Frantically, I typed back,‘What are you and Beth wearing?’
‘LOL! You know I’ll be in jeans. Beth has picked out a flowery sundress. There’s no dress code. Wear what makes you happy.’
I rolled my eyes at that. I couldn’t wear what would make me happy, even if I knew what it was. The success of my mission hinged on scoring a respectable impression. Being an erotic romance author comes with expectations. I needed to look the part. I wanted to save the sexy, tight slacks and come-hither blouse for tomorrow since I’d be running my table most of the day, and the galley would be packed with fans coming and going. Deciding on the halter-top dress to display my Florida tan and firm arms and shoulders meant I had to sort out how to use the boob tape to get them situated just right. Like the rest of me, my breasts were suitably average. Still, no place for a bra with that dress, and I wasn’t going without some modest support.
The knowledge that I would spend the evening with someone I knew and trusted was a saving grace. Tammy could afford to relax and be herself. She was an established author, had a wife who worked as her business manager, and a retirement income. What did I have besides hope and a prayer?
Chapter 4
A Viking, a Wife, and a Nerd
Icould feel the friendly atmosphere from down the hall as the smooth tones and gay laughter drifted out with the ease of steam rising from wet pavement after a summer rain. My lips curved despite my nerves.Stand up straight. Pull your shoulders back. Lift your chin. Aspen Wolfe maintains proper posture; she doesn’t slouch.I had to remind myself numerous times a day. So, I stretched to my full five-foot-five and strolled in like someone who belonged.
The lighting was dim, and the sweet smell of alcohol teased my nose as I glanced around for a familiar face. The bar appeared to be at three-quarters capacity, most of the revelers being women. Waiters in professional black and white bustled about while patrons sat in parties or wandered from table to table. Like the rest of the Windsor, the lounge was posh, elegant, and immaculate. A tantalizing aroma drew my attention like a magnet to a buffet table overflowing with silver serving trays.They said there would be food,I recalled as my mouth watered, and my stomach reminded me I’d had nothing since that hamburger three hundred miles ago.
My famished fawning was interrupted by the motion of a waving hand. The fifty-something-year-old woman attached to it was unmistakable. Except for the short crop of graying hair, Tammy Fairfield could easily pass for a shieldmaiden from one of her Viking historical romances. Even seated, her tall, solid frame was unmistakable, accentuated by her dragon-etched, black T-shirt that hugged her well-defined muscles and ample bosom. Her delighted expression and exuberant waving made me forget my pretenses long enough to laugh endearingly and scurry in her direction.
Like a gentlemanly butch, she rose to greet me with a warm embrace. “Aspen, it’s wonderful to see you again. You look even better than you did in February.”
The Read Out had started as a local event sponsored by the gay-friendly Gulfport Library but had grown to garner regional and national attention. Authors from all over attended this winter’s event, including Tammy. Since we’d been corresponding for a long time, it had been thrilling to meet my mentor in person, even though her wife hadn’t been able to join her then. The twinkle in her kind eyes hadn’t changed a bit.
I relished the strength of her arms around me and the way her presence enveloped me in comfort. Being with Tammy made me feel safe. “I’m so glad you came,” I gushed. “I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t here.”
“Well, you know it was just a hop, skip, and a jump from Rosenberg, Texas,” she replied as she slid out of the hug. “Besides, I’ve got a book up for Best Historical this year. Here, let me introduce you to my better half, Elizabeth Fairfield—but everyone calls her Beth.”
There were two other women seated at the table. The older one with flowing brown hair, wearing a light cotton sundress, smiled and wiggled her fingers at me.
“So nice to finally meet you,” she declared in a lovely British accent tainted with a twang of Texas.
In an instant, it dawned on me that she wasn’t seated in a pub barrel-back, but in a wheelchair.Don’t stare!I ordered myself. Instead, I kept my attention on her friendly face, stepped over, and shook her hand. “It is such a pleasure to meet you,” I returned. Tammy pulled out the chair for me, and I settled in as gracefully as I could manage while trying to process meeting such an important new friend and puzzling over why Tammy never mentioned her wife was disabled. “And thank you for all your help when I was first learning to set up ads and everything. You both just mean the world to me.” No truer words. They were like family.
Tammy shuffled behind Beth, stroking her shoulders tenderly and brushing a kiss to her hair. “And this cute, little gal is Winter Bliss, sci-fi writer extraordinaire!” Tammy beamed.
For the first time, I focused my attention on the young stranger who must have been newly out of college, if she’d even been yet. She was tiny compared to Tammy, with a face framed by a brunette bob and consumed by round Harry Potter glasses. Her chin was too pointy, her nose too long, but the blush warming her cheeks and the glow of wonder in her electric blue eyes seemed genuine. The look of admiration and appreciation she aimed at me resembled the one I’d cast at the buffet table moments ago.
“Nice to meet you, Winter. I’m—”
“I know who you are,” she answered and pressed her lips together as if trying to hold back a flood of praise. It didn’t work, and words tumbled out. “I absolutely love your books, your writing style, your descriptions. Your characters are so bold andlarger-than-life, yet the way you tell a story convinces me things like that could really happen. And how do you come up with those love-making scenes? Personal experience? I mean, the one inOnly a Touch—”
“No,” I broke in. Everyone wanted to know where I learned the delectably tantalizing moves in Chapter Ten of that book. Women had written to thank me with tales of the pleasure they had given their romantic partner and how it revolutionized their love life. But my love life—or lack thereof—was the last thing I wanted to talk about.
I read the reaction on her face and realized my tone had been too sharp. “I mean, a lady never tells,” I added with a coy smile and a dash of humor.
She laughed, clearly relieved her favorite author wasn’t upset with her. I derived from her accent this was probably her first trip south of the Mason-Dixon line, so I followed up with a safe question. “Where are you from?”
Despite being so completely not my type, she had an adorable way of biting her bottom lip while rolling her fingers around each other as if she craved a fidget spinner. It was just like Tammy to adopt this stray the same way she had me.
“Beaver Dam, Wisconsin.” She took a breath before launching into a dissertation. “It’s very different from the South where you guys are all from. Yeah, we have cheese and cows and beautiful forests, but we spend five or six months buried in snow, so escapism is like the state pastime. My mom knits, my dad constantly has a sports channel on, and my brother and his buddies take off on these hunting and fishing weekends—which I never understood because it’s just freezing, but they wear parkas and thermals, and sometimes they bring home an elk and at least he has a Skidoo. I’ve driven it out on the pasture and it’s fun.”
Conjuring an impulse for self-control, Winter clamped her mouth shut, blushed, and met my eyes. “Anyway, winters can be dismal, so I wanted to turn that on its ear by calling myself Winter Bliss—you know, a fun escape through reading fantastic science fiction, only I’ve yet to win an award or hit best-seller status like you guys.”
She lowered her gaze and clamped her busy fingers together as if folded for prayer, while a crimson hue filled her cheeks. Her oversized glasses began a long slide, and she yanked a hand free to push them up before returning it to the fold.
“Hey, don’t you dare sell yourself short, young lady,” Tammy demanded, waving a finger at her. “You’re only on your third book and the first two weren’t bad. Kid, you’ve got the brains; you just need experience.”
“You’ll learn so much at this conference,” Beth added cheerfully. “You’ll go home inspired to turn your adventures into gold and with the tools to do it.”
Winter nodded and granted the couple an appreciative look. She didn’t offer her given name, but neither had I, so we were even on that plain. Tammy and Beth were the Fairfield’s real names. The forty-fifth-generation Viking descendant didn’t have a disingenuous bone in her body. I loved and admired her for that. What courage, and in Texas even.
