A Fresh Start

Chapter 3

Grace presented her invite with a thumping heart and was waved inside.

She took a minute to check that everything was perfect. She might have worked behind the scenes for only a day, but she had put out fires and made it all as perfect as she could. She’d done her best, and it looked damn good.

Grace turned and looked around for the man of the hour.

She knew what he looked like. She had memorized his features from the book jacket.

She saw him, and he was unmistakable. It wasn’t just that the photo, if anything, didn’t quite do him justice. It was also the aura around him.

Grace believed that all things were possible, so she had an open mind. She didn’t quite believe in auras and vibes, but she, philosophically, often reminded herself that she didn’t know enough about the universe to discount it completely.

If anything could make her believe it, it was Alan Barden. He was tall and handsome, but there was something about him that drew her eye irresistibly.

He was uncomfortable. She saw that immediately, in the way he worried the stem of his glass of wine. She saw it in how he refused to meet anybody’s eyes. It wasn’t surly. He just wasn’t a man meant for crowds.

But he was a man who drew them, unfortunately for him. He was compelling.

Rachel seemed to materialize at his side and took control, quickly seating him behind a desk and asking everybody to please be orderly to get their books signed, and form a line.

Grace didn’t get as ahead in the line as she wanted to. She had been struck by that first glimpse of her favorite author of modern times and it took a few precious seconds for her to move into position.

People around her chatted, and she chipped in with a remark or two. If her phone rang, she didn’t know it. She wouldn’t have cared if she had heard it, either.

Since it was an invite-only event, the line was short. Rachel had apparently held a couple of small contests on special fans’ forums despite his wishes being stridently against it. She had screened the winners personally so that the shock wouldn’t be too much for him.

Grace hadn’t known that. She quickly struck up a conversation and got the names of the forums.

One of the women, Maria, was very friendly.

“Oh, I’m a moderator. We try to keep ourselves low key – you know, we don’t want to be besieged by imbecile fan girls, though we are, of course, fans. We consider ourselves discerning fans who know how to respect boundaries. With social media, most ‘fans’ nowadays seem to be one small step away from being stalkers.”

Grace nodded, though she did enjoy social media, too.

“Alan Barden loves his privacy. He hates discussing his books, doesn’t he? I was told there would be a reading, too, though I wouldn’t be too surprised if it got canceled.”

Maria shrugged.

“Rachel was very careful not to promise the reading. Most of the regulars know her. She comes online and chats with us quite often. Of course, she divulges no personal details. But we get advance copies to review, among ourselves. We were some of the first people to find the genius in his work when he got published, so she values our opinions. She tells us that Alan Barden does, too, but we’re not too sure about that!”

Grace chuckled.

“He does seem to be wishing he were anywhere else. It must be difficult, being in a profession that requires publicity when you hate it so much. But he is a wonderful writer. Nothing he writes seems tortured. The most beautiful of words seem to flow from him. But somebody once said that making it seem effortless is the biggest trick of all.”

Maria nodded enthusiastically.

“There are passages where you can see that he might have spent too much time making it too perfect, don’t you think?”

Grace raised an eyebrow.

“Is there such a thing? I think perhaps being a perfectionist, he simply can’t help it.”

Conversation wound down as they got closer. She could now hear the author.

He was polite, but didn’t say anything more than he had to. He smiled when he remembered, but scowled just as often, perhaps more often.

He might be a brilliant writer, thought Grace, but he wasn’t good at selling himself. Unless, of course, he preferred to sell himself as a moody writer. That did have a market, too. She knew that.

Grace felt butterflies fluttering harder and harder as she got close to the head of the line.

She must say something witty, she thought, frantically. It might be the one chance she had to speak with him. She might be getting fired for this chance.

She had to make it count, she simply had to.

When it was her turn, all thought seemed to leak from her head as her rich, dark eyes met his deep green ones, she felt as if the world stopped for her. She stopped breathing, even.

His hair was perfect, she thought – chestnut waves that were just a bit too long, but perfect for him. The face looked like it had been sculpted by a master who’d had an exceptionally good day. But the eyes… She felt as if she simply couldn’t look away.

“Hello, I’m a huge fan. Could you sign this for me?”

He took the book from her. Their fingers didn’t brush.

He opened it, and looked up at her again. Grace felt herself shiver.

“What should I write?”

Grace smiled.

“Anything.”

“What’s your name?”

Grace shook her head, trying to clear the fog.

“Grace. I’m Grace.”

“Well, then.”

He wrote:

To Grace, Good or bad, what would the best of times or the worst of times be without you? Yours, Alan Barden.

She looked at the page where he had written and the words danced in front of her eyes.

“Being bad Grace now, it’s Maria’s turn next,” said the famous author, his voice losing the tense nerves for a moment and sounding amused.

“Oh, right, sorry,” said Grace, feeling her face burning.

She had embarrassed herself. Suddenly, instead of tall, curvy and proud, she felt frumpy, big and loud, not to mention clumsy and a bit dim. Her one chance to meet him, the chance for which she had risked so much, and she had embarrassed herself by acting like a fangirl.

Exactly the kind of behavior that somebody like Maria would look down on, realized Grace, feeling even more let down.

She walked to the table and got herself a few canapés. When she felt a bit worthless, she always ate.

Feeling like she deserved a bit of liquid courage, she got herself a glass of wine and had it filled to the brim, too. She sat there, alone, and sipped.

Finally, she opened the book and looked at the page where he had written a note, just to her. No matter what, that had happened. That was important.

She could deal with it as good grace or bad. She would choose good.

She straightened her spine, squared her shoulders and raised her chin just a bit.

So what if she had babbled a bit, or maybe frozen some? When you build something up in your head so much, things like that were bound to happen. There was no use beating herself up about that.

She’d just managed to get herself to believe that when her phone beeped. Before she could think about it, she answered.

“Grace, where are you! I need you in the office!”

It was Katie.

Well, Grace didn’t feel like taking any more crap that day.