Rhett

I’ve never put much credence in things like fate or destiny, but when I saw the chalkboard sign outside a bookstore in Seattle this morning, I had to take a second.

TONIGHT ONLY!! NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR AYLA CALDWELL 7-9PM!!

So here I am, in the backroom of a bookstore amongst a standing room only crowd, waiting for Ayla to take the podium up front. The room is alive with energy and the readers around me, ninety-eight percent women, are chatting up a storm, all of them clutching hardcover books with Ayla’s name printed across the front.

Someone’s passing around a shoebox, notepad, and pencil, and people are scribbling down questions for Ayla to answer. The woman running the show says she can’t guarantee Ayla will have time to get to all of them, but she’ll answer as many as she can.

The box almost skips me, but I reach out for it. The woman handing it off apologizes, saying she assumed I was here against my will with my girlfriend.

I tear a piece of paper from the notepad, jot down my question, fold it in half and drop it in the shoebox.

Five minutes later the lights dim, and the lady in charge ushers Ayla to the front of the room. The dull roar of women’s voices ceases to exist. They’re all in awe, eyes glued as she takes the podium. A select few, who probably stood in line since this morning, have seats up front, but I’m in the back of the room along the wall, generously obscured by several dozen fangirling women. There’s no way Ayla can see me.

“Hi, everyone,” Ayla says, offering a nervous titter. Her cheeks are slightly flushed. She hates public speaking, I can tell. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

“Ayla, we love you!” a woman shouts beside me. Another one beside her whistles between two fingers. Ayla shields her eyes and stares toward the back of the room.

Jesus, ladies, shut the hell up.

I don’t want her to see me.

I don’t want her to know I’m here. Not yet.

She begins with a reading from her book, Hard Hearted. I’m not sure what the book is about, some love story. I don’t pay attention to the words; only her. The women applaud when she’s finished with the passage, and she gives a little backstory on how the book came to be, how many rejections she received, and how she refused to give up because she had so much faith in this story and wanted to share it with the world.

The lady in charge hands her the shoebox, whispering something in her ear before returning to her seat.

“You guys want me to answer your questions?” Ayla asks with a smile.

She’s met with a collective, resounding, “Yes!”

“Okay, I’m just going to draw a few random ones,” she says. “So I’m really sorry if your question isn’t drawn tonight.” Ayla digs her hand into the box, mixing up the little scraps of paper before retrieving one. “Okay. Was Hard Hearted based on anyone you know in real life?” She places the paper aside. “Hm. Not ... directly? Maybe a culmination of several people? I just wanted to write a book about someone who was hard to love, but who wanted to be loved more than anything in the world. I feel like I’ve come across a lot of those types in my life, so writing about James felt like second nature almost, like we were old friends. And maybe bits and pieces of Stassi are based on me, but it isn’t direct or intentional. It just sort of happens when you write. You can’t help but put yourself in the character’s shoes, and sometimes they think and say and do the things you would think and say and do in their situation.”

Ayla digs into the box, retrieving the second question.

“If you had to cast the characters in a movie, who would play them? Oh, fun question. Definitely Ashley Graham for Stassi. Probably Ryan Gosling for James.” She moves onto the next. “Will there be a sequel to Hard Hearted? Yes! Kind of. It’ll be a spin off based on all new characters but set in the same world. It’s actually finished and will be released this May. The seventeenth I believe. And it’s called Cold Hearted. These are great questions, you guys. Thanks for not putting me on the spot like the group in Omaha did. Their questions got super personal, and I was not prepared for that.” The readers laugh, and she gives them a wink, reaching for the next one. “Since redemption seems to be a theme in your book, I’m curious—what’s the most unforgiveable thing you’ve ever done to someone you love? And do you think you deserve to be forgiven?”

Ayla’s hand moves to her throat, and her eyes scan the question—my question—again. Her smile fades in and out, like she’s trying to figure out if this is some kind of joke.

It isn’t.

I want to know.

She clears her throat. “Well, first of all, I didn’t write the book on love. I don’t claim to be a love expert.” She laughs. “But yes. I’ve hurt someone I loved. We met, I lied by omission, and I let him fall for me. When he found out, he decided he didn’t want me in his life anymore. Do I think I deserve to be forgiven? I don’t know. That’s not for me to decide. Only he can make that call.”

She sits the paper aside, and even from the back of the room, I can see her hand trembling as she takes a drink of water.

She knows I’m here.

“Okay, next question,” she says, forcing a smile.

I don’t stick around.