She’s two years post-breakup and still guarding her heart like it happened yesterday, but there’s no way Celeste is missing out on a chance to meet the faceless author who wrote the books that changed her life and her art career.
We all have that book series that holds our heart together when the world tries to tear it apart, and for Celeste, that’s the Colors of the Soul Series by J.T. Rose. She’s not only a super fan, but she’s also gone viral for the art series she’s painted around the stories.
Celeste has one goal in mind: put a face to the pen name, and just when she finds herself on an elevator with a woman who fits her theories about the author’s true identity, she’s sure she’s about to have her chance.
Instead, she finds her night and her dress ruined by a very handsome, very rude man who just can’t seem to stop running into her.

👀 Dual POV | 🍪 Sweet Romance (no spice, kissing and some angst) | 🏡 HEA

Chapter Guide

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven

Meet the Author

Divinity Rae (she/they) is a romance and fantasy indie author, multi-passionate human, professional yapper and self-proclaimed wielder of whimsy. When she’s not writing or rushing to the theater so she doesn’t miss the previews, you can find them with their face in a book, playing their switch, or doing a fun cozy craft.

Divinity writes stories action, spice, and heart that explore themes ranging from grief and love after loss to low stakes meet cutes and kisses.

Here on the newsletter you’ll find her books, author updates, personal reflections, and film and culture commentary.

Author’s Note: If you’re new to the story, you can start here for TW’s, an in-depth intro, & complete chapter list. This is 18+ adult fiction.

The haptic clicking of the glowing screen clacks beneath my fingers as I send the message off with a whoop.

I swipe the screen to share my location. Stretching out on the heavenly soft premium bed sheets is the real luxury after being cramped up in economy for 6 hours.

I’m not usually one to fly. I find the whole ordeal of heights rather terrifying, actually, but my favorite romantasy author is going to be at this event. It’s the first and only event she’s ever done. I can’t miss it. I’d never be able to sleep again knowing I could have my books signed—that I could finally meet her…

It’s not as parasocial as it sounds…

“Okay maybe it is a little parasocial.” I shrug, “I did bite a chunk out of my savings to willingly board the flying tube of death for a faceless author who barely even posts on social media—an author who’s never even shown their face online anywhere. And now I’m also talking to myself because that’s totally normal.”

I turn over, burying my face in the pillow. Why am I so nervous?

My phone chimes.

It chimes again, back-to-back in Kerry fashion.

An easy smile spreads across my face. The only thing that could have made this trip better is her being here with me. The announcement was so last-minute that I barely managed to get tickets myself.

I send off a GIF of Rihanna twerking to appease Kerry. I won’t be shaking any ass, unfortunately—though I have plenty at my disposal. I only came here for one thing. A chance to meet J.T. Rose. To see the face behind the words that made me brave, made me cry—that even awakened some things in me.

I just want a chance to say thank you. If I hadn’t read the Colors of the Soul series, I’d still be stuck with my art project. Well, I guess I’m kind of stuck again. Painters block. I’m a couple of months from finishing this last scene from book five, but I feel like there’s still something missing…

I haven’t had any inspiration to touch it in weeks.

I have to admit that a small part of me hopes that this little getaway might help with that. Most of art is not the doing; it’s the living, and if I’m honest, this is the furthest I’ve been from my bedroom or my art studio all year.

It’s not that I’m an introvert; I love people in moderated doses, especially bookish people. What I don’t like is the sympathetic looks. It’s my own fault for being so public about my breakup. Six years of my life, flushed down the drain in a single night. He didn’t even pretend to fight to get me back.

It’s odd—even when I was the one making the hard decision, I still felt disposable. I think I had this hope that he’d wake up one day different… changed, and realized my worth and all the effort our relationship took and tried to win my heart back. That never happened with us.

I sigh, rolling over onto my back, staring at the ceiling. The ache in my heart is gone for the most part. But it hasn’t so much as skipped a beat for anyone ever since.

Palming my phone, I flip it over and pop open the case. The tattered piece of printer paper falls out and onto my chest. A laugh escapes my lips. I remember buying a printer just for this receipt. It was the first time I could afford to make a purchase that big on my own without needing his help. My ex never believed in all my art stuff, as he would call it. He was always so annoyed that I was locked away in my studio fantasizing about my book worlds.

This single painting of Greyson, the main male character of the series, changed my life forever. I wrote an entire essay on it that got featured in a digital magazine, and some collector started bidding on it before it was even finished. In all my years of selling my art, I’d never seen that many zeros on an invoice. That money gave me the ease I needed to really slow down in life. Without it, I probably would have never been able to see how wrong my ex was for me.

“Anonymous.” I read the name on the ledger aloud with a chuckle.

I may not ever get to meet the reader who changed my life, but at least I’ll finally get to meet the woman who made all of this possible with her stories.

An alarm buzzes on my smartwatch. Registration is about to begin.

The halls are buzzing with excited faces and shy waves from other attendees.

I skip the first elevator, walking down another length of doors until I find an empty one. I wouldn’t have chosen the twelfth floor for myself, but I had to take what I could get if I wanted to stay on-site.

The elevator door opens, and I almost freeze. This one is glass. I wanted to ride alone just in case I freaked out, but I couldn’t be more grateful to a gorgeous woman holding a stack of books waiting for me to step on.

I step inside, hoping I don’t look as uncomfortable as I feel. I comfort myself with the thought that elevators exist because someone who looked like me invented them. I don’t know if my ancestors would approve of the glass, but the small sense of pride calms my nerves enough.

The woman greets me with a wide, sweet smile, and I return one of my own. All the awkwardness dissolves. That’s the thing I love about these kinds of events. There’s always this sense of safety and belonging. I’ve only ever been to local book signings, but even then, I get to be my nerdy self in these spaces. I get to make friends like me—I get to find my people.

I select the lobby button on the elevator panel, admiring the gold foiling on the spines of her books and the view. It’s breathtaking, even if heights aren’t my thing.

I look around for something to say, trying to keep my nerves at bay as the elevator starts to descend. The titles of her books catch my eye again—titles igniting my favorite topic.

“I love those books.” I finally say, “I’ve never seen those covers before.”

“Oh, these? They’re the special editions going on sale tomorrow.”

“No way!” I practically scream, “I love this series; is this—is it like some kind of surprise drop for the con?”

“Yes, a limited run, actually. Once they’re sold out, they’re gone,” she turns them over, showing off the intricate sprayed edges. My fingers itch to touch them.

“How did you get your hands on them before the sale?”

She smiles but doesn’t answer. My stomach drops as we go down another floor.

Who else could have them but the author herself?

I’ve spent more time than I’d like to admit online trying to uncover the mysterious identity of J.T. Rose—hours trying to guess her name. Janet? Janiece?

The elevator dings at the 5th floor. My heart races a little faster—my theory has been that J.T. Rose is a Black woman. Her writing captures the experience of the series Black FMC in a way that only comes from the intimacy of living them.

I really take in the woman next to me this time. No matter where in the world we come from, Black women always know each other. Our vibe is irreplaceable, and she’s definitely got it.

“How rude of me—I’m Celeste. What’s your name?” I ask with more hope than I realized I was holding.

What if this is the moment I get to meet her? Not at a crowded table. Here, where it’s just the two of us, if she’s not busy, maybe I can pull out my phone and show her the art piece her books inspired.

The elevator dings at the fifth floor, and to my dismay, it stops. The doors crane open as a man barges right in between us. No excuse me, no nothing. Just spreading his man-ness all over what could be the coolest moment for nerdy fantasy readers everywhere.

“Ah, Jenna—there you are.” He says to her, barely sparing me a glance. I cross my arms, glaring at his distracting figure. He almost looks too large to be in here with us. He almost looks too gorgeous to be anywhere. His deep brown skin is probably more flawless than mine—I doubt he’s the kind of man who uses a 5-in-1, not with that delicious cologne wafting off him. The rude man is speaking so fast, out of breath like he’s been running—wait…

Jenna…

My heart hammers in my chest as the guy yammers on about something—boxes—tables—whatever!

Her name is Jenna.

I consider myself a somewhat brave person. Confronting a bully. Standing up and speaking out for what I believe in. But cutting into an ongoing conversation might as well be a fire-breathing dragon guarding a hoard of social swagger I just don’t have.

I nurse my disappointment in silence the way I always do. I sigh, trying to coax myself into taking the moment for what it is. Somehow, that’s the thing that gets the man’s attention. He turns to face me. The glance is as quick as the sudden silence. Ousted. Just like that. It’s like he’s decided I don’t have the clearance to breathe the same air as Jenna. The elevator finally opens to the lobby.

I don’t know who this guy is or how he knows her, but I try to shoot my shot one last time.

“It was nice meeting you, Jen—” the words are nearly knocked out of me as the elevator’s yappiest man pulls her away from me.

Did he—did he just shoulder check me?

Stunned by his rudeness, I stay rooted to the spot.

He looks back, as if he’s making sure I’m not following him.

Rude and arrogant.

He turns to say something to Jenna.

I watch as Jenna’s face contorts to suppress a smile.

Great, I’m probably the first reader ever to get roasted to her favorite author. A lot of people in this fandom know me from the painting; maybe he’s warning her that I’m a chronic oversharer too. I won’t ruin the surprise releases if that’s what he’s worried about.

Going up, the elevator sings.

The doors narrow with his eyes still glaring into mine. I don’t know what comes over me, but something hot burns in my chest—I want to bite this man. How dare he take this moment away from me? I glare right back at him, even harder. The rude man has the audacity to look somewhat amused as the glass box drags me away from the mysterious woman, who I’m sure is the author I came here to see.

