Meet Me in the Margins

by Melissa Ferguson

“And if we move over,” Tawnya chimes in, “we’ll be editing completely new fiction. Works from people like Debbie Macomber. Francine Rivers.” “Yes. If you are called to move over, yes.” And to my surprise, Tawnya breaks out into a huge grin, almost as if she’s won the lottery. Will observes her. “Does this make you . . . happy, Tawnya?” “Does it?” she says and pulls three small, thick paperbacks from her bag, lovestruck couples on each cover of peppy blues and pinks and greens. And for the first time—in a long time, really—I see Will crack a smile. For the first time, his shoulders start to ease.

I can think of no one better to represent this line as an example of what the world at large can expect from Archer Heart . . . than an author I’ve been privileged to know for some time. Holly Ray.” Now my heart really does stop. I grab the chair in front of me for support. “Holly Ray? Have you heard of her?” I hear from someone across the room. “Oh yes, I read her for a book club. Quite good,” says another. “Ohhhh. Holly Rayyyy,” whispers another, as though she just mentioned someone who’s been a favorite of hers for decades. Will catches my eye then. There’s an unmistakable upturn of his lips peeking from his professional posture as he continues, holding the paper, shifting his gaze back to the audience. “I have read and vetted this manuscript personally, and after multiple discussions with friends and colleagues in the mass markets, I sent the novel to Maggie Samson”—he pauses to give a nod her way—“who will be heading up the Archer Heart imprint. In short, she loved it.” He pauses again, and his grin grows. “And I am pleased to announce on her behalf that she and her team intend to pull together a competitive contract offer for a three-book deal. Now all we need to hope is that Holly takes it.” An appreciative chuckle moves around the room. Meanwhile I can’t breathe. Can’t move.

EEEEEEESBSBSBBSBABBSSBS

“And I created a newsletter. But right now the only subscribers are my sister and parents.” “I’m sure you have terrific open-and-click rates, then,” he responds. “And for that matter, I’ll let you go ahead and subscribe me to that list.” He’s serious.

😭😭🫶🫶

“I thought it was Sam,” I confess immediately and rub both hands up my temples. “Oh, this is all so confusing. I thought my editor was Sam.” “Sam?” Will says incredulously. He looks like he’s been slapped in the face. “How could you think I was Sam?”

IM WHEEZING

And as we stand there, smiling at one another, his eyes transition from holding mirth to something more. As though he remembers something. Something . . . inviting. He considers me. “So. Did you ever get that kiss scene sorted out?”

OH YMGOSBBBH

“But . . . ,” he continues softly, gazing down into my eyes now, mere inches between us, “if you’re open to it, I’d be happy to give you some suggestions.” I have an intake of breath as his finger grazes my chin and gently lifts it. My eyes rise and, with them, my hope. “Well, for the sake of the manuscript . . . ,” I manage to all but whisper and lift oh so slightly on my toes. And then, as though he’s been waiting all his life for those final, acquiescent words, his hands cup my jawline, and he draws me in.

OH YM GOSHH

At last his lips turn playful as his mouth turns into an almost bashful smile. As we part, his hands slip down to hold both of mine. And while his smile is timid, his eyes are on fire, as though apologizing for demonstrating such surprising and uncaged desire, but at the same time gazing at me now like he would do it again in a second. “Well,” he says. And leaves it there. My cheeks tingle. The nape of my neck, freshly released from his strong hand, is hot. For a long moment we just look at each other. Until . . . “Yeah . . . that was okay,” I say nonchalantly, although highly aware of the fact I’m grinning ear to ear. And that does it. That breaks the spell. “Just okay?” he says incredulously. “Just . . .” There’s a question in his tone. This time he’s really asking. “ . . . okay?”

LOL stop you made him insecure

“Well, I mean . . .” I take on an instructional tone. “Where were your hands? I’m pretty sure they just stayed there, clipped to your sides”—my eyes twinkle—“like you were made of cardboard.” “They were holding you!” he retorts. “What do you mean, where were my hands? They were holding you!” “Were they?” I say innocently, as though I can’t remember—quite clearly, in fact—exactly where his hands skimmed the back of my arms, tugged me close, cupped my cheeks and then my neck the past three minutes. I shrug. “You know, the important thing here, I think, is practice. I can tell we’re going to have to practice a lot. Indoors. Outdoors. We’ll just have to keep practicing as much as we can until we get it right.” There’s a long pause as Will surveys my words. A long pause followed, at last, by a short nod. “Seems fair.” And as he drops me off at my office door a few minutes later, surrounded by the incoming and outgoing traffic of people walking around us in the hall, I can’t help but smile as he leans against the doorway and asks, “So. Meet you in the ARC room at two?”

AHAHHABAHAHA

And I still have my little getaway in the hidden room, although now Will joins me. And sometimes Brittney. And sometimes Sam—who has turned out to be a truly lovely man after all. And we all really do have a secret group handshake.

squad goals

“And what is Will going to do if he catches you chasing another nice librarian down the aisle?” Lyla exhales. Lets go of the foam board and folds her arms across her chest. “Make me stand in front of everyone at the next meeting and compliment each person one by one.”

LOL

A few moments later there’s a break in the stream of passing people, and I see Will standing on the other side. He’s just looking at me, as though he’s been standing there for some time, taking it all in as well. An easy smile plays on his lips. As he saunters forward, I see two hardcovers in one hand. Recognizing the bold orange cover, I suck in a breath. “Is that . . . ?” “Green’s latest? Yes. Got one for you.

“Already asked,” he says, stepping around the podium to stand beside me. “And while we’re on it, I finished your manuscript last night.” I raise a hopeful brow. “And?” “The timeline has some issues. The secondary characters are weak. But, I’ll grant, the hook is strong.” “Is that so?” I say and give him a playful punch on the arm. “Gently, Mrs. Pennington.” He rubs his arm with a grin. “You’re wearing diamonds.”

WHATTTTTT