Back Love Lettering
Chapters (30)
  1. Praise
  2. Also by
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright Page
  5. Dedication
  6. Chapter 1
  7. Chapter 2
  8. Chapter 3
  9. Chapter 4
  10. Chapter 5
  11. Chapter 6
  12. Chapter 7
  13. Chapter 8
  14. Chapter 9
  15. Chapter 10
  16. Chapter 11
  17. Chapter 12
  18. Chapter 13
  19. Chapter 14
  20. Chapter 15
  21. Chapter 16
  22. Chapter 17
  23. Chapter 18
  24. Chapter 19
  25. Chapter 20
  26. Chapter 21
  27. Chapter 22
  28. Epilogue
  29. Acknowledgments
  30. Teaser Chapter

It’s nice, that she feels this way, that she takes what I do so seriously. But if this is the problem, she’s definitely overthinking it. A fundamental quality of my work is its impermanence. Sure, my planners are inked, and sure, clients could always page back through and admire a particular spread. But really, the point of the planners, of the calendars, is that you make your way through them, that you check off the days and turn the page. That you move on.

I open my mouth to reassure her, but then I have a thought.

A memory.

What if you made it more fun?

It’s not the first time I’ve thought of Reid since Saturday night—his low, serious voice and his stern, handsome face, his secret eyelashes and his soft swoonsh of pleasure. Each letter I’d sketched had been a reminder of the fun we’d had, the game we’d played. But inevitably, I’d remember those last, painful few minutes in the coffee shop, the way we’d left it up in the air, and I’d try to put him out of my head for a while.

But now, I cling to the memory of him in the restaurant, to the walk we’d taken, working out our rules. Without saying anything to Lark, I reach my hands out and messily gather the nine sheets of paper toward me, wrinkling a few. She makes a small noise of distress, but I ignore it, hastily stacking the sheets.

“Okay,” I say. “We’re going to try something.” I look toward the front of the shop, see that Lachelle’s leaning over the counter, casually flipping through a supplies catalog, and I call out to her. She rushes back as though she needs to rescue me from the purgatory I’ve been in, and I give her a grateful smile before explaining my plan.

The rules I make are messy, a bit nonsensical. We each get three sheets, and we’ve got ten minutes—only ten minutes, because I don’t want Lark getting trapped in another decision vacuum—to make some kind of flying projectile out of each one. After the time is up, we’re all going to stand in a line behind this table and, one by one, launch them out into the shop.

The two that go the farthest?

Those are the ones I’ll use for the initial lettering treatments.