Chapter 28

HANNAH

I arrived in Manhattan late morning, after a torturous train ride during which I scrolled through the growing number of news articles and social media posts about me, ignored the influx of messages from acquaintances who were suddenly very eager to reconnect, obsessed about who could have revealed my identity, and set up meetings with Michael today and my publicist and Emma tomorrow. I’d been disappointed they couldn’t meet with me sooner, but in fairness to them it was incredibly short notice. On the plus side, the article had been out for over sixteen hours, and no one in Sapphire Springs appeared to have seen it or the ensuing media coverage. Or if they did, they apparently didn’t care, as I hadn’t received messages from any of my new friends. But that one piece of good news didn’t do anything to relieve the heavy, tight feeling in my stomach and chest or the gray cloud that had been hanging over me since last night.

I’d been hoping my hotel room would be ready early so I could crawl into bed and try to sleep, but it wasn’t. Standing in the hotel lobby, I glanced at my phone to check the time, ignoring the new notifications that had appeared since I’d looked last. I was meeting Michael at 2 p.m., which left me with almost three hours to kill. Since hiding in my room wasn’t an option, I decided to jump on the subway and have lunch at one of my favorite cafés in the West Village, an Australian-run joint with delicious, fresh food and coffee that was almost as good as George’s. My appetite was non-existent, but I needed to eat something, and at least going to the Village would keep me busy. I left my suitcase at the hotel, and to reduce the risk of being recognized—more photos of me had been appearing online, including a particularly unflattering one of me frowning at a fundraising gala with Tania—I put on a cap and sunglasses and headed out.

I walkeddown the dirty stairs to the subway station and was hit with a rush of dank, hot air as a train flew past. I have not missed this at all. A giant rat scurried past as I walked down the platform. At ALL. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before a B train appeared, and fifteen minutes later, I was in the West Village, strolling down the leafy green streets lined with red-bricked apartment buildings, brownstones, cafés, bars, and restaurants. I hadn’t thought about it when I’d decided to come down here, but the Village held a lot of Tania-related memories for me. We’d had our first date at an Italian restaurant I’d just passed, sitting outside on chairs on the sidewalk, and our first kiss was at Cubbyhole, a tiny, colorful queer bar that was a New York institution. Our wedding rings had been made by a jeweler on Bleeker Street. But to my surprise, these memories weren’t painful anymore. They were part of my life that felt very much in the past, almost as if they’d happened to a different person.

A cute white picket fence marking the café’s claim to the sidewalk and blue awnings signaled that I’d reached my destination. I was early enough that there wasn’t a wait for a table, and I managed to grab one outside. Fighting the urge to check my phone again, I focused on the menu instead, deciding on an avocado smash and a latte.

While I waited for my order to arrive, I mentally prepared for my meeting with Michael.

I was very much open to constructive criticism—thoughtful feedback I could take onboard and use to make my manuscript even better. But based on the email he’d sent me, I was convinced Michael was going to rip it to shreds or tell me I needed to ditch the whole thing. My pulsed increased as I brainstormed possible criticisms Michael might have and how I could respond. I needed to be prepared to advocate for myself and my manuscript. I started to go down a rabbit hole, imagining biting comments Michael could make and decided that this line of thought was counterproductive. Much better to focus on positive things: George, my new friends, and life in Sapphire Springs. I smiled, already feeling lighter.

My life really had done a 180 since I’d met George. I’d been so unhappy when I left New York, still devastated by the breakup, lonely and struggling with writer’s block, and now my life in Sapphire Springs was everything I could have dreamed of. And it was all thanks to George. If I hadn’t walked into Novel Gossip that day and spoken to George, I wouldn’t have an almost-completed manuscript, an amazing new group of friends, or the strong connection I now felt to the Sapphire Springs community. I also wouldn’t have a supportive girlfriend, who in the past twelve hours alone had comforted me through my panic attack, made me pancakes for breakfast to celebrate release day, and drove me to the station.Honestly, it all felt too good to be true.

Was it too good to be true?

A sense of unease grew inside me. I took a deep breath. Hannah, you’re just going through a rough twenty-four hours. Now is not the time to start overanalyzing things and manufacturing problems where there aren’t any. But rationalizing my worries didn’t make them go away. Being back in New York had brought with it memories of my relationship with Tania, and while they were no longer painful, they had reminded me of the problems we had. And one of the many problems was that I’d become too reliant on Tania. I’d been reliant on Tania for my writing and friends. Like George, she’d been the more extroverted of the two of us, and I’d basically adopted her friend group. And then, when I discovered Tania was cheating on me, my life had imploded. I’d lost my ability to write and my friends. Was I falling into exactly the same trap?