I don’t know why or how I end up on the third floor. Exiting, I step into one of the quiet rooms to cool off before braving the first wave of fellow readers. It’s not enough.

I storm out of the room, letting the signs lead me down the winding marbled halls. “What kind of psycho smirks at a woman he’s clearly pissed off like that?” I turn into the stairwell. I hate the stairs. “If I ever see him again, I’m going to bite his head off.”

Next Chapter

Meet the Author

Divinity Rae (she/they) is a romance and fantasy indie author, multi-passionate human, professional yapper and self-proclaimed wielder of whimsy. When she’s not writing or rushing to the theater so she doesn’t miss the previews, you can find them with their face in a book, playing their switch, or doing a fun cozy craft.

Divinity writes stories action, spice, and heart that explore themes ranging from grief and love after loss to low stakes meet cutes and kisses.

Here on the newsletter you’ll find her books, author updates, personal reflections, and film and culture commentary.

Author’s Note: If you’re new to the story, you can start here for TW’s, an in-depth intro, & complete chapter list. This is 18+ adult fiction.

“No, it’s ok, I’m ok!” I huff into the phone, finally back in my room. I didn’t even bother to mingle after registration. This is a Kerry-sized emergency.

“He’s probably just one of those guys who holds up a book and cruises events, you know how these guys are, girl.” I continue, filling her in. “Or maybe he’s an assistant or cosplayer or something—I just can’t stand rude people. I’m over it.”

“Okay, girl, because I will Spirit Airlines my ass right over there and tell Mr. Tall and Yummy where he can stick it!” her voice projects through the speakerphone.

“I never said he was yummy—”

“You said he was tall and that he smelled good—it’s the same thing, Celeste.”

“I’m not doing your book math bullshit with you today.” I laugh, feeling more grounded. “I do wish you were here, though; there’s a little mixer tonight, and I don’t want to go by myself.”

“It’s been two years now,” her voice softens, “It’s time to get back out there. Don’t you want to meet your fated mate?”

“Fated mates aren’t real—and you know I’m not here for that.”

“Right—right, Ms. J.T. Rose,” she singsongs teasingly. I have no problem envisioning the exact way she rolls her neck.

I love knowing someone the way I know Kerry.

“Those books really changed my life,” I say, hanging my dress in the closet.

“And we were all grateful to see you leave that piece of shit boyfriend in the dust.”

“And he was all too relieved to be let go.”

“He never deserved you,” she reminds me. “And he wasn’t even that cute—and you and I both know he wasn’t anything to giggle about in bed.”

We both laugh until we’re cackling. “Book boyfriends raising the bar for women worldwide,” we say in unison as if we’re sharing the same brain cell.

“You still deserve your happy ending, CeCe.” I nod, knowing she also knows me well enough to understand the silence. “Life is more than just working on becoming your best self. Who you are now is worth knowing.”

“Arrrrggghh,” I let out an exaggerated sigh that turns into a laugh we both share again. “You’re insufferable when you’re right.”

“You’re cute when you’re growing,” she retorts. “ A fated mate can be a new friend, a new experience—whatever you need it to be… Although I do think you need some D!”

“Don’t start, Kerry!” I warn.

“Go to the damn party, you’re already there—or I’m going to set you up with someone myself when you get back home.”

“Fine!” I say, pulling the yellow dress back out of the closet. “I’ll shake some ass.”

“That’s my girl!” she cheers victoriously.

Kerry and I stay on the phone yapping the entire time it takes me to get ready. I style my wig into a middle part, pushing the long black locks behind my ears and placing an elegant tiara atop my head—the finishing touch to my Lily cosplay.
The pastel yellow dress fits me like a glove. The hint of blush on my cheeks and lips pulls the whole look together. There will be no mistaking who I’m dressed as.

Younger me would pass out to see me now. I didn’t have characters who looked like me to dress up as growing up—but now…

I swallow the emotion in my throat, taking one last turn in the mirror.

If only my Greyson were out there.

It’s not a sad thought. For the first time in a long time, the thought feels like hope as I step out the door.

I follow the signs to Hall H, stopping to hug and greet familiar faces along the way. One of whom struts by my side, looking fabulous as ever.

“I’m so glad I ran into you—wait, what’s your name? I only know your username.” BookishGoblin89 asks me.

“Celeste. She, her.” I say, reaching out to pair my proper introduction with a cheeky handshake.

“Axal—They, them,” they say in kind, as we both smile brightly.

“Yellow is your color, by the way—you look stunning!” Their accent is thick in the way that makes everything they say sound like a Shakespearean play.

“Me? You!” I say, “You are a vision in this emerald dream!” They do a quick spin, relishing in the compliment. And they are gorgeous.

“Ok, fine, we look great!” They make a show of tossing their cropped hair from side to side. “Let’s go put these drink tickets to work.”

Axal and I strut arm in arm, exchanging our plan of attack for the signings tomorrow as the music lures us into the ball. The high ceiling and fantasy decorations has truly transported us to another time.

I don’t know if it’s the lighting, the sound of the buzzing crowd, but the energy is palpable.

I did it…

It’s the only thought in my mind right now.

I got on a plane, flew away from my city, and checked into a hotel alone just for the chance to spend a weekend with the community that’s always made me feel like I finally have a place where I belong.

The gratitude is almost sharp enough to cut an onion in here.

One look at Axal, and I think they feel it too.

“Let’s stop over there before we sweat through our makeup,” They say, pointing at the large backdrop. It’s one of the scenes from the Colors of Soul series.

Axal and I stop by the photo booth. I didn’t expect so many people would want to take pictures with me. I didn’t expect to love it so much. Not the pictures themselves but the interactions—the connection. Not a single one of them looked sorry for me—not even those who recognized me from my oversharing online era.

“They should have had you paint something for this.” Axal muses, taking in all of the lavish decor.

“I couldn’t have done anything like this, especially not now.” I snap my mouth shut. I’m doing it again. Someone makes a simple comment, and I start vomiting my feelings all over the place.

“What’s going on?” They ask, stepping in closer so they can hear me over the building music.

“Nothing really, I don’t know why I said that,” I try to laugh it off. “How’s your book coming along?”

“Like shit!” They burst out laughing. “I’ve been staring at the same few thousand words for months now. You would not believe the things I’ve done to try to get out of writer’s block. I even went on a date with someone—it was terrible, of course! But I definitely know how I’m going to write the villain now.” Axal cracks up at their own joke, tinging the pale skin of their rounded cheeks pink. “Writing a book is so hard,” they finally sober, and I can tell they really mean it. “I just can’t seem to write the way the authors I love do, ya know? They make it look so easy.”

“Yeah.” I nod, feeling my shoulders sag a bit. “I do know.” I straighten my dress before daring to go on. “I’m stuck too. With my painting right now—I’m stuck; it’s like I have some kind of block. I spent months planning this and now—”

“Nothing.”

“Right.” I agree.

“It’ll come to you. For me too, hopefully. Art is a long game. Sometimes it’s just an experience away from a breakthrough.”

“I always say that too!” I perk up. “Art is in the living.”

“So let’s live a little!” Axal shimmies, waiting for me to decide.

“I didn’t plan on getting out there tonight, but I owe a good friend of mine a shaken ass!” I join them hand in hand as we head right to the dance floor.

After a few songs, I manage to slip away, signaling to Axal that I would be at the bar. The line is longer than I would like, but I sing along to the thrumming music, shifting in my heels, mindlessly passing the seconds into minutes as I wait for my turn.

“I’ll take a Shirley Temple, please—” I shout, finally handing my ticket over.

“Dirty?” The bartender asks. I know it’s a serious question, but I can’t help the giggle that escapes me.

“No, just the sweet stuff—extra cherries if you got ‘em.” I can’t help the smile that stretches across my face.

“You got it!” She smiles back warmly—she’s really cute, but I notice the wedding band on her finger. All the cute ones already have their happily ever after, it seems.

Longing mingles with the gratitude I feel. I didn’t come here looking for love, but it’s hard to be surrounded by it and not think of it at all.

“Grey is still a color,” I whisper the book quote to myself. “It’s the light finding its way back into the dark…”

It’s a quote from the Color of Souls series that lingers with me—it’s also the theme of the art piece I’m currently trying to finish.

Before those books, I was a really black-or-white person. Now, I’m learning to embrace the grey—to live in the beauty of the in between.

I turn, looking over my shoulder—Axal is still with the group of people I left them with, laughing and gesturing wildly with their hands. I laugh to myself, eager to know what the hell they’re talking about.

“Here ya go, darling.” The bartender hands me a cup bobbing with cherries. Just the sight of it makes my mouth water.

“Thank you,” I practically squeal, reaching for my drink with one hand and sliding a couple of loose dollars into the tipping bin with the other.

One second, my perfect drink is in my hand; the next, it’s on my dress as something wide and firm slams into me.

“What the fu—” I start to exclaim.

“Water—” A gruff voice shouts over me.

“Excuse you!” I shout back. He turns to face me, hazel brown eyes and thick brows only fanning the burn in my chest.

“You.” I glare at the man from the elevator. He looks down at me, almost like he’s surprised to see me still here. Did he expect me to run away from the little show he put on earlier? “Apologize,” I demand in a tone Kerry would be proud of.

His eyes trail down the length of my dress and back up to meet my gaze. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.

“Apologize, now.” I stand my ground.

“Jared—your water, man.” The bartender calls out to him, holding out a cup.

He takes the cup and turns on his heels, his long stride nearing a run.

“Oh no, you don’t!” I slip out of my heels, scouring the ballroom for somewhere to stash them.

I cross the room towards Axal.

“What the hell happened to your dress?” They ask, pulling away from the crowd and meeting me halfway.

“Some guy spilled my drink on me—this is the second time—”

“He’s done this before?” They ask.

