Literature

Epilogue: the beauty in unraveling

That torrential downpour in the coffee shop feels like ages ago. The nervous apology and Loren forgiving me and that fateful call.

London is especially beautiful today. Clear blue skies and rolling clouds. I can't remember the last time I was here. That happens. Some days are better than others.

I'm surprised by the line, by the smiles directed towards me. Adoring fans. Fans. I have fans. I try to collect my thoughts. Take a deep breath.

It's still all so surreal, seeing my book stocked on shelves. On every entrance display. My name added: New York Times bestseller list.

I chuckle, shake my head. He always doubted me and my abilities way less than me. In fact, he never had an inkling of doubt. It was always faith. This moment. I wish I could share it with him.

He called yesterday to express once again, just how proud he was of me. I could practically feel that beaming smile of his through the phone. I think my heart must have skipped.

"Are you coming," I asked, unease spinning in my stomach.

"Huh? To what babe?"

"Nothing. You have class to teach. I wish I had a bit more free time, so we could catch up before I head out for the next stop. A book tour is a bit odd, isn't it?"

"Not when you're a talented and charming new author," he compliments. "You're a bestseller now. Next is someone knocking down your door to make it into a movie."

"Oh god," I groan.

"I'm teasing babe." Probably one of those tongue pressed behind his front teeth smiles. A perfect laugh.

"Of course you are," I scoff, eyes rolling.

"You're rolling your eyes at me," he gasps, pretending to be offended. "I always know when you roll them."

The silly banter ends there and I wish it could last forever. I miss this.

"Hey I have to go," I release a sigh. "My manager is having a fit. I'll talk to you soon."

"No worries," he replies. Voice too nonchalant. He does that when he wants to hide away his hurt. I always seem to cut things short between us. A frown settles on my face, little line forming between my brows as they furrow too close together.

I'm pulled back into reality, back into the current day. My book signing. Why am I not ecstatic? It was a great success. So many sweet fans and kind words.

"I'm sorry," I say, tone going flat. "The autograph session is over, we're about to pack things up."

I'm staring at the table, fingers skimming over the blurb on the back of my books. I shouldn't be this way to a supporter of my work. It really isn't such a big deal. What's one more signature? It would save me from looking like a complete asshat and save them from the disappointment that their favorite author might be just another fame chasing prick. It wouldn't take five seconds to scribble my initials.

"Please, I'm your biggest fan."

My heart rattles around inside my rib cage, I release an unsteady breath, unable to tear my gaze away from the quickly blurring words and the critical acclaim.

Unequivocally beautiful

Awe inspiring, raw, carefully written and boldly crafted. A promising first read from a rising author.

A gut wrenching experience on every page

"Thank you...for the dedication." He softly breaks the silence and I sharply suck in air, feel repeat shivers inside my bones. "Could you sign my copy?"