Never Without Hope (Sacred Vows Book 1) Read Free Page B

liked my stories. Just too busy to read them. At first I’d thought maybe I’d offended him when I sent a new chapter from the sequel I’d begun. It was a spin off from the same series I had presented to the editor in L.A. The character in the new book had Tony’s first name and his eyes.
    Up until the headaches, I ’d had a productive past few months, so I started a new book. I couldn’t help wondering if that had something to do with my headaches.
    My dilemma was that I ’d wanted to come up with an exotic hero. Making him Latino would be too cliché. I needed his to be a different language, so I picked Italian since I decided to bring the brother of the Italian man from the first book to the states, where he meets the woman of his dreams.
    While there are plenty of Italians in New York State, few speak primarily Italian. And the language did sound sexy, which was my goal for a romance.
    The bummer was I didn ’t know the cultural stuff that well. My friend, Maria, who had given me some insight into European culture for book one, was too busy with her new job to help me much these days. Since the meat of the romance pertained to the hero’s culture, I really needed someone familiar with Italian traditions to help me with the details.
    “ So what you write now? You sell any books yet?” He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets. Today he wore the same bomber jacket he wore on the plane, and smelled like a Wilson’s Leather store. Sometimes I shopped there just to inhale that unique scent.
    “ Actually, I got a call from my agent the other day. She said the publisher I met with in L.A. wants to offer me a contract. She’s negotiating with them, so I don’t know what will happen yet. But she’s a great agent. I even started another book. In fact, I’m almost halfway done with it.” I grinned. “The hero is an Italian guy named Tony.”
    He stopped walking and turned toward me. His expression grew thoughtful. “You serious, not joking me?”
    “ Yep. I told you I’d use your eyes. Why are you surprised?”
    His grin widened. “Not surprised. Is very nice. Thank you for making special story. I would like to read your new book.”
    “ It’s called, ‘A Slice of the Good Life’. The hero is a pastry chef and is very good at making pies. They’re world famous. Get it, a slice? For a pie slice?”
    Nodding briefly, he started walking again. We entered the sliding doors of the hospital. “You will send me story to read?”
    “ Yeah, in fact, why don’t you just delete the chapter I already sent and read the new one. Okay?”
    “ Sure. You need more help with Italian words and phrases?”
    “ I hadn’t thought about that. I was thinking more about food Italians eat, but I guess it would make the story better, huh?”
    “ Yes, always much better. Italian is language of lovers.” His voice deepened and he gave me the cutest smile as he peered at me from the corner of his eye.
    “ Hmmm…I’ve heard that, but I always thought it was French… You know, I don’t think I’ve ever asked you how old you were.” I hesitated. Did I really need that info?
    “ My birthday last month. I turn twenty-eight. How many years old are you?”
    We arrived at the door to the radiology office where they had my films and I paused before going inside.
    “Me? I’m thirty-six.” I smiled inwardly.
    He stopped before opening the door and touched my arm. “You thirty-six?”
    “ Yeah, I’m often told that I look like I’m still in my twenties.”
    “ Amazing. I can’t believe you eight years older than my age.”
    I slapped his bicep. “Don’t rub it in. I’m not excited about being over the thirty-five mark as it is.”
    “ You look very much younger. Very beautiful. I not believe you older than me.”
    My cheeks warmed. I never blush. Never. “Uh, thanks, I guess.”
    He opened the door for me and didn ’t say anything while I waited for them to find my CT scan records.
    As we left, he held the door open