Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 130255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
“Not often, no. Why?”
I fidgeted with the keys. “You might think it’s stupid that I’m offended by what you said, and I can understand why you think that, but just because I can’t physically see, speak to, or touch the characters in my book doesn’t mean they aren’t real, Max. To so many people they’re real. The young, widowed mum I wrote was real to the twenty-five-year-old woman whose partner was killed while on duty in Afghanistan and left her alone with their one-year-old son. That book gave her hope that one day she’d be able to find love again.”
He held my gaze, not moving a muscle.
“The two best friends who went on a road trip and broke down outside a seven-hundred-year-old castle were real to the fifty-three-year-old woman going through chemotherapy for breast cancer for the second time.” I raised my chin a little. “The bookstore owner who had her heart broken by her fiancé and fell in love with an earl was real to the man sitting in a hospital waiting room while his father had triple bypass heart surgery. It was real to the siblings caring for their mother while dementia destroyed her life. It was real to the university student who needed to read something other than law textbooks when it was exam season to save their mental health.”
Max swallowed, and something darkened in his gaze, almost as if my words were getting through to him.
“Romance needs a happily ever after, but that doesn’t have to mean that love is enough. It’s not about the ending. The characters I meet on page one are completely different people to the ones I say goodbye to on page four-hundred-and-two. It’s about the journey. People want to relate to the characters in a book, even if it’s fantasy or paranormal and the laws of physics don’t apply. They want to be mad at their stupid decisions and shout ‘I told you so’ when it all unravels. People want to read about a spoilt heiress slowly coming to recognise her own prejudices and fall in love with the guy who made her see things in another light.” I selected the front door key and held it up. “Romance novels aren’t just about falling in love. They’re about friendship and self-discovery and growing as a person while you fall in love. That’s what makes them so bloody good.”
I turned around and unlocked the door, cracking it open just a little bit, then turned around. Max was still standing there, looking at me with his head titled to the side just a little bit.
“Maybe you should try reading one,” I said, gripping hold of the door handle. “You might understand how something fictional can be so real to people then.”
On that final note, I stepped inside the house and shut the door behind me, then moved well away from it so I wouldn’t be tempted to look through the window.
Naturally, I went upstairs and peered out of one of the spare bedroom windows instead.
Max’s chin was lowered, and it seemed as though he was looking at the ground. His shoulders rose and fell with what I could only assume was a sigh, and I bit the inside of my cheek.
Had I overreacted?
Been too harsh?
Maybe.
Was I living the very thing I’d just explained to him? About people growing? About the journey?
Maybe in writing this book, I had a journey to go on. Maybe I ended up here because Max had one, too. Maybe we both had lessons to teach each other.
As he got in his car and drove towards the big house, I let out my own little sigh.
Well, that was the end of that little inspiration experiment.
And the results were not good.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MAX
Reality Bites
Grandma was sitting in the library with a bowl of gummy sweets and popcorn, reading a book that looked as though it was as old as I was.
“What are you reading?” I asked, hovering by the door.
“Fabio,” she said without looking up.
“It says the author is Laurie Smits.”
“Fabio.” She tapped a finger against the picture of the long-haired, shirtless gentleman in a very dramatic pose on the front cover. “He’s a pirate in this one. I must have read it a hundred times, but I just enjoy it so much.”
I frowned. “Isn’t it boring?”
“Boring? No.” Grandma adjusted her reading glasses and looked over at me, then set her book down. “What’s wrong with you this morning? Did your date go badly with Ellie?”
“It wasn’t a date,” I replied. “But it didn’t go well, no.”
She pointed at the sofa opposite her. “Sit.”
I sat.
It was really the only thing to do when she told you to.
“What happened?”
I glanced at her book. “Is that real to you?”
“The book? It’s not imaginary, Max. You can see it.” She tapped it against her hand. “Feels pretty ruddy real to me.”