yours, doesn’t it, throwing me away?”
He stared at me in disbelief, and shook his head. “Look, let’s just separate these two things, okay? First, I’m sorry I hurt you back in high school. Trust me, Michelle, that was the last thing I wanted to do. But—”
“I wasn’t good enough for you. I didn’t read the right kind of books for you, did I?” It had always been the reason I figured he’d dumped me, because while Brooks read the classics, I always had my nose in romantic stories of heroes and heroines, and happy-ever-afters.
Brooks looked dumbfounded. “What? Michelle, I never said or—”
I held my hand up. “Forget it, okay? I have.”
“Clearly not.”
I glared at him. “Let’s just stick to the important stuff. My book.”
He took a deep breath and stared at me. Then he shook his head, opened a drawer and took out a stack of papers. “This book?”
My eyes widened. “Not shredded, I see.”
He gave me a look I couldn’t read. “You’re writing as . . . Mia Mapleton?”
I nodded, my throat tightening as the rejection went through my mind. I had put my heart and soul into that book. “You hated it.”
“No, that’s not true, Michelle. The book was good. The writing was excellent, in fact. But it was just . . .” He trailed off, probably finding it hard to be so harsh in person.
My heart pounded. “It was just what?”
“It was just . . . unbelievable. Our readers need to be able to believe in our books—”
“Cut the sales talk, Brooks. What is so unbelievable about Once Upon a Date?”
He slid his glasses down his nose and rubbed his eyes. He looked tired. I was glad.
“Life just isn’t like you put in the story, Michelle. Romance isn’t all hearts and flowers, and violins playing.”
I looked him in the eye. “It can be.”
“Not in my opinion.” Brooks at least had the decency to look uncomfortable. He set my manuscript back down and switched his attention to my laptop. “So, you say this is yours?”
I nodded. “The laptop is mine.”
“This is your sticker?” he asked, tapping the high heels.
“Yes.”
His expression showed he finally understood. “So that means . . .”
I let out a sigh. “That the fairy-tale evening you had last night was with me. And don’t even bother trying to deny it was magical, Brooks Keller, because I know you felt it, too.”
A small smile played on his lips, the same lips, I suddenly remembered, that I had kissed last night. The same lips I had kissed a million times before.
“Uh-oh. I’m in trouble. You’re last-naming me.”
I smiled in spite of myself. Brooks and I’d had our fair share of arguments while we dated, and he always knew when he was in trouble because I would use his full name.
“Michelle Moss. I can’t believe that was you last night,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Maybe I should’ve known. I mean, you would think that, er, some things would be so familiar that . . .”
“You mean like kissing me?” I supplied.
He nodded. “Yes, exactly. How could we not have known?”
“Oh, believe me. I had no idea. I mean . . . not a clue. In fact, in a million years I never would’ve—”
“I get it,” he said, holding his hand up and a line formed between his eyebrows. “Where did you disappear to after, well, you know? I went to the table to get your laptop, and when I got back to where we’d been standing, you had disappeared.”
So that was where he’d gone. “Family emergency,” I said.
“Everything okay now?”
I shrugged. “Resolved enough.”
“That’s good.” He nodded, and slid the laptop across the desk toward me. “Look, I’m sorry about your book, Michelle. But, it really was good.”
“Just unbelievable,” I pointed out, even though my modern fairy-tale romance novel could totally happen in real life. In fact, last night would’ve made a great chapter two.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said, clasping his hands in front of him and leaning forward. “Rewrite it with real characters in real situations, and I’ll take another look.”
“You mean, make it cold and heartless, like you?” I grabbed my laptop and stood. I was getting upset again, and I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I’d done enough of that over Brooks in my teens. I wasn’t going to start again now that I was twenty-seven.
He stood. “I didn’t mean to make you upset. I wanted to give you another chance.”
“Well, thanks for nothing,” I said, my throat