Chapter 14

GEORGE

Bleary-eyed and confused, I stared at Hannah.

Max’s barking had woken me about an hour ago. I’d assumed he’d heard a squirrel and was drifting back asleep when there was a loud bang, which set Max off again. While I’d thought the noise was most likely something falling over outside in the wind, after lying for a little while in bed, I’d decided to walk down the stairs to investigate. It was only when I reached the bottom of the stairs and saw there was a light on that I started to take things seriously. My heart racing, I’d picked up one of the big, sharp knives from the kitchen.

Clutching the knife in one hand and my phone in the other, the last thing I’d expected was to find Hannah, hair mussed and humming to music, bent over a box of books in the back corner of the bookstore.

She was now staring at me like a deer in the headlights. Her eyes widened as they traveled down my body to the knife I was holding. I hastily put it on a bookshelf.

“What the hell are you doing?” Still recovering from the shock of thinking Novel Gossip was being burglarized, my voice sounded uncharacteristically sharp.

Hannah’s cheeks flushed. “Um…I’m signing the books.”

“Why?” My brain was not computing. I stared down at the books. The Realm of Furies. My chest constricted in anger. Why on earth would Hannah be defacing my stock? I wouldn’t be able to return all the books now—or sell them. Shit.

Hannah ran her hand through her hair, chewing on her lip. “I, uh…because I’m…”

I clenched my jaw, waiting for her to continue.

Just when I’d thought Hannah had forgotten the question, she spoke.

“Because I’m H. M. Stuart,” Hannah rushed out so quickly my mind didn’t initially process the words.

I stared at her blankly.

“Because you are H. M. Stuart,” I repeated slowly. My eyebrows shot up as the words finally sank in. “Wait, what?”

Hannah looked flustered. “My real name is Hannah Marie Taylor. My pen name is H. M. Stuart. I wrote this book.” She held up a copy of The Realm of Furies.

My mental gears ground slowly, still groggy from sleep. Hannah was H. M. Stuart? H. M. Stuart was Hannah? I blinked a few times and considered pinching myself to double check this wasn’t a dream.

A swirl of emotions rushed through my mind. Surprise at Hannah’s revelation. Hurt that Hannah hadn’t told me who she was sooner. Confusion as to why Hannah had snuck into Novel Gossip in the middle of the night. Anger at the fright she’d given me. I rested my hand on the nearest bookshelf for support.

“Then what…why…why didn’t you say something earlier?” I asked.

“I…It’s complicated.” Hannah looked up at the ceiling.

Frustration rose up my body. How complicated can it be?

I’d really thought that over the past three days Hannah and I had developed a genuine connection, one that was based on trust and mutual respect. So why had she gone to such great lengths to hide who she was from me?

Hannah dropped her gaze and looked at me, tears welling in her eyes. She twisted her hands together. “I’m so sorry. I really screwed up.”

Hannah looked so despondent that some of my anger and frustration evaporated. Despite my conflicting emotions, my urge to comfort Hannah grew. I took a deep breath.

“Hey. Why don’t I make us both a hot drink and you can tell me all about it?” I asked gently. Maybe there was some rational explanation. I just couldn’t, for the life of me, think of what it could be.

Hannah nodded and stood up, her gaze dropping briefly to my legs.

My face heated as I suddenly became aware that I was in my boxers and a t-shirt in front of my employee who, despite her late night subterfuge, I was undeniably attracted to. The employee whose hands had been on my butt earlier tonight. The employee who had just revealed she was none other than H. M. Stuart. My favorite author, who I’d thought was a man. God, that’s embarrassing. My brain felt like it might explode. It was the middle of the night and I was in no state to process all this new information.

I picked up the knife—I didn’t want a customer to get a nasty shock tomorrow while browsing the young-adult section—and made my way back down the aisle, Hannah following.

Ten minutes later, Hannah and I were sitting face to face across one of the tables, nursing hot chocolates, while Hannah explained from the beginning what had happened. How she’d misheard me initially due to a hearing impairment, and then found it hard to tell me why she was really there, and how she’d been surprised by just how much she enjoyed working at Novel Gossip. As she spoke, she kept jiggling her legs, tapping her index finger on the table, and averting her gaze.

“I’m so sorry. I feel terrible I misled you,” Hannah concluded, her voice faltering as she made direct eye contact with me.

While feelings of anger and hurt still remained, it was clear she hadn’t set out to deceive me. It seemed like she was someone who had a hard time saying no or speaking up for herself. Hannah blinked away tears, and my heart softened even further.

