The Last Person

My jaw drops.

“The first people showed up an hour ago.”

There’s a line. A long line of people waiting to come inside.

“No …” Mira quickly retrieves a tissue from her purse and presses it to my tears before they mess up my makeup. “No crying.”

“Oh my god …” I whisper, taking the tissue from her. “This isn’t my life.”

She grins. “It is. Now … go get ready. You’re about to be bombarded with fans who adore your writing. And after today, they will adore you too.”

I take a seat at the table just seconds before the first smiling face sets her book, my book, on the table and gushes about how much she loved it.

After three hours of signing books, taking photos, and occasionally fighting back tears of joy, the last few people file into my line.

I can’t even see straight by this point. Mira has been setting books in front of me with names on sticky notes.

“Just a signature,” she says, handing me the final book.

“You sure you don’t want it personal—” My gaze inches upward to the last person in my line.

Him.

He looks bulkier, like he’s put on some more muscle. His sculpted face has a few days’ worth of dark stubble on it. But that grin … it’s indescribable.

“I think it’s already personalized to me.”

It is. The book’s dedication reads:

For Eric,

You were right.

Of course I made the dedication when I felt certain I would never see his cocky face again.

“Hi,” I whisper, unable to fight my grin.

“Hi.”

“I … take it you two know each other?” Mira asks.

I nod, unable to take my eyes off him. Unable to reel in my grin.

“Okay … well. I’m taking off. You did great today, babe. I’m so proud of you.”

Peeling my gaze from Eric, I stand and give Mira a hug. “Thank you. I thought we were going to dinner.”

She pulls back and smiles at Eric for a brief minute. “Um … no. Something came up. I’ll see you for your Manhattan signing next week. I just wanted to be here for your first one.”

I nod and squeeze her hand before she turns and disappears around the corner, leaving me and my old nemesis alone in the corner with a small table, a banner, and a few nearly dry pens and markers.

“Wow …” I sit back down, feeling the need to hide under the table … maybe crawl under it. “It’s been …”

“Five years.”

I nod. “Yeah. How are you? What are you doing in Chicago?”

He holds up the book and points to my name. “I heard Anna Black was going to be here signing books.”

I grin and nod. “I had to let B. Ashton go.”

“Well, I need your signature. I came all this way …”

Laughing, I take the book and sign it. “You didn’t really drive here just to see me.”

“I did.”

I hand him the book and find it hard to maintain eye contact. “Well, I don’t know what to say. I’m flattered. Surprised. Um …”

“Happy?”

“Yeah.” I play with the markers, tapping them on the table. “I’m happy. Or do you mean happy to see you?”

“Both.”

“Both …” I whisper, again, willing my eyes to look at him.

“Can I talk you into dinner? Since I came all this way for you.”

I chew on my lower lip.

“Or do you have plans. A husband? Kids? I guess a lot can happen in five years.”

“Do you?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. No husband. No kids.”

On a giggle, I stand. “I’d love to have dinner with you.”

“And drinks. We have to celebrate your big day.”

I slip my purse onto my shoulder and walk beside him to the door.

“One drink. I have to keep a level head.”

“Three drinks, and I’ll do all the thinking for both of us.” He opens the door for me.

“You’re not getting me in your bed tonight, Eric Fucking Steinmann.”

He barks a laugh at my endearing name for him as we stroll toward a restaurant I like just down the street. “Oh, Anna Banana … we both know public restrooms are really more our thing.” He laces his fingers with mine and I know I’m in trouble.

* * *

The End