I tell her this, but it’s a lie. That's the thing about a crush, it happens whether you want it to or not.

I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a crush, but there is something about Liam that has intrigued me. He has the kind of honesty that seems quite rare nowadays and I appreciate that.

Brooke points to her phone, but no new text messages arrive.

“Why would he just text me that and then not say anything else?” she asks.

“I have no idea.”

I forgot how much energy women spend analyzing text messages and what men have said or not said in them. Every comma, every emoji, or lack thereof gets analyzed for critical reasoning like an English paper quality standard assessment.

On the way back to her place, we pop into an Indian restaurant that makes the most delicious curry and put in an order to go.

While we wait, Brooke obsesses about Liam and I try to change the topic of conversation.

I pull out my phone and do some more research on D. B. Carter.

There are a number of Facebook groups devoted to discussing his work and I join all of them. There are also a number of forums that discuss his books and I make an account there to try to get some more information about where I can find him.

Once the Facebook group moderators accept me, I scour through the posts. Most of them are dedicated to gushing about the work, but there are a few people who wonder about the writer’s identity and how it is that he can put out so many books so quickly.

I ask Brooke about that and she shrugs and tells me that it's actually not that uncommon.

“Really? Do people really publish this many books?”

“Yes, you'd be surprised. Check out Bella Forrest or just about any other successful indie writer in the romance genre. Even Willow Rose, who writes thrillers. She has more than seventy-five books, at last count. Some people are really prolific and basically that's the thing that builds their brand and gets their readers to come back. Some people publish a book a month and they are quality, good books and their readers appreciate that.”

“Readers like you?” I ask.

She shrugs her shoulders and says, “Of course. You know me, I like to read a lot. It seems like nowadays, in the age of Netflix, what's the point of just reading one book if that's what you want to do for entertainment? The author I read has to have a big catalog so that I can really devote myself to their series.”

I agree with her. I hadn't really thought about the importance of publishing a lot in order to build a brand, but it makes perfect sense.

There's so much competition and there’re so many writers out there that the way to get people interested in you and to devote their reading time to your book is to have a lot of books published.

“Have you ever thought about writing anything?” she asks. “I mean besides articles?”

I shrug.

It would be a lie to say that I haven’t.

Of course I have.

A number of times.

I actually managed to write about 20,000 words of a novel before I couldn’t figure out what to do with the rest of the story and gave up.

“I know that you are a really good reporter and that you enjoy that kind of work, but I thought that maybe you would like to write some fiction as well.”

“Yeah,” I say, shaking my head. “It's kind of crazy to think about but why not, right? I'm just worried that no one would read anything that I would want to write,” I add jokingly.

“I think the attitude that you have to have is that you have to do it until.”

“Until what?”

“Just until. People will probably not like your first books. Hell, you’ll be lucky to even find anyone to read them, but if you take the long-term view and decide for yourself that you’ll keep going until then you’ll keep getting better. Better at writing. Better at marketing. Better at everything.”

Brooke pays for the food and I grab the bags.

She looks down at her phone to see if maybe Liam has texted back, but he hasn’t.

I let out a sigh of relief.

19

Liam

I don't have Emma's contact info, but I do have her sister's. We had a nice conversation, but I also don't want to send her the wrong message.

I don't know why my thoughts keep focusing on Emma. She's the last girl that I should be thinking about.

Alex is a lot of things and he has a lot of flaws, but he's also a friend. Emma is his significant other. Maybe she’s not engaged to him anymore but whatever is happening between them, it’s very new and very raw and I can’t let myself think about her.

It's early morning when I climb out of bed and immediately slip on my running shoes. I haven't always been a runner, but I've gotten into quite a funk over the last few months and the only way out is to actually wake up and force myself to go.

When I was in high school, up in Seattle, I used to be on the track team. I ran hurdles and the two-mile run. I even did cross country. Long distance running was never my thing, but I always wanted to do a marathon.

I step outside of the hotel and turn on my watch. I've been tracking my mileage, however embarrassingly minimal.

I try not to think about it.

Just set the watch to an outdoor run and put one foot in front of the other, I say to myself.

My hotel is small and boutique-like, with no rooms under $500 a night. There's a nice pool and a hot tub as well, but it's in the low 60s in Santa Monica and filled entirely by out-of-staters.

The breeze coming off the ocean feels good against my skin. It wakes me up even if I don't want to.

There's a road going above the cliff with a view of the ocean, but I take the steps down and run along the water line. The sand is dark brown, almost gray, matching the early morning weather.

It's not warm, but it's not cold either.

The humidity makes the air thick and I manage to run without struggling for breath for over a mile and a half. Pushing myself hard, I feel the roaring of my muscles with each step.

Running out here feels so different from running back home. It's not just the sand under my feet, providing additional resistance and making my muscles work harder.

It's more than that.

The city is full of people. Most not awake yet, but I know that they will be emerging out of their apartments soon. So far, there are a few occasional homeless people walking with their bags of stuff in the park just near the ocean.

I swallow hard and remember my own life back on the streets in San Francisco. I had just graduated from college and I needed to get away from life. I had worked hard all of my life.

I did everything that I was supposed to do and I’d had enough. Maybe I read Into the Wild with Christopher McCandless a few too many times, but I was inspired to strike out on my own. I didn't have many material possessions. I gave up my apartment and I paid off the last of my debts on my credit cards.

I packed a small bag and drove down from Seattle all along the coast.

Instead of sleeping in hotel rooms or short-term rentals, I slept in my car. The first few nights were difficult and uncomfortable, but I had my books to protect me from all the evils in the world.

Books and music, that's all I needed back then.

When I got to San Francisco, I parked my car in long-term parking and made my way around the city. I knew that I wasn't really destitute the way that many of the people were out there. I wasn't abandoned by my family. I didn't have mental health problems. I was a tourist. I was there to see what life was really like.