Until I Wrote Him
Her brunette hair is sleek, her spa robe looks like couture, and her eyes are assessing everything with that glossy kind of curiosity that editors are born with.
It takes all of three seconds before Kimberly spots me.
Her eyes widen, recognition sparking like flashbulbs.
“Oh my God,” she says, sitting up and setting her tea down. “You’re her.”
“Her?” Maggie asks, intrigued.
“India Seethal,” Kimberly says, her tone somewhere between reverence and glee.
“The Phenomenal Author. The woman who made me fall in love with fictional men who ruined my dating standards forever.”
I laugh, awkwardly, instinctively. “That’s… quite an introduction.”