I reached out and squeezed her hand resting on the table. “Hey. Look, I obviously wish you’d felt comfortable telling me the truth instead of giving me a heart attack by sneaking into Novel Gossip in the middle of the night, but to be honest, it didn’t turn out too badly for me.” I smiled at her. “If you hadn’t accepted the job and had just come in, signed the books, and left, I would have been completely screwed. Having your help over the past three days while Ben has been sick has been a godsend.”

Hannah managed a weak smile. “I’m so sorry I scared you. I really should have spoken up earlier.” She shook her head and laughed. “I can’t believe I let it get to the point where I was breaking and entering.” Her face turned serious. “I guess I should probably make an appointment to see my therapist.”

I wasn’t going to argue with that. Therapists had helped me through some of the most difficult periods of my life, including my break-up with Alexis. And I was relieved that Hannah realized that the whole situation had gotten out of hand, even if I still didn’t understand why she’d gone to such great lengths to keep her identity secret.

My curiosity got the better of me. “If you don’t mind me asking, why don’t you want to people to know about your pen name?” I asked.

Hannah’s eyes dropped to her mug of hot chocolate.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it—or want to save it for your therapist,” I said. As intrigued as I was, perhaps 4 a.m. wasn’t the best time to ask a question like this.

Hannah looked up and gave me a small smile. “No, it’s okay. The short answer is that I’m an introvert and really don’t like attention.”

“Couldn’t you still just tell people who you are, but not do book events and that type of thing?” I asked.

“I could. But it’s not just large crowds that make me stressed . It’s really any kind of special attention. It probably all tracks back to my childhood.” Hannah paused for a moment, and I thought she was going to leave it at that, but then she spoke again. “When I was a kid, I spent most of my time in fantasy worlds—either those in the books I was reading or of my own creation.”

I nodded. “That’s probably part of the reason you’re such an incredible writer.” God, it felt so weird saying that. I still couldn’t quite believe it was true.

“Yeah.” Hannah smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Unfortunately, my parents weren’t so accepting of me being an introvert. They’re both highly successful academics, who love public speaking and public recognition, and they expected me to follow in their footsteps. When they realized I wasn’t the precocious outgoing child they’d anticipated, they took action, enrolling me in drama school and, when I was old enough, debate.” Hannah shuddered. “I hated it. So much. And the more they pushed me, the more I hated it.”

“That sounds awful.” I frowned. Being an introvert wasn’t a personality flaw that needed fixing.

“Yeah. It went on for years. They seemed to think the more I did it, the less stressed I would get about it, and their shy daughter would be transformed into some super-confident extrovert who’d go on to become a kickass attorney, politician, or something similar. But it had the opposite effect.”

“I’m so sorry. Being forced to do something you weren’t comfortable doing must have been terrible.” I’d loved drama in high school, but I’d seen how nervous performing had made some of my friends. Thank god they didn’t have parents like Hannah’s pressuring them to do it.

Hannah let out a noise partway between a huff and a laugh. “The ironic thing was, I was actually good at drama. I liked getting into the heads of the characters, and I could really channel their emotions on stage. But I hated people watching me.”

I nodded. “It makes sense you’d be good at it given how great you are at creating believable characters.”

Hannah flushed. “When I was fourteen, I landed the role of Lady Macbeth in my school’s production of Macbeth. About an hour before opening night, I was in the restroom, having thrown up because I’d been feeling so sick about the performance. I was just getting ready to leave when some of the other drama kids in my year walked in, talking—about me. They were saying it was so weird how, on stage, I came across so outgoing and charismatic, but in real life, I was so shy and boring.”

My heart ached for teenage Hannah. “Oh man. Kids can be so mean.”

“Yeah. I’d already been extremely self-conscious about how socially awkward I was, and hearing that comment, just before I was about to go on stage and perform in front of half the school and their families, was the last straw. I had a panic attack.” Hannah looked down at her mug, her face serious. “Once I was able to move again, I ran to Jackson Park, which is on the shore of Lake Michigan, close to my parent’s house, and stayed there. It was late March, so not the best time of year to spend a lot of time outside in Chicago. Barb, my nanny, who knew how much I loved that place, eventually found me hiding there, freezing cold and shivering.”

Hannah stirred her hot chocolate absentmindedly. “I must have looked like a mess when she found me because she took me to the hospital to make sure I didn’t have hypothermia.”

“Shit! Were you okay?”

“I was fine. My parents were away at the time?—”

“What? So they weren’t even there for opening night?” I interjected, outraged.

Hannah shook her head. “No. At least Barb let me take a few days off school and arranged for the understudy to permanently take over my role, so I had some time to recover. But it was so awful when I did go back to school, and everyone was staring at me and whispering.”

I winced. “Oh shit. That’s like every teenager’s worst nightmare.”

