Page 33 of Made For You
“What do they think you do?” I wait for her to answer with bated breath.
“They just think I edit.” I put my hands on my head. “To be honest, I wrote one book, never expecting it to come to a second, and then, well, two went into three.” She shrugs. “Then it got to the point when I felt so weird coming out to them. Like, ‘hey, can you pass me the potatoes, and in case you didn’t hear, I just hitThe New York TimesandWall Street Journal.’” I can’t help but smile at that. “It was just easy to pretend it didn’t happen.”
“You have over thirty books!” I shout. “Trust me, I know. I own them all.”
“Actually, there are five more written and not published yet.” She laughs at me, and I look up at the sky. “If you are nice, I can hook you up.”
“You aren’t just a regular author. You are like the real deal.”
“Nah.” She motions with her hands. “It’s just me. The girl who annoyed you by trying to YouTube knots.”
“Just me, my ass.” I roll my eyes. “You’re like an icon.”
“No, I’m not.” She shakes her head. “And this is making me a bit uncomfortable.”
“Well, prepare yourself because I have a shitload of questions,” I blurt, not even trying to contain my excitement, and it makes her laugh even more.
“Fire away,” she invites, her eyes lighting up as she crosses her legs in front of me, and I’m so excited I mimic her, our knees touching
“So you write Lucinda?” I ask, and she nods.
“Correct.” She puts her hands on her legs.
“And no one knows but you and now me.” I point at myself.
“And my agent and my aunt Vivi, who helped me at the beginning, but then it got so big I needed an agent. Especially with the foreign contracts.”
“Holy shit. I follow your fan page.” Clapping my hands, I don’t think I’ve ever been more excited about meeting someone in my life.
“I don’t have a fan page,” she informs me, and I shake my head. “My author name has a Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook page, but those are run by my assistant.”
“You’re right, you have more than a fan page. You practically have one in every language,” I tell her, and now she looks at me, shocked. “Are you saying you don’t know?”
“I had no idea. I mean, I knew there were a couple of fan pages, and one day, I went in.” Her face goes into a grimace. “Not everyone was a fan. So I’m never doing that again!”
“Aw, please, try taking a penalty shot in the opponent’s building while they chant ‘you suck.’” She throws her head back, and her laughter booms.
“Okay, that might be worse than what I read,” she confirms to me and I just nod my head.
“How long does it take you to write a book?” I ask her, amazed.
“The last book took me a month because I was consumed by it,” she admits. “And this book is taking me a bit longer because she’s falling in love.”
“Spoiler alert,” I snap, and her laughter just fills the boat. “Okay, but like your next book comes out next month. You wrote it already?”
“I did.” She nods, confirming it to me. “Two years ago.” I put my hand over my mouth. Her hand comes out to grab my arm and bring it down. “If you want, I can get you all the books I’ve written that aren’t published.”
“Beatrice, do you know who this is?” I ask, and she just yawns. “It’stheCooper Parker.”
She shakes her head. “I have so many questions, yet I don’t know where to start.”
“How did you start reading me?” she asks, and I shrug.
“I was scrolling Instagram one day, and then I saw this little clip of a story, and I got sucked into it.
“Um.” I get up. “Wait here,” I tell her and turn to run back into the cabin, going to my bedroom. I open the drawer and take out the special book that I don’t touch. I walk back upstairs, and she’s talking to Beatrice about something. “Okay, don’t freak out.”
“Never start a sentence with don’t freak out,” she teases me, and I sit back in front of her.