Page 41 of Book Bae

“It’s great. People are always looking to travel. I guess the best part of it is that a couple of months ago, I landed exclusive contracts with some major event planners who hosts these author events. I used to land a deal here or there, but now I’ve got exclusive rights for the next three years. That feels great.”

“Congratulations. How did you manage to land that?”

“Networking and offering deals that no other travel agencies were willing to. That’s in part because they don’t know how huge these events can be, and partially because they don’t have respect for the literary world.

“Either way, besides substantially boosting our revenue, having the option to help them with booking hotels and other reservations helps me feed my reading fetish and meet so many authors. I’m still tripping that you’re who you say you are. I mean, how didn’t I know it?”

“You said that you don’t do mystery and crime fiction, and I don’t recall seeing you in any of the workshops that I participated in, and you damn sure didn’t come into the conference room where my book signing was held,” he replied.”

“I mean, why? I genuinely wasn’t interested, no shade.”

“None taken.” He chuckled. “I haven’t allowed my face to be seen except for the rare event that I attend or at my private signings. When people take pictures with me, they not only sign an NDA, but my face is blurred out or covered. You wouldn’t have known unless you came to one of those workshops or my signing.”

I laughed so hard that tears leaked from my eyes. I wiped them away.

“What’s so funny?”

“Can’t believe that I thought you were in security.”

“I did nothing to dissuade that either.”

“How did you end up wearing that shirt?”

I laughed as he told me the story about the ice cream fiasco and the women whistling and catcalling when he removed his shirt.

“How did you get into writing?” I asked.

He told me about his love of writing since he was a kid, his college career, and his journey to becoming published, including all his denials, before the conversation circled back to our current situation.

“When is your next appointment?”

“Next Wednesday.”

“I want to go.”

“I’d love that.”

“I want to attend all of your appointments if I’m free.”

“I would love to have you go with me, Micaiah. She’s your baby, too, and—ooh!”

“What?” he asked, jumping up from his chair the minute that I grabbed my belly and rubbed.

I was always amazed at feeling her move inside of me. What started off as a tiny flutter in my belly gradually transitioned to a tussle as the weeks passed.

“Nothing’s wrong. She just gave me a nice little kick.”

He stared at me in amazement as he stood by my side. “Here, sit beside me,” I instructed, reaching to tug on the chair beside me.

He moved the chair and frowned at me. “I know this is a first time for you, but I’ma say this one time and one time only—don’t ever try to move anything as long as you’re pregnant. You ask me to do it. If I’m not around, get someone else to do it, but not you.”

“Okay, daddy.”

“I’m dead ass, Myraj. I’m not playing.”

“Okay, I get it. Ooh, she kicked again. Are we going to argue, or do you want to feel her?”

“Can I?”