there and you can tell us all about your new place.” Kerry picked up one of the opened bottles and led Claire and Hannah Simpson to an overstuffed sofa. “I think Hailey told Savannah that your building isn’t far from the Fox Theatre?”
“It’s about six blocks north,” Claire replied. “I walked down there just the other day and had a coffee at the Georgian Terrace.” She named a landmark hotel across from the theater.
“Are you just having the best time?” Hannah asked. “I admire you so much for starting fresh this way. I swear I’d never have the nerve to just pick up and move myself into a whole new life.”
“I know,” Kerry added. “I keep picturing you all dressed up like an adult all the time. Picking up lattes at the corner cafe. Eating in restaurants that don’t ask if you want fries with that, whenever you feel like it.”
Wendy Madden came over and joined them, dropping onto a kitchen chair that had been placed next to the sofa. She was a recent divorcée whose husband had finally admitted to a long-standing affair with their daughter’s tennis coach. “I’m so jealous. Are there cute men in your building? Do you meet people in the streets? Do you go to the clubs?”
“My goodness, let the woman breathe,” Hannah said.
Claire smiled in gratitude. The answer to all of Wendy’s questions was no—at least so far. She’d been in her new home for a week and except for when she’d been mowed down in the lobby and said hello to the security guy at the building entrance or thank you to the girl at the Starbucks counter, she’d barely looked another human being in the eye.
She looked at the wine bottle with real longing and tried not to stare when the others tilted their goblets up to drain their glasses. It sucked being the only completely sober person in the room, and although everyone who chimed in on their conversation professed envy of her new life, it was clear that none of them would ever actually consider trading their life for hers.
“So how’s the new book coming?” Elsa, who had lived two doors away from the time Claire and Hailey moved into the neighborhood, asked. “It must be incredible to have all that time just to write.”
Claire smiled. “I’ve been unpacking and getting settled all week,” she said. “I’m taking the weekend to get my head in the right place and then I intend to get down to work first thing Monday morning.” She hadn’t even had time to review her notes or look at the character sketches she’d roughed out after the contract had been signed. She felt an odd little stutter in her stomach, which she assumed was anticipation.
Still, she was almost relieved when Amanda clapped her hands together like the kindergarten teacher she was and ordered everyone to find a seat so that they could discuss the book. It was nine fifteen. The meeting would end somewhere around ten p.m.
It wasn’t until Claire had started writing and trying to be published that she’d paid attention to how much more time was spent drinking and talking than discussing the book. It had taken her two and a half years to research and write her first historical romance and another year after that to find an agent to represent it.
Highland Kiss
had come out to strong reviews and modest sales a year and a half after that. The River Run Book Club had thrown a great launch party to celebrate and each and every member of the club had bought at least one copy. But the meeting at which they were to discuss it had been no different than all the others; lots of fun followed by a discussion of her book, her process, and her inspiration that lasted for exactly 20.5 minutes.
Claire’s watch read ten fifteen when they began to carry glasses and plates into the kitchen.
“Maybe we could have a meeting down at my place one month,” Claire said once she’d located her purse.
“That would be so cool!” Amanda said.
“You can show us around,” Elsa added.
“Maybe we could go to a
“It’s about six blocks north,” Claire replied. “I walked down there just the other day and had a coffee at the Georgian Terrace.” She named a landmark hotel across from the theater.
“Are you just having the best time?” Hannah asked. “I admire you so much for starting fresh this way. I swear I’d never have the nerve to just pick up and move myself into a whole new life.”
“I know,” Kerry added. “I keep picturing you all dressed up like an adult all the time. Picking up lattes at the corner cafe. Eating in restaurants that don’t ask if you want fries with that, whenever you feel like it.”
Wendy Madden came over and joined them, dropping onto a kitchen chair that had been placed next to the sofa. She was a recent divorcée whose husband had finally admitted to a long-standing affair with their daughter’s tennis coach. “I’m so jealous. Are there cute men in your building? Do you meet people in the streets? Do you go to the clubs?”
“My goodness, let the woman breathe,” Hannah said.
Claire smiled in gratitude. The answer to all of Wendy’s questions was no—at least so far. She’d been in her new home for a week and except for when she’d been mowed down in the lobby and said hello to the security guy at the building entrance or thank you to the girl at the Starbucks counter, she’d barely looked another human being in the eye.
She looked at the wine bottle with real longing and tried not to stare when the others tilted their goblets up to drain their glasses. It sucked being the only completely sober person in the room, and although everyone who chimed in on their conversation professed envy of her new life, it was clear that none of them would ever actually consider trading their life for hers.
“So how’s the new book coming?” Elsa, who had lived two doors away from the time Claire and Hailey moved into the neighborhood, asked. “It must be incredible to have all that time just to write.”
Claire smiled. “I’ve been unpacking and getting settled all week,” she said. “I’m taking the weekend to get my head in the right place and then I intend to get down to work first thing Monday morning.” She hadn’t even had time to review her notes or look at the character sketches she’d roughed out after the contract had been signed. She felt an odd little stutter in her stomach, which she assumed was anticipation.
Still, she was almost relieved when Amanda clapped her hands together like the kindergarten teacher she was and ordered everyone to find a seat so that they could discuss the book. It was nine fifteen. The meeting would end somewhere around ten p.m.
It wasn’t until Claire had started writing and trying to be published that she’d paid attention to how much more time was spent drinking and talking than discussing the book. It had taken her two and a half years to research and write her first historical romance and another year after that to find an agent to represent it.
Highland Kiss
had come out to strong reviews and modest sales a year and a half after that. The River Run Book Club had thrown a great launch party to celebrate and each and every member of the club had bought at least one copy. But the meeting at which they were to discuss it had been no different than all the others; lots of fun followed by a discussion of her book, her process, and her inspiration that lasted for exactly 20.5 minutes.
Claire’s watch read ten fifteen when they began to carry glasses and plates into the kitchen.
“Maybe we could have a meeting down at my place one month,” Claire said once she’d located her purse.
“That would be so cool!” Amanda said.
“You can show us around,” Elsa added.
“Maybe we could go to a
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