I just about tear my clothes and hers off right then and there, but I restrain myself. This woman is going to be the end of me, and now that she’s back in my life, I’m going to enjoy every delicious moment.

Chapter 27

Scarlett

The next week is a whirlwind of Ryan, edits, writing, publicity emails, rinse, and repeat.

The draft for my cover comes in, and I have to check the calendar to make sure it’s not April first, because there’s no way it’s not a joke. It’s just a blue bicycle on a black background with BECOMING in big, bold letters at the top and S.J. FALMOUTH in smaller, bold letters at the bottom. Before my brain can even process the email, my phone rings. It’s Trina, thank god.

“I don’t know whether to laugh or cry,” I say by way of greeting.

“It’s not good.”

“‘Not good’ is an understatement,” I correct her. “Please tell me this is concept art and not the real thing.”

Trina makes a little ehh noise that tells me I’m not going to like what she’s about to say. “They labeled this as final.”

“The bike in the book isn’t even blue! You cannot possibly be serious.”

“Listen, this is your boyfriend’s doing, not mine. He’s the one who handed the info off to design.”

She keeps talking, but my mind snags on the word boyfriend. Is he my boyfriend? Do I want him to be? We’ve been spending time together, but we haven’t been together again that long. Or do we count the time before? Between? Never mind that it’s been the week of my life, with publishing updates and Ryan almost finished with this round of edits and him coming here or me going to his place most nights to read and talk and touch like we’ve both been starving without one another.

At least, it was the best week of my life until this disaster landed in my inbox.

“Hello? Earth to Scarlett?” Trina’s tinny voice cuts through my thoughts.

“What? Sorry. I was distracted.”

“You don’t say,” she deadpans. “I was just saying I’ll call who I can, but you might have better luck going straight to Ryan. Unless you want me to contact him for you?”

I can tell from her tone that she’s fishing for information. I haven’t told her we’ve been spending time together again, but she knew he brought me food, so she probably has an idea.

Groaning, I rest my forehead on my palm. I do not need an existential crisis on top of a design one today.

“I’ll call him,” I say simply.

“Uh-huh,” Trina intones.