All my new friends, and my job, I had because of George. She’d sparked my passion for my current manuscript, inspired the spicy scenes, and helped me work through issues when I was stuck. Was that really healthy? If we broke up, would I go back to being a friendless, unemployed author with writer’s block, stressing about how to pay Barb’s and my bills?

I sighed. I was pretty sure this whole train of thought was because of my anxiety, but the worries suddenly felt very real. Perhaps I should pull back from George to protect myself. We had been moving very quickly.

My latte arrived. Since thoughts of George and Sapphire Springs didn’t seem to be alleviating my anxiety either, I tried to follow my therapist’s advice and practice mindfulness instead, focusing on the smooth, slightly nutty flavor of the latte and the warm sensation as it flowed down my throat. For a moment, it seemed to be working, but then my phone pinged, and my concentration shattered, replaced with a swirl of theories about who it could be. My parents, Tania, a media outlet… The hypotheticals felt worse than not knowing, so I picked up my phone. To my relief, it was a message from Chris.

Hey, I just saw that article. I’m so sorry. That’s really shitty. If you need to chat at all, just let me know. Chris.

I managed a weak smile. Chris was one of the few friends who I’d made independently of Tania and George. Maybe talking to another author about what was going on would help. Unless they were the source of the leak… I shook my head. While I didn’t know Chris well, they seemed so warm and genuine, and I couldn’t believe that they would have divulged my identity. I wasn’t even sure they knew my real last name. I shot off a text, letting them know I was going to be in New York for a couple of days and asking if they were free to meet. Chris responded quickly, inviting me to an event for their latest release in Cobble Hill at 5 p.m. tomorrow and suggesting we grab a drink afterward.

Feeling slightly more cheerful, I eyed the smashed avocado toast that had arrived. My appetite was still dampened by my anxiety, but it looked like a damn good avocado toast. That observation was verified as soon as I bit into it. The creamy avocado offset the tangy goat cheese perfectly, and the heirloom tomatoes and micro herbs added bursts of flavor. It was exactly what I needed. Substantial, healthy, and comforting.

Just as I was about to get up and pay, another notification lit up my phone. My heart rate picked up as I saw it was a message from George.

Hey, gorgeous, I just wanted to let you know that I’m thinking of you and hope you’re doing okay. If you want to talk, just call me. I don’t care what time it is. Good luck for your meeting with Michael xoxo

My eyes filled with tears, which I blinked away hurriedly. George was so damn sweet. Not only that, but her text was a timely reminder that she was not Tania. Maybe I was too dependent on her-—something I needed to consider more—but if I was going to put all my eggs in one basket, George would be my top pick for holding it.

Thanks babe. I miss you. I’ll text you after the meeting to let you know how it goes and maybe we can talk tonight xoxo

It didn’tdawn on me until I was on the subway heading uptown that there was a risk I’d run into Tania while I was in New York. She worked in the same office as Michael and my publicist, after all—the office I was about to meet Michael at for our meeting.

I’d suddenly found it difficult to swallow, a sensation that was still present as I waited for Michael in the lobby of the building. I touched my hearing aid to make sure it was working and then looked around the lobby. Please don’t run into Tania. Please don’t run into Tania. Despite feeling like I’d finally moved on from her, I didn’t want to see her, especially not in my current state. She’d almost certainly say something cutting that left me feeling even worse about myself. And we still hadn’t spoken about formally dividing up our assets—a conversation that I didn’t currently have the mental capacity to deal with. I also couldn’t shake the thought that perhaps she’d been the one to reveal my identity. It didn’t seem in keeping with her character, but perhaps there was a motive hidden somewhere in there.

My phone vibrated, and I pulled it out to see who was calling. My parents. I sighed and put the phone back in my satchel. They’d probably heard the news about my pen name and my divorce and were calling to express their disappointment. Now was definitely not the time.

I spotted Michael, with his neatly cut, dark brown hair and his thick, black-rimmed glasses, approaching through a security gate from the elevator bays. I walked toward him, half relieved that I didn’t need to wait exposed in the lobby anymore, a sitting duck for Tania to see, and half a bundle of nerves that I was finally about to hear Michael’s thoughts.

“Hi, Hannah.” Michael shook my hand, barely managing a smile. Anxiety bubbled up, causing the lump in my throat to expand even further.

“Hi,” I managed.

For a moment, there was an awkward silence as we stood in the lobby. I assumed Michael was going to take me up to a soulless meeting room in my publisher’s office, perhaps one with a screen so he could give a PowerPoint presentation about all the things wrong with my manuscript.

“Would you like to grab a coffee? The café around the corner is decent,” he said instead. His tone and expression were so neutral it was impossible to get any idea of what he was thinking.

“Um, sure,” I responded, taken aback. A café didn’t seem like the most professional place to rip your author to shreds.