Hannah’s lips curved slightly up. “The silver lining of the whole thing was that, when my parents did return, they let me quit drama and debate, and I could go back to being my introverted self. I don’t know what Barb said to them—she’d been trying to convince them for years not to push me so hard—but it was an enormous relief.”

I let out a breath. “Thank god. Although it really sucks it had to get to that point before they were willing to back off.”

“I know,” Hannah said. “So while I think I always would have wanted to have a pen name to protect my privacy, because I am a private person, I think that whole experience made me even more sensitive about being the center of attention. I’ve also been worried that if my fans find out who I really am, they’ll be disappointed. Just like those drama kids were. Like they’d expect me to be an amazing conversationalist and incredibly interesting, even though I’m an introvert who spends most of my life escaping into imaginary worlds by myself.”

“Well, from what I’ve seen, you’re totally selling yourself short. You are anything but a disappointment.” I gave Hannah’s hand another squeeze.

Hannah blushed. “Thanks.”

“And it also makes complete sense to me why you’d avoid the spotlight. I paused, wondering how much to share of my own experiences. “I dated someone fairly well-known a few years ago—Alexis Merritts—and I hated the public scrutiny. Being photographed at galas and other events, being asked intrusive questions about our private lives, being the subject of “Who is Alexis Merritts’ girlfriend, Georgina O’Grady?” articles. And I don’t even consider myself a particularly shy or introverted person.”

Hannah’s eyes widened. “Oh wow. That must have been really full on. How did you cope?”

“To be honest, I didn’t. It was one of the reasons we split up,” I replied.

“I’m sorry,” Hannah said, her face soft with concern.

I shrugged. “It all worked out for the best in the end,” I said.

Hannah looked up at me and held my gaze. “You know, I think you might be the first person—apart from my therapist—I’ve told that story to.”

Warmth filled my chest. “Well, thanks for sharing that with me. And your secret is safe with me,” I said, remembering Hannah had said almost the exact same words in relation to the cornbread incident earlier in the evening.

Hannah smiled and this time it reached her eyes. “That’s good to know.”

We sat in comfortable silence for a few moments as I tried to process the events of the last hour. There’d been a lot of new information to absorb in the middle of the night, and I still couldn’t get my head around it all.

Hannah finished the last of her hot chocolate, looked at her watch, and sighed. “I’d better get back to signing.”

Pushing the thoughts swirling in my head aside, I focused on the tired-looking woman in front of me. “Why don’t you go home and get some sleep, and come back during the day to sign once you’ve had some rest?”

Hannah shook her head. “There’s no way I’m going to go back to sleep now.” She smiled at me sheepishly. “I ate an enormous handful of coffee beans, and now I’m completely wired. I think I just need to push through at this point.” The coffee beans, along with her general anxiety about the whole situation, explained her jiggling leg and tapping fingers.

“Are you sure?”

Hannah nodded.

“Well, at least let me get you set up on one of the tables at the front. It’ll be a lot more comfortable than hunching over boxes on the floor.”

Ten minutes later, we’d carried the boxes of books to the front of the café, and Hannah was sitting in a chair with a few pens and a glass of water on the table in front of her, the boxes stacked up on her left side.

She smiled up at me. “Thank you. This is great. I’m so sorry I woke you. You should go back to sleep now, or you’ll be exhausted.”

But the idea of leaving Hannah alone didn’t sit right with me. “I’ll just get all the boxes opened up so they’re ready for you.”

“I really think you should go to bed…”

I ignored Hannah and started opening the boxes and unpacking them. I placed a pile of books on Hannah’s left and then collected the ones she’d signed and placed them into one of the empty boxes. I kept shooting glances at Hannah, her head bent over the books and frowning in concentration, as she carefully signed one after another. Most people, faced with such a mountain of books to sign in the middle of the night, would rush through them, placing a slapdash signature on the book, but Hannah took her responsibilities seriously. A lock of her wavy brown hair fell forward over her face, and I fought the urge to tuck it back behind her ear.

Warmth spread through my body. Even at 4 a.m., I find this woman attractive. I went to chastise myself for the thought, and then it struck me. Hannah wasn’t an employee anymore. The only reason she’d been working here was because of our misunderstanding, which had now been resolved. Which meant there was no power imbalance anymore. Which meant that she was no longer off limits.

But she was the brilliant, bestselling author of my favorite books. The author I’d gushed over in front of Hannah and assumed was a man. Heat shot up my face at the memory.

Thankfully, Hannah was oblivious to my embarrassment, still focused on the pile of The Realm of Furies in front of her. I busied myself packing up another box of signed books, deciding now was not the time to work through my feelings for Hannah.

“Shit!” Hannah exclaimed forty minutes later.

I turned to find her staring horrified at the book in front of her.

