Hearts - Chapter Four

Abby....

With only fours hours sleep, I'm surprisingly perky. For a whole hour last night, I had laid in bed, thinking about Yate. Then after convincing myself to think of something else instead, I started thinking about the book signing. Did I have enough swag? Did I remember the cute confetti to decorate my table with? Did I remember to put a pack of chewing gum in my bag? I ended up lying there for hours, worrying over everything and anything.

After a crazily busy morning, both KC and I stand back, admiring my signing table. I think it's a table to be proud of. There are neat little piles of my paperbacks. The bookmarks are prettily spread out like decorative fans. The still embarrassing photos of me take their place of pride in the middle of the table, KC's idea, so not mine. There's a large glass bowl with boldly coloured sweets in it, and my badges and magnets for each one of my books are held in cute little wicker baskets.

"Are you happy with it?" KC asks, sweeping her curls off her shoulders.

I swing my arm around my lovely friend. "I'm more than happy with it. Our table looks great." I praise our teamwork with a high-cheeked smile.

"I agree," says KC, with her chest thrust out with pride. "So now what?"

My smile wanes, as I cross my arms. "Now . . . we wait!" This is the part where I'm quietly shitting myself. I want to sit but have restless legs. I want to stand but feel like an awkward tit. I have absolutely no idea what to do with my nervous hands: in my pockets, out my pockets? Stupid thoughts dart in and out of my mind as the anxiety starts to grip me. This was the bit that I was dreading. Waiting, whilst thinking that no one is ever going to come to my table. Having horrid visions of everyone bypassing my table but visiting everyone else's. Thoughts . . . please go away! I try to inwardly calm myself. I'm sure that once the doors open, the nerves will fly right out of my chest. I hope they do, I'm nervous as hell, and all this waiting doesn't help.

"Shall I go and grab us a cuppa?" KC asks, showing friendly concern because she can sense my anxiousness.

I give her a grateful smile, deciding to sit down. "Yes, please, hun."

"Okay, I won't be long." KC flounces out of the room, her blonde curls bouncing as she walks.

As she's going out, a largish group are coming in. It's the cover models, with their giggling entourage in tow. Actually, I sound a complete bitch there. It's the cover models being shown around by some of the signing volunteers, who just so happen to be giggling.

The He-Man sized beefcakes; older and browner, are wearing blue jeans with tight fitting black vests. Wearing more Vaseline than I've ever put on my lips in my entire life. Yate and his friend have gone for the low-key poser look; black fitted T-shirt, minus the Vaseline.

The volunteers are introducing them to each and every one of the authors. Since I'm in the first row, it's not long before they get to me.

"Hi, Abby, I'm just officially introducing the guys to all you authors before the doors open," a ponytailed brunette cheerfully says, grinning across at them all before looking back at me.

"Actually, we've already met," Yate interrupts, showing me one of his full on smiles.

The brunette waggles her eyebrows. "Oooooo, lucky you," she crudely says, winking at me.

Yate doesn't bother to react to her teasing; he comes closer to my table. "It's looking good . . . you all set?" he asks, sounding genuinely impressed and interested.

"I certainly am, let's just hope someone comes to my table now." I anxiously finger the necklace that I'm wearing, as I cautiously smile across at him with my nervous joking around.