I really want to share this with her.
There’s more applause, and I realize Clementine’s done with her reading, and I quickly join in the clapping. After, Beth takes questions, and I force myself to clear my head and listen, knowing I’ll regret it if I miss out on her wisdom.
“Where does the inspiration for your work come from?” asks a woman in a green sweater, twisting a long strand of pearls around her fingers.
“Pretty much everywhere,” Clementine says with a smile. “This story in particular was inspired by a similar mishap on one of my vacations. Another woman took my suitcase by accident, and it made me wonder what it would be like to stumble into someone else’s life when you’re most in need of a change. Everything kind of spun off from there.”
Green Sweater looks satisfied, and Beth takes the mic from her and hands it to a woman in a sleeveless denim shirt whose chunky rings flash in the light.
“How does your husband feel about you writing romance, specifically explicit sex scenes? Not that I’m complaining.”
“Well, neither is he,” Clementine says with a wink, and everyone laughs and applauds.
That’s when I hear it—the familiar jingle of bangle bracelets. I crane my neck and sure enough, there’s Jasmine, casual and beautiful in a soft pink sweater and jeans, her dark waves cascading over her shoulders.
She’s here.
She’s here without knowing how I feel. She’s here without knowing if I’m still with Chase. She’s here without knowing if I want to be friends or girlfriends or kick her out of my life completely. She’s here and she’s beautiful and she’s so fucking brave, braver than I’ve ever been.
My hand flies into the air.
“Yes! The barista!” Clementine Walker says. “You have a question?”
“I do.” My voice is shaking so badly and it’s awful and embarrassing and forces me to take a deep breath as the whole room turns their eyes on me while Beth brings me the mic. “Do you ever … I mean, have you ever…” Another breath, and this time, I meet Jasmine’s quizzical gaze, watch the way her teeth gently tug at her lip, and I steady. “Has the love interest ever turned out to be someone other than who you originally planned? Because I’m writing a book, and I had this great couple all planned out, but I can’t seem to get my main character as interested in him as she is in her roommate.”
Clementine smiles knowingly. “That’s the thing about characters—you think you’re in control, but even though they’re fictional people, they tend to have their own minds. I think of it as the most amazing blessing when my characters tell me what they want, even if it involves a whole lot more editing than I planned! Did you know in The One That I Haunt, Zach’s brother Tate was actually supposed to be the love interest? But once I realized that Zach and Angie’s bond over their cats was going to be an unbreakable one, I changed paths, even though I was halfway through the draft and two weeks away from deadline.”
There are gasps, and you just know they’re all from empathetic writers.
“I know, right?” says Clementine, and she’s chuckling as she wipes her forehead in a mock show of cleaning the sweat off her brow. “I can’t believe I did it either. But just because you’re telling a good story doesn’t mean it’s the right story. And I think it’s really important to tell the right story.” She looks right at me and answers so brightly that it’s clear she can’t tell my world happens to be turning upside down at that moment. “It sounds to me like the roommate is a relationship worth exploring.”
“Yeah,” I say slowly, picking out Jasmine in the crowd. “I’m pretty sure the roommate is my story.”
I offer her a slight smile.
She offers one back.
And then we wait.
The event I’d been anticipating for weeks suddenly feels interminable, and when it’s done, Jasmine takes her time making her way over, looking almost scared of what she’ll encounter when she finally reaches the counter. “You’re writing again,” she says by way of greeting.
“I am. I got inspired, I guess.”
Her smile is quick, and then she’s playing with her fingers in a nervous way I’ve never seen from her. “Listen, Lara, I’m sorry for springing all of that on you at Homecoming. That wasn’t the right way to talk about … any of this. I can’t blame you for not reaching out afterward.”
“I couldn’t,” I tell her.
She casts her eyes down. “I know.”
“I was busy.”
She nods.
“I had to tell my mom I’m crazy about a girl. I had to break up with Chase. I had to tell my friends. It’s been a busy weekend, to say the least.”
Her hands freeze, and she looks up. “Are you screwing with me?”
“I feel like you should be saying something more romantic to me right now,” I say, disentangling one of her hands so I can twine my fingers with hers. “Weren’t you just telling me something about being in love with me? Something more like that.”
“I am,” she says softly. “So fucking in love with you.”
“Yeah, I know the feeling.” I rise onto my toes and press my lips to hers, and bozhe moi it feels like coming home. It’s like our last night together all over again. I’m free and open to show her exactly how I feel, and I can’t believe how long it took us to get back here. But we’re here, and we’re kissing, and—
There’s a loud cough in my ear, and I step back to see Beth giving me a Look.