“I must have lost concentration. I accidentally drew a line down the page, and then when I startled, my pen went off to the right, so it kind of turned into a giant L.”

I walked behind her, bending over her shoulder to assess the situation, trying not to be too distracted by my proximity to her and her faint floral scent.

“Um, maybe you could turn it into a drawing of a book and write Happy reading?”

Hannah laughed. “I don’t trust myself to start illustrating things. I’m terrible at drawing at the best of times, and 5 a.m. is not the best of times.”

“Here.” I grabbed an empty box and one of the spare pens from the desk and, crouching next to her, mirrored the L drawing on the box, showing her how I’d transform it into a book. “I’m sure you can do that.”

Hannah studied my basic drawing. “Yeah, okay. That doesn’t look too hard. I’ll give it a go. It can’t look worse than this.”

She painstakingly copied my drawing, glancing up and down and biting her lip. I tried not to stare at her lips too closely and failed miserably. They looked so soft.

Finally, she put her pen down. “There! What do you think?” She beamed up at me.

It certainly wasn’t the best book drawing I’d ever seen. But you could tell it was a book, or possibly a newspaper or magazine, which was at least something. “I think whoever gets that book will be thrilled by their one-of-a-kind, personally illustrated, signed copy.”

Hannah’s face brightened further. “I’m glad you think so! Hopefully that doesn’t happen again. Signing these damn books is hard enough without doing illustrations as well.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know. It could be a fun challenge. You draw random squiggles, and I work out how to turn them into book-related drawings.”

Hannah laughed. “If it wasn’t five in the morning and I didn’t have all these books to get through, I’d totally be up for that game. Can we take a raincheck?”

“Of course.” I grinned. “Hey, before you start signing again, can I make you something? Tea, hot chocolate, coffee?”

“George, seriously. You’re going to be wrecked tomorrow if you don’t get some more sleep.” Hannah’s voice, low and gentle, tugged at my chest. My gaze met her soft brown eyes.

“I’m okay, really. I went to bed early last night, so I’ve had some sleep. I doubt I’d go back to sleep now anyway.” Hopefully Ben would be back today, since Hannah would be in no state to work.

She narrowed her eyes. “Well, if you’re sure, I would love some tea.” She put down her pen and did some hand stretches.

By the time I’d brought Hannah back a tea, I needed to refresh her pile of to be signed books, and there was a pile of signed books to pack back into boxes. For the next while, we worked in a silent production line, Hannah autographing while I packed the signed books away and brought her fresh books. All the while, I stole glances at her, trying to reconcile the fact that this gorgeous woman who I’d spent so much time with over the past three days was also a genius fantasy author, creator of worlds and complex characters. I was itching to ask Hannah so many questions, but I didn’t want to disturb her when she needed to focus on signing books.

“Only a five more boxes. You’re nearly there,” I said as I finished packing another box of signed books.

“Oh, thank god!” Hannah rubbed her eyes and stretched her arms out wide.

I tore open the next box. On top of it was a piece of paper. Sleepily, I gazed at it for a few seconds before realizing what it was. Underneath the title “Personalizations,” there was a table with a list of names, addresses, and, in some cases, messages. My eyes flicked down the first few rows:

Happy Birthday, Sam!

Good luck with your writing, Marj.

I looked up at Hannah, dreading breaking the news to her. “Um, so it looks like these need to be personalized.”

“Oh shit.” Hannah’s face crumpled. “I’d completely forgotten about that.”

“I wish I could help you with them, but, well, that would be forgery. But I could read them to you—that might be faster.”

“Are you sure? That would be amazing.”

I nodded, and as soon as Hannah had finished signing the books piled up next to her, I began reading out the personalizations. The first few were very generic, wishing people happy birthdays and anniversaries.

“Dear Jeffrey, thank you for all your support. You are my favorite reader, and I cherish you deeply. Love, HM.” I stopped and snorted.

“It does not say that!” Hannah snatched the piece of paper out of my hand and stared at it, bleary eyes wide with disbelief. “Oh my god! You’d think someone would have vetted these before passing them on to me. What am I supposed to do? I know Jeffrey paid a premium for the personalization, but I don’t feel comfortable writing that to a complete stranger, even if I’m not signing it with my real name.” She let out a sound that was halfway between a groan and a chuckle.

“What about if you change the second sentence to I cherish all my readers deeply?” At least, that way, it’s not Jeffrey-specific.”

Hannah chewed on her lip, distracting me from thinking of any alternative wording, and then nodded. “Thanks. That’ll do, I think. To be honest, I’m so tired right now my sympathy for Jeffrey and his personalization request is low.” She picked up her pen and then looked at me with a sheepish smile on her face. “I’ve already forgotten what it said. Would you mind repeating it again?”