“No—no, he was rude to me earlier today—it’s a long story. Where’s your phone? Someone owes me an apology.”

“Here,” they hand it to me, “sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

“No, I got it, I promise—” I tap our phones together. The screens blur and pop, our phone numbers exchanging. “There.” I save their number, handing their phone back as they do the same.

“You call—I come.” Axal promises. They tap their phone screen, sending a request to share our location.

“You’d better hurry—I think he’s getting away.” They laugh, pointing at a tall figure ducking beneath a door frame.

I slip out of my heels, storming in that direction.

“Go get him, girl!” Axal calls from behind me, cackling, and I suppose I look ridiculous, but I’m too pissed to stop now.

Next Chapter

Meet the Author

Divinity Rae (she/they) is a romance and fantasy indie author, multi-passionate human, professional yapper and self-proclaimed wielder of whimsy. When she’s not writing or rushing to the theater so she doesn’t miss the previews, you can find them with their face in a book, playing their switch, or doing a fun cozy craft.

Divinity writes stories action, spice, and heart that explore themes ranging from grief and love after loss to low stakes meet cutes and kisses.

Here on the newsletter you’ll find her books, author updates, personal reflections, and film and culture commentary.

Author’s Note: If you’re new to the story, you can start here for TW’s, an in-depth intro, & complete chapter list. This is 18+ adult fiction.

“Hey, rude man—wait!” I shout up the stairwell. “Get back here! You owe me an apology!”

“Shit,” He startles, peeking over the railing a story up from me.

“I said get—back—here!” I punctuate each word as I chase him up the steps. His feet quicken, picking up his pace. He must be taking them three at a time.

“So you’re not just rude, you’re also a coward!” I try to jab at him, anything to slow him down. I’m not particularly athletic, but I am an artist—quitting is not in our vocabulary. I keep going even as my lungs and legs protest.

The unmistakable sound of a door hinge whines open, filling the stairwell with a gust of fresh air. Where the hell is he going?

When I finally catch up with him, he’s just standing there in the doorway with that stupid look on his handsome face. For a moment, all we do is stand there. His chest rising and falling as heavy as mine. Does he even remember me from the elevator? I follow his eyes to the stain on my dress.

“It is such a pretty dress,” he says as if more to himself than me. His deep voice is much smoother when he’s not yammering at the speed of light.

“You ruined it.” I snap, stepping towards him. Nice voice or not, he’s irked my last nerve tonight. I walk him back and out onto the landing.

“No—don’t let!” The door snicks shut behind me as I place my hands on my hips. “Dammit—” he groans.

“Yeah, that’s right—you thought you were getting away with what you did?” I say, stepping forward, years of pent-up people pleasing, fighting its way to the surface. “If you’re going to come into our spaces—the least you can do is have some gods-damned respect.”

“Gods-damned?” He asks almost earnestly.

“See,” I point at him, “A real reader would understand that reference.”

“What makes you think I’m not a real reader?” he retorts.

I narrow my eyes, pointing my finger at his stupid, amused expression. “I don’t care if you read at a second-grade level—apologize for what you did.”

“I’m sorry.” He offers too quickly.

“No—” I shake my head.

“No?” he asks. I’m almost as confused as he is.

“Yes, no!” I say, doubling down anyway. My bare feet pace in place. He just watches me. Waiting. It’s unnerving. “I’m still angry,” I finally admit.

“I can see that,” he says evenly.

“Then apologize again—better this time.”

“I’m sorry I bumped into you and ruined your costume?”

“It’s not a costume—it’s cosplay—” I correct.

“Your cosplay,” he concedes. “I’m so sorry I ruined your cosplay dress.”

I pace, and the silence stretches.

“Better?”

“I think I need an apology for the elevator, too.” I gesture for him to keep going.

“I didn’t see you there—in the elevator, I mean. I didn’t see you standing there until I did,” he says, downing the water in one gulp. “My deepest apologies for that as well,” He smiles. He fucking smiles like he’s enjoying this. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you.” A pause as he takes me in again. “How could anyone miss you standing in any room…” he trails off.

I nod my head in either direction—he waits for my verdict as if he cares what I think.

“The dress is pretty, isn’t it?” I ask rhetorically despite myself.

“Stunning,” he agrees. He looks less rigid than he did a moment ago, and I feel my shoulders relax again. “And the apology?” he asks. The brightness of mirth does something to his face to make him more attractive; I mean, he was already attractive to begin with, but that smile—well, I can’t stop staring at it. “Is it everything you dreamed it would be?”

“I’ve had better,” I shrug.

This gets a warm chuckle out of him, and I can’t say that I hate the sound, but I cross my arms at him anyway.

“I truly didn’t mean to upset you. I know you’re a fan of—”

I let my arms drop immediately, the audible smack against my thighs stealing the words right out of his mouth.

So that was her. Jenna is J.T. Rose.

“Well, yes, I am a fan—” I admit as casually as I can. “But I suppose you gathered that when you dragged her away from me.”

Something like confusion brackets his eyes.

I see the moment he recognizes that I’ve figured it out.

To my utter humiliation, he laughs.

He laughs long and deep, the kind that has him leaning over to clutch his knees.

“What’s so funny?” I get out, crossing my arms once more as he stands up to his full height again.

“Nothing—for a moment I thought you—never mind.” A gust of wind blows the empty cup out of his hand and over the rail. The very tall, very high railing. I take a step back towards the door, realizing how high we are up here.

“Well, this was nice,” I say, backing away, only he’s the one stepping towards me now. My back presses against the cool metal of the terrace door. I press my ass against the handlebar, but the door doesn’t budge.

“It’s locked,” he deadpans, tilting his head to lower his gaze towards mine. “You got any apologizing you’d like to do?”

“Not necessarily,” I say, turning to try the door handle anyway. I press it again and again, but it doesn’t budge. I turn to see him standing still behind me.

Is he standing closer to me than he was a moment ago?

What the hell was I thinking coming up here?

I jab my finger at him, “Stay right there.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He says, lifting his hands in mock surrender, that smile returning to his face.

“I’m glad you find this so amusing—” I reach for my phone, “Shit—no signal.”

I return, rattling the door but it just won’t open.

A warm hand engulfs mine, trying to pry it away from the handle. I try to wiggle out of his grip—my hand slams right into his face.

The large man stumbles back. He groans into the pain, pulling his fingers away from his lips to make sure I didn’t draw blood.

“You know, some might call that rude—” He says in a low voice, arching a brow at me.

“I didn’t see you there—” I cross my arms, rolling my neck at him, “And you could be trying harder to get us off of here!”

“I’m exactly where I want to be,” he sighs, shaking out of his gray jacket and lying on it, facing the sky. “No one told you to follow me up here.”

“Well—no one told you to spill my Shirley Temple all over my dress.”

“Would you like another apology?”

“Arrrgh!” I let out, frustrated enough to cry—too stubborn to do it in front of him.

I pace, staring at him on the floor. There’s nowhere to go on this glorified balcony.

“I don’t bite—” he says, brown eyes peeking up at me when I don’t move.

“That’s what they all say.” I roll my eyes as I take a cautious step forward.

“Sit down.” His hand thuds against the ground twice.

“Why do you sound so bossy?” I ask, stalling. Something about being stuck up here with a man who looks and smells like that has all my senses on edge.

“Habit, I guess.” He shrugs, not bothering to meet my eye.

Ugh. I’m sure he’s all kinds of bossy. I start to walk away, maybe I’ll slump against the door and wait to be rescued. But then again. He hasn’t been anything other than inconveniently attractive and apologetic…

“Sit down—please,” he tries again. “You’re making me nervous now.”

“It’s too close to the edge—heights are not my thing.” I finally admit. I wait for him to tease me—to say something to deepen the unease swirling in my stomach. He just regards me for a moment before peering back up at the night sky.

“It’s not my thing either—none of this is...” His tone is warm. Sincere.

“You seem pretty relaxed to me,” is all I can think to say in return.

“Lying down—it helps,” he quips with a pointed look.

I roll my eyes, joining him on the ground.

He keeps his eyes firmly pinned on the sky as I awkwardly manage to lower myself. Neither of us speaks for a while. The minutes go by as the bass of the ball vibrates beneath us. It’s a beautiful night, and I should feel like I’m wasting it up here instead of down there with my friends, but this is—it’s nice.

I chance a glance at him. There’s a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth as if he can feel me staring, but he doesn’t return my gaze. It’s almost ironic that he’s wearing all grey—almost as if he’s styled like Greyson, Lily’s love interest in J.T.’s books. He turns to look at me, and I snap my eyes forward, shifting to get more comfortable. It’s a fruitless endeavor, especially when I can feel his gaze on me.

I squirm and shift, but it does nothing to cool the heat creeping into my face. He’s way better at getting stared at than I am.

“So, you enjoy the dirty ground often.” I word-vomit into the silence. Inwardly, I cringe, but it gets a rumbling chuckle out of him.

“Only when I’m avoiding huge crowds.” His smile wanes. “There are so many people here—so many enthusiastic women here—”

“And I’m sure it’s such a burden being that tall and good-looking surrounded by admiring eyes.”

“Good-looking, huh?”

“You’re pretty for a rude man—some women are into that—”

“And you? What are you into?” Something in his tone makes my stomach flutter. A feeling I can’t say I’ve felt in a long time.

“We’re not talking about me—we’re talking about you.”

He quietly regards me for a beat, something sparking in his eyes. Do I want him to push? Does he really want to know, or is he just being a guy?

He seems to swallow whatever he was about to say, “I didn’t expect it to be such a big event.” He almost sounds nervous again.