As we walked out of the lobby and around the corner to a light and airy coffee shop full of Scandinavian furniture, we made stilted small talk about the weather. Settling ourselves at a small table near the window, I was relieved the café was quiet—less people to witness my humiliation.

I ordered a decaf, conscious from past experience that too much coffee could increase my anxiety. Given where my anxiety was currently at, I didn’t want to risk it.

“Thanks for coming to meet me in person, especially after what’s happened in the past twenty-four hours. I’m sorry you’ve had to go through it.” Michael’s neutral delivery didn’t match his apologetic words. “I won’t be at your meeting tomorrow with the publicity team and Emma, but I’ve asked them to give me an update afterward. I wanted to also let you know that we’re launching an internal investigation to ensure the leak didn’t come from us, as we take the confidentiality of our authors very seriously.”

“Oh. Uh, thank you,” I said, surprised. It hadn’t crossed my mind that they’d do something like that. Did they have a reason to think the leak had been an inside job? Now that I was with Michael again, I couldn’t imagine it had come from him. He was so serious and reserved, and what would he have had to gain from making my identity public?

Continuing in the same tone, it took me a few seconds to work out that he’d changed subjects. “I also wanted to let you know that we’re really happy with how The Realm of Furies launch is going so far. It’s had some excellent early reviews, strong pre-orders, and a good amount of interest from bookstores.”

“Oh, that’s great to hear, thanks,” I said, relief washing over me. Hopefully if sales continued, I’d earn out the advance quickly and start receiving royalties.

“Thanks for sending me your partial manuscript.” He pulled out a notebook and a stack of paper, which I immediately recognized as the first part of my manuscript, and my stomach turned. Here goes. I braced myself.

Michael looked down at his notes and then stared intently at me, a solemn expression on his face.

“I obviously haven’t read the entire novel”—Okay, good, at least he is acknowledging this up front—“but based on what I have read”—I took a deep, fortifying breath—“I think this is, by far, your best work yet. You’ve always been a talented writer, Hannah, but you’ve really taken this to the next level.”

I stared at him, struggling to process his words. He looked like he’d just told me my cat had died and his tone was as flat as a pancake, but his words…his words were something else. A wave of relief, verging on elation, flooded over me.

“Oh, wow! I thought, based on your email, that you hated it.”

Michael frowned. “No.” He shook his head. “I’m really excited to read the rest of it.” And while I’d never seen anyone “really excited” while remaining as outwardly composed as Michael, I believed him.

Forty-five minutes later, after he’d finished earnestly going through all the things he loved about the manuscript and giving me a few thoughtful suggestions for improvement, my view of my new editor had been completely overturned. He got the book. And most of his suggestions would make it even better. Not only that, but his approach seemed collaborative. Tania had often told me how to fix my books, whereas Michael made it clear that everything he said was just ideas that I could take or leave. I could get used to his deadpan delivery if this was the payoff. A faint buzz of excitement vibrated through me. Perhaps changing editors hadn’t been such a bad thing after all. Getting a fresh perspective might improve my books and my writing. I was already looking forward to weaving in some of Michael’s ideas.

Walking back to the hotel to check in, I reread the email Michael sent me last night. How had I gotten it all so wrong? Looking at it again, without being in full-blown panic mode, the email was neutral. I’d clearly read way too much into his staid writing style. I also hadn’t been very accepting or understanding that Michael might just have a communication style that was different than what I was used to. Perhaps he was socially anxious like me, neurodiverse, or just a serious guy. I sighed. I hated when my anxiety got to this level, making me assume the worst and dominating my mind with negative thoughts. I kept telling myself that it would pass, like it had before, but when my anxiety was high, it was hard to believe it. And unfortunately the initial trigger for my anxiety, the revelation of my author identity, was still a very real problem I had to deal with.

I changed direction, heading up Sixth Avenue toward Central Park to extend my walk. Exercise usually helped when my anxiety got to be too much, as did sleep and eating well. Constantly checking my phone did not help, but I’d noticed I had two new messages when I was checking my email, and curiosity got the better of me.

Hi, Hannah. George told us about the article. I’m so sorry. If there is anything I can do, please let me know xxx Olivia

We’re thinking of you. If you need a girls’ night out at Frankie’s to burn off some steam, just LMK xo Jenny

I smiled. Olivia and Jenny reaching out independently to check in on me was unexpected but welcome. Unlike the messages I’d received from some of my New York friends and acquaintances, it didn’t feel like there was any hidden agenda or a sudden new interest in me because they’d discovered I was H. M. Stuart. They seemed to actually care. A pang of longing for Sapphire Springs, for my friends, for George, hit me again. I just needed to get through tomorrow’s meetings, and if everything went to plan, I’d be back there the following day. And by the time I returned, hopefully I would have contained the unwanted publicity situation as best I could and gotten my anxiety under control.