by Katia Rose
But I can’t share that. Not with him.
So I opt for more sarcasm.
“You feel...good?” I finish his sentence for him. “Or wait, what was it you said earlier? Really good? That was a truly innovative use of the English language.”
“You know what, Renee? I think I’m going to have to put a quota on your sassy remarks. One per day. Max.”
The slyness of his tone makes my cheeks flush with a fresh rush of heat, but I can still give as good as I get.
“Why do I get the feeling that’s not gonna happen?”
“You know, I wasn’t allowed to say it to you at the time since you were an actual kid,” he informs me, “but you always were a bit of a little shit. I see nothing’s changed.”
I laugh along with him, but that last sentence rings true. Too true.
Nothing has changed.
I’m still a kid to him. He’s seven years older than me. He’s my boss.
I make myself repeat that thought over and over again as we continue the conversation.
“Hey, question for you before I let you go,” Dylan adds after we agree that I’ll start on Monday evening.
“Yes?”
And then he asks the one question that’s guaranteed to rattle me like a fucking earthquake.
“Are you still writing?”
The words hurtle me back more than three years, to a stifling summer night just a few days before the start of September. I can practically feel the fabric of my dress clinging to my thighs.
A white dress. I couldn’t have been more of the cliché ingénue if I’d tried.
I can still remember the last words he said to me. I can remember every moment of that night like it’s a strip of negatives, the seconds captured click by click, permanently imprinted on the film of my memory. After all these years, I can still hear his voice in my ear. I can feel his hand on my cheek, his touch so light I was never really sure I hadn’t imagined it.
“Keep writing, okay?” He’d sounded like he was begging, like the thought that I wouldn’t listen hurt him so bad he was almost scared to say the words. “Just promise me you’ll keep writing. The world needs your words.”
I don’t know if he can still feel that summer night on his skin, but I can and I do, and it’s far too much to handle.
“I, um—” I start to stammer.
“Sorry,” Dylan interrupts. “That was personal. You don’t have to answer that.”
As crazy as it is, I can’t help thinking he’d understand far more than anyone else if I tried to explain why those words he thought the world needed have gone somewhere I can’t seem to follow.
But it is crazy, and the last thing I want to keep being is the crazy girl.
“So, uh, Monday at four, right?” I choke out.
“Yep.” The silence stretches for just a moment too long, his breath loud enough for me to imagine it brushing my cheek, caressing me with its heat. “I’ll see you then.”
“See you then,” I echo.
Acknowledgments
The journey that takes a story from an idea to a fully formed book sitting in a reader’s hands is long, winding, and often feels like hauling yourself along the side of a mountain through thick fog with nothing put a thin rope to assure you you’re not going to plummet all the way to the rocks below. It can be an extremely solitary journey, but the more times I scramble along that perilous path, the more helping hands I discover waiting to pull me up higher than I’ve ever been before. I add a new layer of depth to my definition of ‘gratitude’ with every book I put out into the world, and that has never held truer than now.
Releasing a story amidst a backdrop of panic, fear, and grief that has reached every corner of the world has left me with so many questions: about myself, about my role as a writer, about the ways life does and does not work. A lot of those questions may leave me wondering forever, but knowing that in this moment, you are holding this book in your hands and reading these words brings me the most important answer I could ever ask for.
There is still a place for stories in this world, and as long as that place remains, I will write them. So, thank you, dear reader. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for proving that stories have always been and will always be one of the things we can count on when everything else seems to fall apart.
Whew, okay, enough drama for today. Let’s move onto thanking some of those helping hands I mentioned earlier.
A whopping big thank you to my INCREDIBLE beta team: Sue, Kirsten, Benjamin, Bárbara, Farah, Jovana, Mimi, Ginny, and Sara. I still don’t know I wound up lucky enough to find you all, but I am immensely grateful that I did. You all brought your A game to this story, and it truly wouldn’t be what it is without you. Your enthusiasm, insight, and encouragement kept me going through the long editing tunnel towards the light at the end. Thank you so much for helping me get there.
To all the bloggers and ARC readers involved in the book’s release: more than ever, romance has proved that it’s more than a genre. Romance is a COMMUNITY, and it exists because of you. Thank you for coming out in a full badass force to help not only me but all authors continuing to release stories during this time. You are truly the lights in all our lives, and I will never get over how amazing the work you do is. I don’t know how I managed to end up as part of a group so full of love and support, but I am so grateful for the place you’ve given me here.
To Sarah: thank you for the MOST BEAUTIFUL COVER OF ALL MY COVERS EVER! I still can’t stop staring at it. You are so crazy talented, and I’m so thrilled I get to have your artistry wrapped around my books.
To all the romance authors I’m lucky enough to call my friends: you are the best damn bunch of ‘co-workers’ in the world and my absolute heroes. Thank you for getting out there and inspiring me and countless others with what you do.
To the many friends and family members supporting my work (some of whom I hope do not do so by actually reading my books): thank you for always believing in me, even while I do this kind of crazy thing. It means the world to know you have my back.
Eva, here is your bestie shoutout. I can’t wait to hang out and watch Johnny Flynn run around the English countryside being a Jane Austen hero with you. Thank you for all the years of writing love stories *cough* fan fictions *cough* with you. It seems to have paid off.
Sport, you are part of every minute of all of my days, and I know each one brings us closer to the one where nothing will be able to keep us apart. So save the headphones splitter, the RX bars, and your dirty egg pans, because I’m coming for you whether you like it or not. One day we’ll dance in the kitchen while the capybaras run around in the yard.
About the Author
Katia Rose is not much of a Pina Colada person, but she does like getting caught in the rain. She prefers her romance served steamy with a side of smart, and is a sucker for quirky characters. A habit of jetting off to distant countries means she’s rarely in one place for very long, but she calls the frigid northland that is Canada home.
www.katiarose.com
Club Katia
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Joining is super easy and the club would love to have you! Visit www.katiarose.com/club-katia to get in on the good stuff.
Also by Katia Rose
The Barflies Series
A series of dramadies centred on the lives and loves of the staff at a Montreal dive bar. Each novel can be read as a standalone.
The Bar Next Door
Glass Half Full
One For the Road
When the Lights Come On (coming 2020)
The Sherbrooke Station Quartet
A series
of steamy rock star dramedies that follow the rise of an alternative rock band in Montreal. All four volumes can be read as standalones.
Your Rhythm
Your Echo
Your Sound
Your Chorus
Standalone Novels
Thigh Highs
Modelling lingerie for her arch-nemesis was not on Christina’s to-do list. Then again, nether was he. An enemies-to-lovers romantic comedy.
Latte Girl
Hot coffee is a regular fixture in Hailey Warren’s life. Hot guys? Not so much. A caffeine-fuelled romantic comedy.