“It’s because of J.T. Rose. When people found out she was going to be here, the tickets sold out overnight.” I feel the lightness return to my voice. “She’s the reason I’m here.” I perk up, trying to still the butterflies in my stomach. I tap the back of my phone where I store my keepsake. “I can’t believe it’s really happening,” I say aloud, maybe more to myself than him. “I’ve been trying to figure out who she is for years—I sent her a message once. It was right after I was going through a hard time; her stories really got me through it. I’d never been so nervous to send something to someone in my entire life.”

I glance over and his eyes are already on mine.

“Sorry,” I laugh, “I didn’t mean to hog the conversation.”

He still doesn’t speak.

“It’s just, I know it sounds weird, but I really do believe that art can connect people in ways nothing else can. And those stories…” I stop myself from going on. “I just can’t wait to finally meet her.”

“I hope the big reveal doesn’t disappoint everyone.”

“How can you say that?” I scold him, “Did you not just hear anything I said? Those books have changed people’s lives—they changed my life—made me believe in myself again. They made me believe in love again!” My mouth snaps shut. But it’s too late. The confession is one I’ve silently carried for over a year now.

He doesn’t respond. And I don’t know what’s worse, not knowing what he’s thinking or that he might have the audacity to say it.

The chilly air nips at my skin, chattering my teeth. Or maybe it’s the sudden rush of nerves. I have gotten so bad at this—maybe my ex was right… I’ve spent too much time locked away with my art that I’m just socially awkward now.

One look at the rude man and he doesn’t look nearly as bothered as I feel. He simply rolls off his jacket, draping it over me. The warmth of his body heat clings to the fabric, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Now that’s something a real reader would do—” I joke, pulling it more tightly around me.

“If your arms are cold, I know your feet have to be freezing too.”

“You’re not touching my feet,” I say, pinning him with a look.

“I only meant that I’m wearing socks and shoes—you are not.”

I narrow my eyes at him, but he’s right, my toes are rather frosty up here.

I nod—too proud to concede. He makes quick work of taking off his shoes. He pulls his foot out of the first sneaker without untying it; something that looks like a piece of paper falls out. His eyes dart to mine as he quickly tucks it back in. I avert my gaze, focusing on anything else but him. Something about seeing a man’s bare feet feels too intimate, even if he’s about to hand me his stinky socks. Or at least that’s what I thought he was going to do.

A warm hand wraps around my ankle, lifting it onto a muscular thigh. He tugs the sock on before doing the other. A shiver creeps up my spine again, and this time I know I can’t blame the cold. He slips back into his shoes, joining me on the floor again.

“What next, you going to offer to hold me so that your body heat will keep me from frostbite?” I tease.

“Do you want to be held?” He asks, something shifting in his eyes. Is he—is he flirting with me? Is it working?

I clear my throat, cursing Kerry to the book gods for telling me this man is yummy because—well, she’s so insufferable when she’s right. “How long do you think it will take for them to find us?

“They won’t.” He lets out a deep exhale. “We’re going to die up here,” he deadpans.

I dig into his shoulder with my fist from beneath his jacket.

“So violent!” He laughs. “And you wonder why I ran from you—”

“So rude!” I snark, “And are you really calling a black woman aggressive?”

“No, not aggressive. Powerful. Black women are powerful; some might be intimidated by that kind of confidence and unyielding will, but power recognizes power. I respect it.”

“Okay, what book did you steal that from?” I ask, only half suspiciously.

“Do I get my real reader badge yet?”

“Nope—not yet. Gotta tell me your favorite book first.”

“That’s hard. I have so many—”

“Oh come on—your reputation is on the line!” I urge him.

“Let’s do favorite genres,” he offers instead.

I side-eye him, but answer anyway. “Fantasy and Romance.”

“Good choices, but that’s two—you can only have one.” He says with a grin.

“How are you making up the rules now? I only went first because I knew you were going to be too afraid to do it.”

“The rules are the rules—no one knows where they come from,” he teases.

“Okay, if I had to choose, I would choose fantasy—as long as it has romance,” I add.

“So your answer is romance,” he chuckles.

“Of course, you would think loving romance is funny.”

“It’s my favorite too.” He confesses more seriously. “I love romance.” He adds with a shrug.

“I just thought you’d be a sci-fi guy.”

“Naw—romance guy, through and through.” He says, propping himself up on his elbow to face me. I join him. “I mean, who doesn’t want that kind of intimacy and devotion…Who doesn’t want their happy ending?” he adds.

“Yes, right... My favorite thing about romance stories is the make-up after the breakup.” I giggle at his scrunched-up face.

“So you’re willing to skip right over the meet-cute and right into the third act breakup.”

“Third act? Oh, you’re really trying to earn that real reader card from me, huh?”

“The meet-cute is the best part,” he insists.

“No, it’s not—it’s so unbelievable. The characters can’t know if they’re really meant to be in the beginning, and honestly, attraction doesn’t happen that fast.”

His eyes trace the planes of my face before holding my gaze again. “Respectfully, I disagree.”

I roll my eyes. “If you can show me a meet-cute, that’s actually good, and the real reader card is yours.”

He sits up straighter, embracing the challenge. “A handsome, strapping young man spills a drink on a beautiful woman at a ball. She chases him up to a rooftop where she unwittingly gets them stuck together, talking for hours under the stars.”

His gaze catches on my lips, and heat pools low in my stomach.

“It hasn’t been hours—has it?” I ask, barely recognizing the tone of my own voice.

“Semantics.” He shrugs.

“So what happens next in this little story of yours?” I dare to ask.

“Hmm—there’s a couple ways this story could go…” He puts on a very studious face. “First, they could die—freeze to death—she’ll be forced to eat his body for sustenance while she hopes to be rescued—”

“That sounds like a horror—I thought we were talking about romances?”

“Right—right—so no alien abductions then?”

“No—not unless they’re hot.”

He chuckles at that.

“Well, they could also realize what a good time they’re having in an otherwise awful situation and share a quiet moment of intimacy.”

“A quiet moment of intimacy? What are you? A chaste Victorian woman reading by candlelight?” Our mutual laughter echoes into the night, falling into the hushed, unsaid thing settling between us.

“I’m realizing what a good time I’m having—” he says, eyes searching mine.

“Me too—” I agree, wanting something I’m too nervous to ask for.

A beat of silence passes between us. How has this rude man made me feel so comfortable in such a short time?

“Can I show you?” He finally breaks the silence.

“Show me what?” I ask barely above a whisper.

“Why the meet-cute is obviously superior to the third-act breakup,” he straightens the dainty crown on my head, sweeping my hair out of my face, letting it linger there.

“You can try,” I answer, leaning into him. He doesn’t rush to meet me halfway. He lingers a breath away from my lips. Gently, he cups my face, his thumbs ghosting over the soft flesh of my bottom lip. Even before his mouth touches mine, I know this is a kiss I will always remember.

I expect it to be awkward, punishing, or clumsy, but it’s neither of those things. How rude of him… When his lips meet mine, it awakens something deep inside of me. Something hot and lush and heady. I whimper, trying to hold back the sudden rush of need. He groans in answer. It’s impossible that he should feel so good—but he does. His lips are soft and firm, coaxing me—patiently waiting for me to decide how far it goes. He brings us to a seated position.

Abandoning his coat, I pull him in closer, parting my lips for him. The soft roll of his tongue meeting mine blurs every line I should be drawing tonight. His hand finds the small of my back, pulling me into him. I hike my dress up, straddling his thighs. The sound he makes urges me closer as his hands roam the length of my curves, deepening the kiss, and nothing has ever felt so good. I kiss him the way the heroine does after a battle—I lose the rational battle with myself. I lose myself to the moment, finding the grey and diving in.

I slide deeper into his lap, bringing our bodies flush together. “Is this okay?” I ask.

“Yes—is this?” his hands bracket my hips as he aligns our bodies.

I nod. Half a decade with my ex and a single kiss has me questioning everything I think I know about my own pleasure.

“Beautiful.” He breathes, kissing down my neck, my clavicle. “I should be punished for ruining this dress.”

His lips find mine again. I rock my hips against him, writhing and ready. But he keeps his hands on my waist. I want them everywhere. I want him…

My hand drifts down between our bodies.

“Wait—I” he abruptly pulls away

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I stiffen, “I should have asked if—”

“I do, I just—There’s something I should tell you first,” he explains.

I wait, giving him the space to speak as my blood cools. He swallows, throat bobbing. “My name is Jared,” he admits with an unreadable expression.

“I guess I should at least know your name before things go any further,” I admit, cheeks warming. I bury my face into his neck, muffling the giggle that escapes me.

“Fuck—” he groans. “No, that’s not what I mean—” He takes a deep breath and pulls away, making me meet his gaze once again. “I’m Jared—I’m the—”

“There she is!” The first voice startles me right off his lap.

“We found her.” The second one is Axal. They tuck the loose waves of their bob-length hair behind their ear, taking in the scene. My dress is skewed, and he’s all but kneeling in front of me. “Okay, project search party is over! Nothing to see here!” They say, shooing the giggling crowd away.

I hang my head, letting out a nervous laugh. “It’s not what it looks like,” I try to explain.

“Sure, it isn’t.” They say, reaching for me next to a stunned Jared. “Let’s get you out of here—looks like you’ve had enough apologizing for the night.”

“It was a pretty good apology,” I murmur low enough so that only they can hear. Axal laughs, stepping into the stairwell.

“Hold on, gimme a sec, I’ll be right there,” I say, holding the door open as Jared finally rises to his feet. Dusting himself off.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow? At the event, I mean.” I ask, trying not to flush. I’m cool. I can be cool about this.

“Yeah—tomorrow.” He says, eyes still heavy-lidded. He reaches over me, holding the door open.

