Unlucky In Love (3 page)

I clapped my hands together to break the
moment. We didn’t have time to cry. “Okay. Let’s get to work. I
wrote out my thoughts on the book I read, so help me check if this
makes sense. After all, you’re the one with an English Lit degree.
Might as well put it to use since you decided not to take that
teaching job when you found out you were pregnant again.”

“Thanks for reminding me.” She laughed. “I
was thinking … after the baby is born, maybe we can add an editing
service. I can proofread the books, then you can critique
them.”

Goosebumps ran down my arms. This was going
to work. I could feel it. “That’s a great idea.”

For the first time in a while, I felt happy.
I smiled as I walked toward the kitchen to make another pot of
coffee, thinking,
I could do this. I could live my life without
Dick Embers
.

I sat in the fiction area of the library, as
close to the mystery section as possible, reading a new
romantic-suspense novel that Makeda, the librarian I’d met on the
first day, had suggested. Or Mak as I called her, which drove
Angela crazy; I had a habit of nicknaming people.
At
least
the names weren’t usually derogatory. I just had a
difficult time remembering names, and it made it easier for me to
remember people when I shortened their name or nicknamed them by
what I thought about them.

Mak and I had become friends over the last
few months, which was unusual for me. Other than Angela, I’d never
really had friends. Not since my high school and college years
anyway. When Mak saw a great book she thought I’d like, she’d set
it aside, knowing I’d be in after I dropped Eric off at school. I’d
pretty much been coming early and leaving early, so I had time to
build my blog posts before I picked up Eric from school. To get in
more reading time, I’d just been sitting in the parking lot and
reading while Eric practiced. Previously, I’d drop him off and
drive home, but that was an extra half an hour a day … and more
gas.

When I added up the hours and miles, I
realized I was wasting almost ten hours, plus more than fifty
dollars in gas monthly, which meant I could read one to two more
books a month with my time savings, and feed us for a week with the
gas savings.

I’d been trying to post a review every day,
but … I was running out of new books. The library had plenty of
books, but not a lot of new books, and that’s what my readers
wanted.

I’d only been blogging for a month, but
already I’d learned what my readers wanted and made more friends
than I’d ever had. Albeit they were virtual friends, but in some
ways, they were more real to me than the girls I’d known in
college. Maybe it was because we were behind a computer
screen.
That way we could be more forthcoming. Whatever
it was, I liked it.

In fact, after chatting with one of my new
online peeps this morning, I decided to set up my blog early and
come to the library at
lunchtime
, hoping to
bump into a certain dark-haired book aficionado. Not that I had any
plans to suggest we hang out, but I’d reviewed the book he’d asked
about. While I’d been setting up my post for tomorrow, I thought of
how I’d approach him if I saw him again.

I would smile, walk over to him as though he
were just another customer I was doing business with, and then hand
him the business card for my website, as though I’d been reviewing
books for years. Then I’d saunter off, leaving him with something
to think about.

Dick may not have appreciated the fact that
I kept myself in good shape, but I was sure some men would. After
all, I was thirty-four and I could still fit into many of my
clothes from college. And as Angela had said, I hadn’t even had to
take drastic measures with hair color yet. My dark hair had natural
bronze highlights from the Florida sun, which did a great job at
hiding the few gray hairs that were starting to sprout.

“Hey …”

Completely lost in my thoughts, I jumped at
the deep male voice, toppling backward in the chair I’d been
leaning back in as I looked up at the handsome stranger who stood
peering
down at me. I struggled to get my
chair upright, my legs flailing as I also attempted to hide the
sweeping
romance novel I was reading.

“I got ya,” he said.

I blew out a breath, my heart thrashing
inside my chest, as though I would have fallen a thousand feet
instead of three. I had a terrible fear of heights, so I wasn’t
comfortable falling, no matter how short the distance.

So much for being smooth and
confident
.

“Thank you,” I choked out, then attempting
to get back to my original plan of being aloof and nonchalant, I
said, “Oh, hey … it’s you. I was hoping I’d bump into you today. I
read that book you asked about.”

He tilted his head, and I immediately felt
like an idiot.
Of course,
he didn’t remember
me. Why would he remember something so trivial as handing a book to
a stranger in the library? Whereas I’d been thinking about him and
his request for a month.

Slightly irritated, but still nervous, I
said, “The … new book … by James Patterson.” My voice cracked as
though I were a teenage girl inviting the star quarterback to a
Sadie Hawkins dance. Feeling stupid, I reached into the side pocket
of my purse and pulled out my card. Regardless of how I felt, I was
going to try to send more viewers to my website. “I review books
for a living. You asked me to tell you if the book was worth
reading.” I handed him my card.

Angela and I had spent days designing the
cream-colored embossed
card, and yet,
Mr.
Forgetful
had accepted it without even looking at it. But maybe
that was because his eyes were on me.

He smiled. “Oh, yeah. I’ve been wondering
about that one.”

Hmm
, I thought, wondering why he was
pretending not to remember. Surely this conversation had to strike
some memory of our meeting. But I kept my opinion to myself.

I shrugged as if I really didn’t care.
“Well, it was pretty good. You can read the review on my website if
you like. I never give spoilers.” I gathered up my purse and
collection of books, then sauntered off. Okay,
scampered
was
probably a more accurate term, but
at least
I
held my head high instead of looking like the rejected mousy
teenager that I felt like.

“Hey,” Mr. Forgetful called from behind me,
“I didn’t catch your name.”

“Jana,” I said without turning around,
catching Makeda’s eye. She smiled, and I flashed her a wink as I
sauntered — yes, sauntered — out the sliding glass door that led to
the parking lot and then quickly jumped into my truck before I
caved on my decision just to give him my card and walk off.

