Aude had been horrified by the paucity of Noa Callaway materials I’d given her to distribute before today’s meeting. She’d muttered in French for half the morning. I kept hearing the word disgrâce. Maybe Aude should have become Noa’s editor—maybe she’d have excised the manuscript from him already.

“We know Lanie will get the manuscript out of Noa . . . eventually,” Patrisse says at the podium, and the room laughs uneasily. “Until then, we’re moving forward with our standard, successful plans for marketing Noa’s books across all platforms. Let’s consider this a developing story, shall we? Unless Lanie has news for us?”

My chair squeaks as I stand up. This wasn’t planned, but I can’t walk out of my first sales conference as an editorial director looking like I don’t know what’s going on with our company’s biggest book. I’ve been running through my conversation with Noah on the Gapstow Bridge for weeks. I remember everything he said.

“We have a working title,” I announce on a whim, locking eyes with a suddenly perked-up Sue. “Two Thousand Picnics in Central Park.”

I know as soon as it’s passed my lips that it’s a knockout title. There are murmurs in the conference room.

“I can run with that,” Brandi, our cover designer, says, making notes in her tablet. “With Callaway’s name on the cover, it sells itself.”

“It’s going to be a very special book,” I promise the room. “It’s a love story spanning fifty years. And the characters?” I smile, picturing Edward and Elizabeth holding hands across their picnic table. “They’re incredible.”

“When are we getting the manuscript?” Sue asks, knowing I can’t dodge the question in front of the whole company.

“May fifteenth,” I say as confidently as I can. Just in time to keep my promotion.

“You’re certain?” she asks. “That’s already pushing our production schedule to its limits. If we have to move to fall, that will change the budget considerably—”

“It would be a nightmare,” Tony from finance calls at the back of the room.

“You’ll have it,” I vow. My heart is racing. I sit back down.

As Patrisse moves forward to the next slide, I pull out my phone under the conference table, and compose the email I’ve been reluctant to send.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: April 13, 11:51 a.m.

Subject: Edward and Elizabeth

Are they finding their way?

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: April 13, 11:57 a.m.

Subject: re: Edward and Elizabeth

I was just about to write to you!

They’re coming to life.

Could we talk through the character arcs? I’d love your thoughts before I get too deep.