“After you,” he ushers me in the door.

“Just let me know where to find you; gotta get you those socks back.”

“I’ll be at booth 313.”

“Right, duh!” It’s the first booth on my list. Probably on everyone’s list. I’ll finally have my chance to properly meet Jenna tomorrow.

“Bring the dress, I’ll have it cleaned.”

“That just might earn you your real reader badge,” I tease.

He walks me to an elevator I wish I knew existed when I chased him up here.

“If the crowds are too much, just reach out to the ADA team. There are plenty of ways they can accommodate you. Just ask.” I tell him.

“I’ll do that.” He says.

The elevator dings, and I’m relieved that it’s at least a metal box and not another glass one.

“You’re not getting on?”

“No, I’m going to walk down.” He answers.

“Goodnight, Jared.”

He smiles, but I swear it doesn’t meet his eyes. “Goodnight, Celeste.” The doors start to slide shut, but he slides his hand between them. “Wait, I have to know—”

“Know what,” I ask, as the doors start to shut again.

“The meet-cute—superior or not?” he rushes out.

“Who’s to say—we haven’t broken up yet,” I get out just as the elevator doors close.

Next Chapter

Meet the Author

Divinity Rae (she/they) is a romance and fantasy indie author, multi-passionate human, professional yapper and self-proclaimed wielder of whimsy. When she’s not writing or rushing to the theater so she doesn’t miss the previews, you can find them with their face in a book, playing their switch, or doing a fun cozy craft.

Divinity writes stories action, spice, and heart that explore themes ranging from grief and love after loss to low stakes meet cutes and kisses.

Here on the newsletter you’ll find her books, author updates, personal reflections, and film and culture commentary.

Author’s Note: If you’re new to the story, you can start here for TW’s, an in-depth intro, & complete chapter list. This is 18+ adult fiction.

“Okay, tell me everything again, from the top!” Kerry’s voice riots through the speakers.

“She went up there to confront her nemesis and ended up sucking face—classic enemies to lovers!” Axal recaps as we get ready together in the large bathroom mirror.

“Next time you have to have your camera out Axal—I can not believe I’ve missed this milestone,” Kerry fake cries.

“Both of you are being ridiculous. We were just stuck up there—he was cute, so I went for it.” I shrug.

“Did she tell you she said, ‘See you tomorrow?’” Axal pretends to be scandalized.

“Oh, this is serious—” Kerry replies.

“I have the man’s socks—” I roll my eyes.

“The ones he took off his own feet and gave to you because you were cold?” Kerry repeats like it’s her favorite part. “Girl, that’s a proposal!”

“He was just being nice,” I say, applying my lip gloss. “He’s working the booth for one of the most popular authors here. He’s probably just trying to make sure I don’t get him cancelled.”

“With the way you’re blushing, I’d say it’s working.” Axal teases.

“Hey Kerry, did Axal tell you about the bartender she kissed last night? What was her name? Corine?”

“Traitor!” They pinch my side, laughing.

“You started it,” I pinch back. Spilling all the beans, “Yeah, that’s what took them so long to find me. What do they call it where you’re from, Axal? Snogging?”

“Bitch, I’m from New York.”

Each of us laughs until our stomachs hurt before saying goodbye to Kerry.

I have one last look at the yellow two-piece set I picked out for today before heading to the con.

“Are you nervous?” Axal asks as we walk out of the elevator into the lobby.

“A little—” Everyone knows how much I love this series. I’ve posted about it so much. I really took people on the journey of how those books impacted my life.

“The good news is that you met her already—the big part is out of the way now, all you have to do is introduce yourself and try not to cry.” They say.

“Oh, I’m going to cry.”

“You’re so going to cry!” They giggle.

The signing hall is packed from wall to wall. A sea of voices meets us at the door, sending excitement through my whole body. I don’t know what Jared said to Jenna after our elevator ride yesterday, but after last night, I’m sure he’s cleared things up.

She was so kind and warm. I can’t imagine this day being anything other than great.

Axal and I lace our fingers together, weaving through the crowd. I must have said excuse me a hundred times by the time we reach the 300’s. My heart hitches. I try to think of what I want to say. These things go so fast, and I don’t want to fumble my one shot.

Well, technically, it’s my second—this is my redemption arc.

“Give me your phone—” Axal holds out their hand as we make it to the line. It’s not as bad as it could be. Maybe a 30-minute wait since we got here so fast. They point the camera at me and start recording, helping me make memories of this moment. “Now do a little spin!—perfect!” They say, handing my phone back.

Someone squeals in the not-too-far distance, running to hug someone. The two people rock back and forth in an embrace, talking over each other but smiling all the same.

“Remember when that was us yesterday?” I say, unable to hide my smile.

“We were so young then.” Axal sighs.

“So tell me about the bartender.”

“There’s nothing to tell. I ordered one of those Sherlock Temples—disgusting by the way—thanks for that—

“First of all, it’s Shirley, not Sherlock—”

“Oh honey, you didn’t know?—They transitioned.” Axal explodes at their own joke.

We cackle with abandon. I feel the core memory forming as we playfully swat each other to death. It’s been so hard finding queer friends in my city. Especially as a bisexual person who doesn’t always present in an obvious way. Axal was one of my first book friends online. They had all the good sapphic and queer recs. The rest was history.

“You’re such a hater!”

“You love me!”

“I do!” I say, hugging them close. “But you’re not getting off the hook that easy.”

“You might have to let me off, though—I have to pee—”

“Go—little liar,” I tease. “I’ll still be right here when you get back.”

Axal walks off into the sea of people, leaving me alone with nothing but my books and my thoughts.

I clutch the tattered paperbacks to my chest. First editions. They’re not nearly as fancy as the ones Jenna had yesterday, but they’re mine. Noted and tabbed with doodles and scribbles in the margins. They’re well-loved; now they’re about to be signed. Complete.

Something about that thought makes me think of my art piece. Makes me think of the missing piece. Colors begin to bloom in my mind. Yellow and reds like the dress I wore last night. Midnight blue like the sky. The elements I was missing start to take shape.

Power… that’s what it’s missing. I need to put my own power into the piece.

I scan the crowd looking for a tall, dark, and handsome figure. Wanting to tell him for some reason. I can’t say for sure if he was right about the meet-cute, but I know that kiss definitely gave me something to paint about.

I get close enough to the booth to see how differently it’s laid out than the others. Instead of the open table, it’s inside something resembling a tent. One way in and one way out. The walls are completely opaque, black, and hanging a sign that says, ‘No pictures or videos allowed.’

My phone dings,

“This line is so long, hope you’re doing better than me.” The message from Axal reads.

“Almost there!!!” I respond with a smile.

I shift on my feet, thumbing through my books, looking at all the art I’ve filled them with. I hope she won’t be offended by how much I’ve written in them.

“Next, please—come on in,” A familiar feminine voice calls out. My stomach leaps when I realize that she means me. It leaps again when I realize there’s another face in here I want to see, not just hers.

I blink into the darkness, letting my vision adjust to the dim lighting inside. A banner of Greyson and Lily stands at each end of the large table, covered in all the best character art. I search the table for the special editions—of course, they’re gone. That’s ok though. I came here for one thing.

She rises from the table, stepping around something to walk around to greet me. “Hi, welcome—it’s so nice to see you again.”

“Hi—hi—um.” I stammer. “I’m sorry, I’m nervous—” It’s some small relief that she looks a little nervous herself. I can’t imagine what today is going to be like for her as well.

“It’s ok,” She says, gently resting a friendly hand on my shoulder. “Most people are when they meet him.” She says almost hesitantly.

“Him?” I repeat as Jared rises from beneath the table wearing Greyson’s armor from head to toe. Hot. Very hot, actually. “Oh, no—I’m not here for the cosplay stuff—I’m here to meet you!” I say excitedly.

She doesn’t say another word, looking towards Jared as he approaches.

“Celeste, you remember my assistant Jenna?”

“Assistant…” I murmur as eyes bounce from his to hers. Jenna’s already backing out of the tent as he steps in closer. My heart races as he eclipses everything in my line of vision until he’s all I can see.

“I’m Jared Rose—” he holds out his hand, reaching for my books. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

Next Chapter

Meet the Author

Divinity Rae (she/they) is a romance and fantasy indie author, multi-passionate human, professional yapper and self-proclaimed wielder of whimsy. When she’s not writing or rushing to the theater so she doesn’t miss the previews, you can find them with their face in a book, playing their switch, or doing a fun cozy craft.

Divinity writes stories action, spice, and heart that explore themes ranging from grief and love after loss to low stakes meet cutes and kisses.

Here on the newsletter you’ll find her books, author updates, personal reflections, and film and culture commentary.

Author’s Note: If you’re new to the story, you can start here for TW’s, an in-depth intro, & complete chapter list. This is 18+ adult fiction.

4 Years Ago

I toss my phone onto the bed, pacing at the edge again.

“Checking her account four times in one week? It’s inappropriate.” I remind myself, hands already itching to pick the phone back up. I rush to the bathroom, dousing my face in cold water instead. I stare at myself in the mirror. “Stay out of readers’ spaces,” I command with a jab of my finger. The scruffy bearded man looking back at me looks as unconvinced as I feel.

My head hangs. I’ve tried to stop—I have—but the readers won’t stop tagging me in her posts—her art. It’s like she lives in my head. She understands my characters as I do. Which wouldn’t be a problem if I also didn’t find her to be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

I baptize myself in another handful of cool water. A penance for the very thought trailing behind that one.

There’s plenty of beautiful fans fawning over my words and creating stunning fan art, but these days I can’t tell what’s what anymore, not with her. I don’t know if that feeling I get in my chest when I see her name come across my screen is excitement for my characters, or for me.