Right from the beginning, I’d given my
ex-husband everything. I’d been enamored with him, and I hadn’t
even played a little hard-to-get. It wasn’t that I wanted to play
games; I didn’t. But with all of the books I’d been reading, I
decided there was something attractive about a mysterious woman, a
woman who didn’t throw herself at a man. A woman who made a man
work
for what he wanted … so he’d appreciate
his catch.

And for the first time in my life, I felt
like I was in control of my destiny. Felt like I was going to be
all right.

Well, other than nearly tipping over
backward and cracking my skull, but everyone had to start
somewhere.

***

As much as I wanted to go back to the
library at
lunchtime
the following day, I
waited. And then the next, and the next, I made sure I was long
gone before lunch.

“Hey, Makeda! You have anything good for me
today?”

Mak shook her head. “Sorry, girl. You’ve
read us out of our new books. I’ve never seen anyone read as many
books as you do.”

My shoulders drooped. What was I going to
do? I’d made
a whopping twenty-five dollars
on
my site last month. Although I could see it inching up, it was a
slow process. I definitely didn’t have the budget to buy a book a
day.

I sighed. “I don’t have a lot of other
things to do. My son stays busy fifteen hours a day. And the more
books I write reviews about, the more people I have that come to my
website.”

“Girl, I didn’t know you reviewed books.”
Mak whooshed her long obsidian-colored braids over her shoulder. I
loved the relaxing
clicking
that the beads made when she
ambled around the library, returning books and helping readers find
something. I imagined that some day, a little girl would hear the
familiar sound and be transported back to her early days of
discovering books.

I tilted my head at her statement, though,
wondering what difference it made. “Does that mean you have more
books?” I laughed. “Does the library keep a secret stash for book
reviewers?”

Mak spurt out a laugh, then covered her
mouth as she glanced around the quiet library. “You don’t have to
check out books or buy them, Jana. If you’re a reputable book
blogger, a
uthors’ll
send them to your
doorstep.”

Now I really was confused. “Why would an
author send me a book?”

Mak leaned over the
counter,
but then stood upright again. “Linda, watch the
desk for a moment, will you?”

Linda left her task of checking in books and
came out to the front counter.

Mak walked around the desk and took my arm,
leading me to the shelves of romance books. She ran her index
finger along the spines, and then pulled down a book with a
beautiful bright blue cover. “I was waiting to show you these …
until I had an idea of what you liked.”

I trailed my fingers around the edges,
anxious to dig in. “I like to read almost everything.”

Mak giggled quietly. “I noticed. But …
that’s my book. And I like to make sure someone will enjoy it
before I recommend it.”

“Your book?” I flipped the book over, and
sure enough, Makeda’s beautiful smile lit up the back flap. I
hugged it to my chest. “I can’t wait to read it. I’ve never met an
author before. How exciting.”

Mak flicked her hand upward as though she
were waving away a gnat. “Girl, I’m just me. I’m published by an
independent publisher. And there’re a lot of us Indie authors. As I
was saying, just put a link on your website for authors to submit
their books to you, and you’ll get more books than you can
read.”

I scanned the first few pages, glancing at
the copyright page and such. It looked like every other book I’d
read. “I hate to sound naïve, but that just doesn’t make
sense.”

Mak shrugged. “Authors need reviews.
Especially new authors. But I’ll warn you
upfront
, not all independent and self-published writers
should be authors. There are a lot of great ones, but there are
also a lot of poor writers who choose to self-publish but don’t
spend the time or money to find an editor. We have authors bringing
us books all the time, so we’ve learned to check them out first.”
Mak leaned toward my ear. “You know, you can’t always judge a book
by its cover — good or bad.” She laughed softly, then headed back
to the front counter.

I reached to the shelf and pulled down the
rest of the books with Makeda’s name; it appeared they were part of
a series, which I loved.

Toting the three books, I headed to the
checkout
desk
and pulled out my card. “I’ll
have all three book reviews up on the site in the next few days.
They’re available on Amazon, right?”

“They are,” Mak said. “And thank you. I’ll
look for them, and … I’ll make sure I share.
Of
course,
that should go without saying, but not all authors
understand that we help ourselves by helping others. There are a
lot of readers out there. It doesn’t hurt my book, one little bit,
to recommend other books. In fact, I usually pick up readers, as
those readers and authors end up sharing my books. It’s just like
the circle of life.” Mak focused her gaze on me. “You want me to
send some authors your way?”

“Would you?”

“I’ll post your info on my Facebook fan page
and Twitter account when I take my lunch break.”

“Thanks, Makeda.” As Mac had said …
You
can’t always judge a book by its cover — good or bad
. I’d
befriended a librarian volunteer, not knowing she was an author who
might be able to help me get the word out on my website. I gathered
up my books and turned to leave, but spun back to her. “Hey, does
anyone call you anything but Makeda?”

She flashed her signature smile, the same
one she wore for her author profile picture. “My friends call me
Mak.”

“I like it! Thanks, Mak!”

I sat across the table from my
date,
Declan
. Although Angela and Paul hadn’t actually mentioned that
they’d planned to have extra company for dinner, it was clear that
I was being set up.

Not that Declan wasn’t good-looking or nice
enough, but I’d told Angela a hundred times that I wasn’t ready to
date.
It had
only been a few months, and I was
busy trying to run a new business. The last thing I needed was
another man in my life to worry about.

But Declan did work with Paul at the
computer software company, and Paul was a good guy, so who knew? I
definitely wasn’t going to be rude. Not rude to Declan, that is.
Angela, on the other hand, she’d get an earful from me
tomorrow.

“So, Jana,” Declan said with his slight
brogue … That was one characteristic I found absolutely endearing
anyway. I hated to sound cliché, but an accent just seemed to make
a man more attractive. “Paul said you review books for a
living?”