Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
I can only imagine how proud Keats must be feeling. I can’t even contain myself around him and have had a blast celebrating this huge achievement. The cake decorated with the cover for hitting the bestsellers’ lists last week made him laugh, but he didn’t hesitate to scoop a bite right out of it. He devoured the miniature novel cookies I had customized for signing another book deal a few weeks back. And this morning, the English muffins were toasted and buttered before I branded them with a personalized novel just for him. He smiled just before I found out he doesn’t even like English muffins. He was only eating them because I do. He prefers bagels.
That’s important information to know, especially about the man I intend to marry and have a brood of children with. Okay, maybe not a brood, but a couple of little poets running around would be nice.
The line shifts forward several feet, flowing between stanchions before we enter the store. Did I have to stand in line to have my Poet sign my book? No, but it’s fun to be a part of the excitement.
The woman in front of me is flipping through her copy when I lean over her shoulder, eyeing the dedication she’s reading. “I read an early copy,” I whisper as his biggest hype-woman. “It’s as good as you’ve heard. He’s an incredible storyteller.”
Angling to include me in her circle of one, her smile is so welcoming that I just want to hug her. But my fear of being considered obnoxious keeps me firmly in place. Some people just aren’t huggers. Those people don’t include me, but I can respect boundaries. Closing the book, she tucks it behind her arms, leans in, and whispers, “He’s my son.”
“Keats?” I sound like a dummy, but I add, “Keats Matthews?” She’s younger than I would have imagined, but so little has been shared, mainly highlights from the past few months of them having dinner here and there. The line moves forward toward the door, taking us with it.
My instincts tell me she really is his mom by the pride I find reflected in her eyes. “I’m Sosie—”
“Keats’s fiancée.” Marvel highlights the golden centers around the pupils, which is a direct match to Keats’s coloring. She doesn’t seem shy about how her gaze bounces so unabashedly from my face to my hair to the book I’m cuddling in my arms. “He’s told me about you. I should have recognized you from the photos, but I must admit you’re even more beautiful in person. You make a beautiful couple.”
My heart feels tight from her sweet compliment. But it’s the other part she mentions that most interests me. “He’s shown you photos of me?”
Her laughter is so genuine, with a little bellow from her throat as she taps her chest. “Don’t get me wrong. I love seeing all of them, but Keats is enamored and over the moon in love with you. So I’ve seen lots of pictures of the two of you and the ones he has of you on his phone.” Touching my arm, she says, “I’ve also seen some of the photos you’ve taken. You have such an artistic eye for capturing the world.”
“I think you’re my favorite person right after your son.” Seems my Romeo is off telling the world about me, as if he could be anymore charming. I wish I knew more about her, though. Keats treats their relationship as new and developing. It’s become something he’s enjoying, and he looks forward to their get-togethers. “He’s going to be so happy you’re here.”
The doors are open before us, and when we’re ushered to the first employee, our books are marked as paid as we’re shifted inside the store. I can’t see him until I stand on my tiptoes, and then just barely because someone decided to wear a giant sun hat indoors. Patience may be a virtue, but it’s not one of mine.
With the line flowing, I spy Professor Johns already seated toward the front with his copy of the book on his lap. He waves, making me roll my eyes at myself. Here I thought I was more covert. Apparently, I’m not at all.
I wanted to sneak up on Keats. I was evasive today and have tried to be the perfect ninja for this surprise. But as soon as I pass a bookcase taming the line, the intensity of his eyes reaches mine. And then every other part of my body is enticed by his attention as if he verbally commanded it.
All while standing with his mother. So naughty it almost makes me feel guilty. Almost.
And then his eyes land on the woman next to me. The swift close of his lids isn’t lost. Neither is the smile that follows. When we’re finally standing in front of his table, I let his mom go first. I’m excited to see him, but I get him to myself later.