All I know is that if I can’t tell, I need to step away. Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself. I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to actually meet her… to know someone like her—her brilliance.

“It’s a crush—a harmless, stupid crush. I’m allowed to have a crush.”

The guy in the mirror decides I’m right. I like this guy.

I wish I could say I feel bad as I dry my hands, storming out of the bathroom and snatching up my cellphone. I don’t have to go searching for her; the algorithm serves her right up as the first video on my burner account’s feed.

“So I did a thing…” Celeste’s warm voice hums in my hand. She places the camera down and steps out of frame to grab something in her studio. I feel my breath coming quicker as she slowly starts to turn the canvas to face the camera. My heart hammers in my chest as a slight smile brightens her eyes. She’s so good at this—the turn of her painting is torturously slow as the tempo of the music builds in the background.

I should swipe away right now; I should close the app—

“This piece is the first in a series I’ve been working on…” I can see her mouth still moving on the screen, but her words become a garbled mess in my head as I take in the full art reveal. The scene is exactly as I imagined it. “It’s a work in progress, but—” she goes on, but all I can think is I have to have it.

“Let me know what y’all think down in the comment section—but be nice!” she warns, “You all know that my life was a little crazy before I found J.T. Rose’s books. Her books—”

“Kill me.” I click the phone off and flop onto my bed before she can finish. “Her… Her?!” I groan into my pillow as if I’ve been shot through the back with an arrow. “Her.” I sigh, flipping over onto my back and staring at the ceilings of my very empty apartment.

Sometimes I wonder if the gender mix-up is the only reason why readers love my books. I’ve never gone to any great lengths to correct them. Sales are great, and I’d really like to keep them that way. Especially if I plan on fully furnishing this new high-rise apartment.

“Gender is a construct, Jared.” I rehearse to myself the way Jenna always does. And she’s right. Who I am is the least interesting thing about my books.

I sit up, grabbing my phone once more, dialing my assistant this time.

“Yep?” Jenna practically yells into the phone.

“Would it kill you to say hello?”

“Stop stalling, what do you want?”

“If I wanted to hypothetically buy something but I can’t have it traced back to me—how could I do that?”

“Is this a drugs thing? Are you getting into drugs because—”

“No. It’s not drugs.”

“Then why are you whispering?” The phone sounds like it’s being put through a grinder before her voice comes through more clearly. “Are you a hostage? Have you been man-napped?”

“Jenna, are you drunk?”

“Maybe.” She chuckles into the phone.

“What are you doing out so late?”

“You could be out too if you’d get out of that museum you call an apartment.”

“Yeah, about that.” I stand, running my palm over the tapered waves of my head. “I was thinking about getting some art.”

“Send me the deets in the morning—” she mumbles something else about making it happen before the line goes quiet.

3 Years Ago

I yank the door open before she has a chance to knock, rushing her inside as if she were my own personal drug mule.

“Well that isn’t creepy at all—”

“Jenna,”

“Right, right. We do not use the ‘C’ word in these hollowed halls,” she mocks.

“And it’s not creepy, it’s art.”

“Her art.” She raises a brow at me.

She doesn’t specify which her. There is only one her around here.

I open the cardboard cage holding my painting hostage. Jenna waltzes off to the kitchen, unfazed by my madness at this point. We watched Celeste’s updates on this painting over the last 12 months like our very own personal World Cup. Every color and new brush she bought to make it exactly as she imagined it in her head. And it’s finally here, in my hands. The other bidders didn’t stand a chance. Thanks to Jenna’s sleuthing, I had the painting purchased anonymously and sent to a P.O. Box in an entire city over. I wouldn’t have even sent Jenna to retrieve it, but I didn’t trust anyone else to get it here in one piece.

I tried and failed to keep myself from watching her boxing video after the sale had gone viral. I carefully unwrap each corner, letting the painting reveal itself to me as each layer falls away. Each stroke of her brush is its own story—each a moment of her life—a color of her soul.

“It is stunning,” Jenna says. It’s the first time she hasn’t teased me about it. “I see what you wanted it.” She admits.

“Right?” Is all I can manage. I can’t look away from the landscape; the tension in Greyson’s shoulders is perfect. Even with his back to me, I can feel him digging deep to stand. Celeste wrote a whole piece on why she chose this moment to paint.

“There’s so much glory in the triumph of standing again, but the moment he becomes a hero is the decision to stand when he’s still on his knees.”

“You quoting yourself too now?”

“No,” I laugh, “She wrote that, about the piece. This is the scene right before Greyson decides he’s going after Lily even when all hope is lost.”

“Beautiful words,” Jenna says, headed for the door.

“Thank you,” I shout after her as she murmurs something on her way out.

For an author, words are never just words. Each and every letter is a second of my life I’ve given to my art and to my readers. This piece moves me in that way. Not just because it was inspired by my story, but because it’s also her story, a part of a bigger whole, proof that stories have the power to make us feel less alone.

I pick the invoice off the ground, popping it onto the nightstand near my bed as I hang the painting up in its new home.

2 Years Ago

“I might not be posting for a while. I’m just so stuck on this piece for book three.” I sit up in my bed as Celeste’s face illuminates the bright screen of my phone. The things I get into when it’s 2 a.m., and I can’t sleep. I click the volume up as she continues. Book three was probably one of the hardest books for me to write in the series. There’s a lot of my own shit in there. Greyson hiding his true identity from the world—the loneliness he feels because of it—the love he doesn’t know how to ask for—to want… to go after.

She hasn’t really posted much since she announced her breakup. If I’m being honest, it was sobering to find out that she was happily taken. Her face grows more sullen as the video comes to a close and begins to loop. Blame the late hour or the red wine I had with dinner, but I open my DMs—my author DM’s…

I know it’s crazy, but I just don’t want her to feel alone.

I don’t know what I am going to say. What could I say to wipe that look off her face? I type out her username and click it. There’s a message sitting in the inbox from an hour ago.

Grey is still a color; I fill the message bar with the quote. My fingers hover over the send button. But my eyes drift to the painting on the wall. I’d give anything to get to know a woman as beautiful and talented as she is—I’d let her bring me to my knees. But a woman like her wants a man who can stand. I close the app, deleting it from my phone entirely. Before I can think better of it, I click the light on before swinging my legs off the side of the bed. I grab the unused running shoes I usually keep tossed in the corner. The invoice I’ve been hoarding also sits untouched on my nightstand. I fold it into fours and slip it into my left shoe.

This is my moment to rise and to fight like hell to meet it.

24 Hours Ago

The only thing worse than a crowd is a crowded plane.

I pull the eye mask down, crossing my arms across my chest. You’d swear they make these chairs uncomfortable on purpose. I suppose I have bulked up a bit since replacing my scrolling habit with my gym membership.

I never thought I’d be doing events like this, but I took a hybrid deal, and well, they insisted on me marketing more modernly instead of relying on readers to magically find the book. Jenna said it was this or starting a booktok account. I’d rather take a sword in the eye.

“Excuse me?” a feminine voice comes from the seat directly behind me. “Excuse me, can I have some ice—” My body jerks up straight so fast I must break something on the chair. It flops back into her seat, and there she is looking down at me. If I didn’t recognize her voice, I would know her eyes from anywhere. It’s been months since I’ve seen her face—her beautiful scowling face.

“Do you mind?” I pull my seat up right, grateful for the mask covering half of my face, not that she’d recognize me.

“Can I have some ice?” I hear her lower her voice to whisper to the flight attendant, “I’m feeling a little anxious.”

I glance over my shoulder just to be sure I didn’t make it up—just to make sure that it’s really her. The chair tilts back further than I’d like. She shoots me a cutting look that nearly steals the breath from my lungs. If the doors of the plane weren’t already shut, I’d make a run for it. “I’ll take some ice too,” I say, before the flight attendant can scurry away. This is about to be the longest six hours of my life.

18 Hours Ago

“Come on Jenna, pick up, pick up, pick up!” The ringer sends me to voicemail again. “I’m gonna fire her—she’s fired,” I grumble all the way to the elevator. I reread the message from the event organizers. “This is wrong, it’s too much. Where the hell is she?” I slam the button again and again. It’s been ages since I’ve had a panic attack.

“I’m fine.” I take a deep breath. “I’m fine; it’s fine. I just need to lie down.” I take another breath, letting it out slowly this time. I could drink my weight in water right now. “It’s just stress—first event jitters.” I try to convince myself. My heart hammers in my chest, detecting the lie for what it is. “Can this day get any worse?”

The elevator finally dings and relief washes over me when I see my assistant’s face as the cart doors open.

“Ah, Jenna! There you are! They moved us to a separate room—there’s going to be a long L table—do you even know what that is? This was such a horrible idea, I don’t know we—”

Jenna’s eyes widen, pointedly looking at whatever is behind me.

Not what—who.

Every thought I’ve ever had empties my mind. I try my best to fix my face into what I hope is a neutral expression.

I turn, willing the doors open. I’d parachute out of here if I could. Anything to get away from the scent of her perfume. I was never supposed to know what she smelled like. Now I fear that floral scent is going to hunt me to my grave.

The doors open and the cutting little artist is saying something, but I drag Jenna out after me. Once again, I can’t help but look back. It’s really her. God, she’s even gorgeous in this light.

“That’s her,” I tell Jenna, unable to look away.

“Ohhh, I thought she looked familiar,” Jenna whispers, “Go talk to her—this is your chance.”

Celeste scowls at me again. It does nothing to mar her beauty, but it does keep my feet firmly planted where they are as the elevator spirits her away.

“Idiot.” Jenna scoffs, popping me on the shoulder.

“I couldn’t—she’s too—she’d never talk to me…” I shake my head. “You seen her.” I trail off.

