When the Heart Falls(50)

We spend the morning in bed, reliving the best memories of the night before and making a few new ones. By late morning we’re both starving, and so we dress—bummer—and enjoy breakfast on the patio of our hotel. Everything feels brighter, more alive, today; even the food tastes more amazing.

Cade takes a bite of his bagel, chews and swallows, smiling at me. "Did you get a lot written this morning?"

I nod and sip my juice. "You must have inspired me!"

The sun is warm and the air smells clean, the kind of clean that can only come after a storm. Another parallel to life—that we need storms to clear out the debris, so the sun can shine even brighter the next day.

Cade's hand reaches under the table and rubs up my thigh. "I have more inspiration in me, if you need it."

So tempting, and yet… "I might need a few hours to recover from your last motivational exercise." Le sigh. If only I could spend my life in bed with Cade.

"A few hours. I can handle that." He pulls his hand away and resumes eating. "So, what happens next with your book, once you finish it?"

"That's the million dollar question, isn't it?" I think back to all of the rejection letters I've received. "It used to be an aspiring writer only had one choice. Submit query letters to agents until someone signs you, then wait while they pitch your book to publishers and hope for the best. Most books don't get published, and the few that do only stay on the shelves for six months before being pulled, unless they become bestsellers."

"Sounds like a frustrating career choice," he says.

No kidding.

Talk of publishing has ruined what's left of my appetite, and Cade is already finished.

He stands and offers his hand to me. "What do you want to do today?"

I join him, my hand engulfed in his. "It's such a beautiful day, maybe we can go to the abbey and enjoy the gardens? I wouldn't mind getting some more writing done, if that's all right?"

"Sounds good. I have a book on the history of architecture in Paris I can read."

I nudge his ribs. "Thought you already knew everything there is to know about that particular subject."

He puts his arm around me while using his free hand to scoop up our bags as we leave the courtyard. "There's always more to learn."

We walk in silence for some time, enjoying the budding flowers and old buildings.

Cade seems lost in thought and startles me when he speaks. "Architecture isn't quite as difficult a field to break into as publishing. But still, I worry I won't make it. How do you keep going with such daunting odds? What will you do if your book isn't picked up?"

My stomach clenches at his question. "There are other options now. The world is changing. It seems writers no longer need the Big Six to get their books to readers."

"The Big Six?"

"The six biggest publishers, actually I guess five now, since two of them merged."

"Then what's changed?"

"EBooks. Writers can now self-publish their books online and those books are available to millions of readers."

"So, it’s like they're skipping a step," he says. "They're skipping the book deal."

"Exactly. And some self-published authors are making a lot of money. They're getting print only deals with big publishers now, though it looks like even print options are expanding for indie authors."

"I thought they weren't getting any deals." Cade looks a bit confused, then shrugs. "This publishing stuff is a lot more complex than I imagined. You know all this stuff about books, and I just know I like reading."

"That's the whole point. I need to know more about books than you, just as a magician needs to know more about magic tricks than his audience.” I wave my free hand in the air as if conjuring spells.

Cade stops and pulls me toward him. "You're like a puppet master, pulling our strings with your stories."

I put on my best menacing face. "I know how to manipulate your very emotions. I can make you cry and cringe and turn red with fury. I can remake your soul."

His hands grip me harder, passion vibrating in his body. "I think you've already remade my soul, Winter."

Our kiss lingers, tender at first, a small flame fanned into building intensity.

My vision spins when he lets me go. "You sure you're not the one working magic on me?" I ask.

With tender fingers, he brushes a strand of dark hair from my eyes. "I think we're working magic on each other."

It only takes a few more minutes for us to reach the abbey entrance, and we're just in time for a guided tour where we learn a bit more about its history and get to finally see the inside. Though not as impressive as I’d imagined, its lack of spectacle is what gives it such a historic, authentic feel. It’s stone, with tall pillars and open spaces. The different architectural styles mix to form an eclectic look. Our tour guide ends up talking more about himself and his time living in England than about the abbey, so most of what I learn is from Cade, which suits me just fine. Hand in hand, we kiss often as we walk through our own fairytale setting.

After the tour, we find a shaded spot in the gardens to relax. I pull out a blanket from my backpack and spread it on the ground, and we stretch out on it.