Page 19 of A Deal with the Devil

His mood—and the fact that neither of them is here—leads me to think otherwise.

And the strangest part is that he seems to resent me for it.

12

The positive side of having asked Sam to read my book is I know he will tell me the truth. The negative side is...I know he will tell me the truth.

I’m already on the cusp of giving up on it entirely, and I worry his criticism will be the death blow.

“Well, I think I’ve identified the first problem,” he says by phone Saturday night. “Ewan is kind of a douche.”

“A douche?” I repeat, somewhat incredulously. I got accustomed to harsh critiques in grad school, but I want to go to the mat over Ewan. Because he’s just a sweet, kind-hearted farm boy who’s been led astray.

“Yeah. I mean, he starts off okay,” Sam says. I begin to pace. “He helps Aisling with stuff on the farm and he’s protective of her when they first get to Edinad, but then he turns into a selfish dick.”

“Well, he’s swayed by the opulence,” I argue.

“I get that,” Sam replies. “But the way it’s written, it feels more like his true colors are coming out. Also, that hole they climb through to enter the kingdom—why’s it there in the first place?”

“Poor workmanship?” I ask.

He laughs. It’s nice to finally get a reaction out of someone beyond a twitch of the mouth. Hayes seems determined not to react at all, most of the time.

“It’s your book,” he says. “But it’d be a cooler book if we knew why the hole was there.”

The conversation moves on to other topics—to my trip back to Kansas at the end of the summer, and Sam’s trip up the California coast in a few weeks. When he asks if I want to grab dinner while he’s in LA, I agree. I don’t know if this is a dinner between friends, or if he expects something more…but would it be so terrible? Sam is exactly the guy I should want: He’s cute and kind, and we’d never run out of common interests.

Yet I’m weirdly relieved when the next text I receive is from Hayes.

* * *

I’m in the middle of a run Sunday morning when Jonathan texts.

He’s sent a photo of him holding Gemma, with Jason standing behind him, and they’re both beaming at her as if she is everything they hoped for and more.

I step off the path and into the sand, blinking back tears. They’re so fucking proud as they stare at her. I had one amazing father and Gemma will have two.

I hit Jonathan’s name on speed dial. “She’s so beautiful,” I tell him. My voice rasps.

“You’re totally crying, aren’t you?” says Jonathan.

“No.” I brush a tear off my face. “I’m out on the beach completely not crying. She’s beautiful.”

“She’s something, isn’t she?” he asks. The utter pride in his voice hits me right in the chest and has me tearing up again.

“Dammit, Jonathan,” I rasp. “I’m in public. Stop making me cry.”

He laughs. “I’d better change the topic so you can get ahold of yourself. How’s work?”

I dry my face on the hem of my shirt like the classy little lady I am. “Ugh,” I groan, walking down toward the shore. “Well, yesterday he seemed to blame me for the fact that he didn’t get laid by his two dates the night before, so that was fun.”

“Tali,” Jonathan says, with the strained patience of a father talking to an overwrought teenage girl, “I’m sure he didn’t blame you.”

“You didn’t see him,” I reply, dodging an errant volleyball. “At least I got spared the indignity of buying them flowers and taking them to breakfast afterward.”

“He’s had you take them to breakfast?” he asks. There’s no way to miss the unhappy astonishment in his voice. “That’s…unusual. He doesn’t typically have people over often.”

My tongue prods my cheek as I process my irritation. “Wait. What? All this bullshit is for my benefit?”