“Yeah, and she seen you too—I saw how she looked at you.” Jenna waggles her sharply manicured brows.

“I shouldn’t have come here—we should just leave.”

“You can’t do that. Readers came here to meet you from all over the country. They’ll never forgive you. An the don’t me started on the bullshit I’ve had to scoop up with these publishers.”

I start down the hall without another word.

Jenna trails after me, catching me by the arm.

“This isn’t just about her. Talk to me.”

“I can’t do—this. They all think I’m this woman who’s written these life-altering stories and I’m just me—a kid who was read more books than he played sports”

“I don’t think you’re giving your readers enough credit. They’re readers, JT. They’re whole thing is empathy.”

“And her, when she finds out who I really am?”

“Just be normal. She’s an artist too—she’ll get it.”

“I just wish I could have a chance to talk to her without the pressure of it being me.” I shake my head. “Listen to me—I sound like a parasocial stalker.” I let out a humorless laugh.

“I mean, it’s exactly capital C creepy,” she starts.

“But I am being—creepy?” I ask.

“If she’s not into you, then what?”

“What do you mean, then nothing—” I shrug, taking a deep breath to calm my rising heartbeat. “It wouldn’t change how much I admire her work. Might have to move the painting out of my bedroom though—”

“You hung that thing in your bedroom.”

“Yeah, where did you think it was this whole time?”

“I don’t know! Some kind of vault where you’ve built an elaborate shrine to honor your muse.”

“Great, so I am a creep.”

“Creepy guys already know how they intend to punish a woman who rejects them; you’re not creepy, Jared—” she backs away, pointing at me, “you’re just down really, really bad my friend.”

“And where the hell are you going?”

“To get you a tent!” she shouts. “Just be yourself, creep!”

“Find a new job while you’re at it!” I shout back as she disappears around the end of the marbled hallway.

This hotel looks like a palace. Finding the restroom nearly feels like a quest, but I manage to find a cool sink to shove my face into. I don’t linger to face the man in the mirror, not this time. Jenna’s probably right. I should just be myself tonight. It can’t be that bad.

10 Hours Ago

I stand in the back of the ballroom or at the entrance. This whole thing is kinda confusing. Celeste is nowhere in sight, and that’s probably for the best. It’s not like I’ve worked up enough nerve to say hello. What am I supposed to say, “Hi, I’m Jared, big fan! Also, I’m your favorite author, and I have your painting hanging in my bedroom. Wanna dance?”

It’s probably not the best thing to lead with right now. There has to be at least a thousand bodies in here… The room fills with a never-ending stream of excited voices as the music begins to lure everyone onto the dance floor. Shit. It didn’t seem like this many people just a moment ago. Are they expecting numbers like this for the signing tomorrow? My heart palpitates, drumming unevenly in my chest. My hands start to tremble as my mouth goes dry.

Water. I need water…

I wade through the crowd; it’s not hard to get through when you’re at least a head taller than everyone else in here. Keeping my eyes on Jenna’s fiancé at the bar, I avoid the lingering stares.

I see a woman with horns whisper to another with a prop sword, and I swear they’re looking right at me. Have they figured it out? No one sleuths like these fandoms, and I could be seconds away from being swarmed.

I hurry my footsteps, pressing to the front of the line.

“Water!” I shout to Bianca

“Excuse you!”

I turn to see Celeste staring me down.

Shit. Her dress.

I ruined her dress.

Her pretty yellow dress. Just like the one from my book.

8 Hours Ago

I shouldn’t have kissed her, but I did. I wish I could say I regretted all of it…

7 ½ Hours Ago

“You did what!?” Jenna yells

“I don’t know how it happened either—one moment it was innocent flirting, the next we were—”

“Shut your mouth!” She jabs her finger at me, and I flop back onto the bed. “You will not make me an accessory to whatever this is—”

“It was the best kiss of my life, Jenna—like I’d never kissed anyone before.” I can’t help but admit. “She’s so smart, quick-witted—and funny…”

“Great, so when she sues the pants off of you, and I am forced to live on the streets, she’ll be thorough and hilarious about it.”

I can’t help but laugh.

“Wipe that goddamn look off your stupid face. This is not one of your fairytales, Jared. When she finds out who you really are in the morning, she’s going to lose it.”

“I know.” I trail off.

“Then why the hell are you still smiling?”

“We’re going to break up tomorrow.”

Next Chapter

Meet the Author

Divinity Rae (she/they) is a romance and fantasy indie author, multi-passionate human, professional yapper and self-proclaimed wielder of whimsy. When she’s not writing or rushing to the theater so she doesn’t miss the previews, you can find them with their face in a book, playing their switch, or doing a fun cozy craft.

Divinity writes stories action, spice, and heart that explore themes ranging from grief and love after loss to low stakes meet cutes and kisses.

Here on the newsletter you’ll find her books, author updates, personal reflections, and film and culture commentary.

Author’s Note: If you’re new to the story, you can start here for TW’s, an in-depth intro, & complete chapter list. This is 18+ adult fiction.

I don’t know how long we stand there in silence listening to the packed room beyond the tent.

“Why didn’t you tell me—” I finally ask when I can meet his gaze.

“I tried. I wanted to tell you.”

“Was that before or after I let you shove your tongue down my throat?”

“After.” He doesn’t so much as flinch when he answers; I’ll give him that.

“You let me—” I pace away from him. Then back again, trying to keep my voice down. “You let me talk about you, to you! You let me go on and on about how much I loved your books, how much I loved…” I scoff. “How could you?”

“I just wanted to be me for a moment—”

“So you picked a fangirl from the crowd of fawning women and spun some kind of bullshit story to get off with me? Are you even afraid of heights? Was that real?”

“What? No—no, yes! I am, and no, I didn’t spin anything—”

“Did you plan all of this?”

“How would I have planned anything that happened last night—I didn’t even know you were going to be here, Celeste.”

I laugh, setting my books down on the table and backing away. “I never told you my name.”

“Wait—” he trails me to the exit but makes no effort to stop me from walking out.

“Whatever this is, whoever you are. Stay away from me.” I jab my finger at him before walking away. Something inside me fractures as I storm through the clamouring aisles.

The hope was so fresh, so foreign, so fragile—I barely registered that it was there at all. Last night he was handsome and kind and hot and kind of a nerd—and that kiss. That fucking kiss. I could barely coax myself to sleep last night. I’ve never hit it off with someone like that before. It was like we weren’t meeting for the first time; it felt like we were catching up—picking up where we left off.

My phone rings, Axal’s name brightening the screen. I click it off. I turn my phone off entirely. I frantically search the halls for the one place I might be able to hide in peace. I crack the door open. The Quiet Room is empty. I flip the sign to occupied and step inside.

My mind is anything but quiet.

“He knew. The whole time.” Every word I spoke last night plays over in my mind, making me want to shed my skin. I told him the things I hadn’t even shared with Kerry. I let go of dating, of love, of sharing myself. And then I read those fucking books and painted that stupid painting.

The one person I came here to see let me kiss him like I’ve never kissed anyone before—and now what? He’ll sign my old books, pat me atop the head, and fly back to wherever he’s from like it never happened?

I click my phone back on, hands shaking and heart hammering. I open my DMs and scroll until I find his author account. I tap on it before I lose my nerve.

Seen 2 years ago.

I never checked it. I just knew that an author that popular would never see it, and yet…

I’m too angry for tears. My phone tumbles to the ground so hard it pops right out of the case. I snatch up the invoice that started it all and ball it up in my fist.

“Lies. It was all a lie! He’s literally just—a man!” I shout, grabbing one of the pillows for the chaise, strangling it between my hands.

I hate the pillow for being grey. I hate myself for coming here. I hate him. I hate his books and his kiss.

I slam the pillow into the chaise again and again.

“I think you got it,” a deep voice says from behind me.

Jared idles just inside the door with my books tucked underneath his arm.

I throw the pillow at him; it thunks him in the face.

“I can explain—”

“Yes, you will explain,” I assure him. “How long? How long have you known about me?”

He takes a shuddering breath but doesn’t speak otherwise.

“Was it this night?” I fumble with my phone, shoving the message into his face. “I deserve to know how long you’ve been waiting to use me to feed that ego of yours.”

“A little over four years.”

My mouth snaps shut. The first of the books started coming out back then. I was still with my ex.

“I wasn’t using you to stroke my ego—hell, I didn’t even want to come to this thing.”

“So I was just a convenient distraction?”

“You’ve been distracting me for a very long time Celeste, and nothing about that has been convenient.”

“Stop saying my name and get your stupid apology over with so you can leave me alone.”

“I’m not here to apologize.” He steps into the room more fully. “I’m not sorry for kissing you. You can hate me for it, but I just didn’t know if I wanted to share that part of myself with you yet.”

“Then why are you here now—you got what you wanted”

“And what exactly is it that I want, Celeste?” he says, my name in a way that forces me to remember his mouth on mine.

“You don’t get to lie and waltz in here dressed like that and expect me to throw myself at you.”

“Throwing yourself at me? Have you met you?” he scoffs.

“I just don’t understand what you want from me? Why me? I just came here to meet my favorite author, and you show up and ruin everything.”

Jared steps out of his right shoe; a same piece of worn paper flops onto the floor. He unfolds the invoice identical to mine, handing it to me. “The truth is, I’m a big fan.”

I trace the tattered edges with my fingers. “How do you have this—” I trail off, looking up at him. He rubs his waves forward, rocking on his heels. “You’re my collector?!”

“Your work is so moving—generous and vulnerable in a way I’m still aspiring to as an artist myself. I didn’t tell you who I was or that I knew who you were because I just wanted to be two people on a terrace last night.” The words come out fast—he’s yammering in that endearing way, and if it doesn’t scare the shit out of me. “So much of who we are gets swallowed by what we do; I guess I wanted to give you a glimpse of the real me, a man who’s less than comfortable with heights and would rather be stuck on a roof than dancing at a party. I wanted to know if you, with all your brilliance and talent, would give that guy a chance.”

I did, didn’t I? And the scariest part is it didn’t even feel like he took anything from me. That kiss gave me something—a little bit of my spark back. It cleared whatever was blocking that pathway back to my art. Maybe I have been consumed by what I do and not who I am, and last night I was just me, wasn’t I? I was just a girl in a soiled yellow dress.

Jared doesn’t rush to fill the silence, and neither do I. We let the room do its job.

“You could have tried harder to tell me—I still deserved to know.” I finally say.

“You did, and for that I am sorry.”

Everything in me tells me he means it, hopes that I can trust him, yet the way he looks at me now makes me feel overexposed.

“Tell me something real. Give me a reason to reconsider,” I dare to ask.

“I was awake the night you sent that message. I’d just watched one of your videos, and you looked how I felt. Everything in me wanted to message you back; There was a part of me that just didn’t want to be alone that night, but the other part wanted to remind us both that grey was still a color.”

“Why didn’t you? It’s my favorite quote.”

“You needed JT Rose, and I was just Jared—a guy who wanted a chance to get to know you. I couldn’t chance ruining all that you loved about JT by revealing myself to you that way. I like you so much, I wanted you to choose me, not all this,” he sets my books down, gestures widely.

“I get that, I guess. I know what it’s like to only be seen through a specific lens. But can I ask what made you start carrying this around?” I hand him his copy of the invoice, picking my crumpled piece off the floor.

“This painting, this piece I bought from you, it has been the light in every dark moment of my life. It made me feel less alone—like I could be someone like Greyson and I didn’t have to hide anymore.”

If my last relationship taught me anything, it’s that a person who wants to always will. I spent six years with my ex, and he didn’t so much as question me as to why I wanted to break this off with him—I spent a night with a man who’s only known me through my work and cellphone screen, and here he is, wanting another chance.

“If you tell me I’m crazy, and I should never speak to you again, I will walk out of here right now. But if you still believe that art has the power to connect people like nothing else can, I’d really like to explore that connection with you.”

I tap my chin, tilting my head from one side then the other. “I don’t know, I feel like you can do better. I mean, the apology last night was really good.” I cross my arms. He shakes his head, a warm smile softening his features as he steps in closer.

“Give me another chance,” he sinks to his knees. “Please. I’ll hop on a plane and fly wherever you want, whenever you want, just to spend the day with you. Whatever it takes to earn your trust. Tell me what you need, and I’ll do that.”

It’s not until this very moment that I understand why the women in my books clench their thighs together.

Jared looks up at me with an earnest, unyielding gaze.

I unsheath an imaginary sword from my side, knighting him on both shoulders. “You are henceforth to be known as Jared Rose—a real reader.” I finish up my pantmime by putting an imaginary badge on his armor.

His hand catches mine, holding it to his chest. “So you’ll let me take you out?” he searches my gaze for his answer. I shake my head, rolling my eyes.

“Is that a yes?” He perks up. “That better be a yes because I’m about to kiss you.”

“It’s a yes—” I barely get out before he’s on his feet and his lips are on mine.

The kiss is more playful than passionate, but it’s exactly what I need right now. Neither one of us can stop smiling.

He hoists me up as I wrap my legs around his waist. Jared pulls me in, kissing me like I know he means it. I don’t know which one of us moans first, but all I know is I can’t wait to discover all the ways I can make him make that sound again. I had no idea how restrained he was last night. This isn’t the kiss of a man wanting a slow burn with me. His mouth is promising on mine—demanding. Bossy. His hands grip me tighter against him, fitting our bodies together perfectly. I wrap my hands around his neck and lose myself to his touch. I’m throbbing and dizzied with want by the time he sets my feet back on the floor.

He steadies me, gaze reverent. A chill skitters across my skin, peeking my nipples.

“We should probably get you back,” I say, wanting nothing more than to lock that door and make a decision Kerry would be proud of, but I also need to get back to Axal. I don’t want them to worry.

“Yeah, you should probably go out first—I can’t.” He glances down at himself.

“Oh, oh. Okay, I’ll just—” Grabbing my books, I press my lips together, trying not to gawk, but damn.

“Wait,” he calls before I can slip out the door. “Will you—um, sign this for me?” he asks, almost shyly handing me the invoice once more, along with a Sharpie he must have had stashed somewhere.

“Only if you promise to sign mine,” I grin, pushing the pen back into his hand. I hand him my books.

“I don’t know how you want me to sign these now that you know who I am—” He hesitates.

“J.T. Rose.” I decide, “You’re still my favorite author.” I admit.

His smile mirrors mine. It’s surreal, really, watching him pen his name into fragments of my life.

“I sat in front of you on the plane—on the way here, that was me who fell into your lap,” he blurts out, passing the marker to me. I can’t help but laugh at the chasen look on his face.

“You’re just full of secrets, aren’t you?”

“I kept refilling your ice as well,” He confesses. “It really does help with the whole anxious about heights thing.”

I burst out laughing this time. “Anything else you need to unburden yourself with?”

“You changed my life too…” He hands me the invoice with that dazzling smile of his.

“And who should I make it out to? J.T. Rose or Jared Rose?”

“Jared. Always just Jared with you.”

Next Chapter

Meet the Author

Divinity Rae (she/they) is a romance and fantasy indie author, multi-passionate human, professional yapper and self-proclaimed wielder of whimsy. When she’s not writing or rushing to the theater so she doesn’t miss the previews, you can find them with their face in a book, playing their switch, or doing a fun cozy craft.

Divinity writes stories action, spice, and heart that explore themes ranging from grief and love after loss to low stakes meet cutes and kisses.

Here on the newsletter you’ll find her books, author updates, personal reflections, and film and culture commentary.

Author’s Note: If you’re new to the story, you can start here for TW’s, an in-depth intro, & complete chapter list. This is 18+ adult fiction.

1 Day Later

Celeste lives in the same state as me, only she’s on an earlier flight back, so are Jenna and Bianca. I grab a quick bite with Axel, Celeste’s friend, and give them some pointers for their upcoming sapphic debut. They’re a lot more talented than they give themselves credit for. It took me a couple years before I was able to craft stories like that on the first crack.

I get stopped by readers so many times before getting to the airport that I almost miss my flight. The rest of the signing yesterday went better than I could have ever imagined. I’ve never been able to connect with my readers like that before. I feel so charged to get back to doing what I do best.

Departing from the airport is a drag. And the flight back is not better. Or perhaps I’m just impatient. Celeste insisted on waiting for me to land, citing that I owe her breakfast and a strong, expensive coffee. I keep telling myself that it’s coffee—not a date. So why can’t I sit still? I can’t help but wonder if it was all just a part of the fantasy. What if I land and she’s all sobered up from the trip and she changes her mind?

I shut my eyes to the thought, squirming in the small chair.

The overheard speaker buzzes, lulling me from my nap. I hope she got to sleep on the plane as well. I sent Jenna ahead to grab a few things for Celeste and leave them at my apartment. I nearly asked for her to move her painting out of my bedroom but… No more lies.

The airport back home is less of a riot as I scan the crowd for pretty brown eyes and warm amber skin.

My phone buzzes in my pocket—a message from an unknown number.

I must look like an idiot standing here smiling at the screen in my hand. Who cares? The most gorgeous woman is waiting for me at the airport. The story starts to blossom at the back of my mind before I even reach the escalator. I’ve never really written contemporary romance, but Celeste is definitely a story I want to tell.

The moving steps pull me down to the ground floor where loved ones and Uber drivers are crowded, waiting with their signs held high. I take them in, hoping to find her smile as wide as mine. My heart stutters for a moment when I don’t see her, but then I see it. A single white sign—one with my five least favorite letters scribbled on the front of it.

Creep.

I find her face beneath it. Cheeks flushed and so full her bright eyes are barely visible.

God, she’s pretty when she laughs like that. Our laughter draws the attention of the crowd, others joining in. I remember the look on her face that night I forced myself to be a better man than I wanted to be in that moment. I vow to banish it forever.

“Hey creep,” she says affectionately, her lips meeting mine with a soft kiss.

“I see Jenna has gotten to you.” I snatch the sign out of her giggling hands.

“I love her,” she gushes, and I have to admit I’m a little jealous.

“Don’t worry, it’s a temporary effect.” I deadpan.

She jabs me in the arm, and I can do nothing but kiss her on the forehead.

“How do you still look this good after traveling all day?”

“You tell me?” She presses her bossy little finger into my nose.

I take her luggage and lead her out the door and into the car I had already waiting for us at the curb. I get her settled inside before sliding into the seat next to hers, folding the sign into my lap. “You know I’m keeping this right?”

“It’s gonna cost you,” she teases.

“That reminds me,” I turn to her, ready to confess the last of my sins. “There’s one more thing I have to tell you—It’s about my bedroom.”

Thank you so much for taking this little journey with Celeste and Jared. If you like this story, subscribe for more!

Subscribe now

Meet the Author

Divinity Rae (she/they) is a romance and fantasy indie author, multi-passionate human, professional yapper and self-proclaimed wielder of whimsy. When she’s not writing or rushing to the theater so she doesn’t miss the previews, you can find them with their face in a book, playing their switch, or doing a fun cozy craft.

Divinity writes stories action, spice, and heart that explore themes ranging from grief and love after loss to low stakes meet cutes and kisses.

Here on the newsletter you’ll find her books, author updates, personal reflections, and film and culture commentary.