The Mistletoe Inn by Richard Paul Evans Page B

for you.
    As we walked out of the session Samantha said, “I wonder if she’d be my agent.”
    â€œI thought she was kind of snarky.”
    â€œA good agent needs to be snarky,” Samantha said. “The snarkier the better. In the publishing world you swim with the snarks.”
    â€œAt least you know what not to do to get her,” I said. “Don’t follow her into the bathroom.”
    â€œHow much do you want to bet that someone will still do that at this conference?”
    â€œI wouldn’t be surprised,” I said. “We are a desperate lot.”
    â€œI just wish she had told us the five things we should do.”
    â€œNumber one should be write a good book ,” I said. “I’m hungry, let’s get some lunch.”
    We returned to the same dining room where we’d had breakfast. I recognized several people from my workshop.
    â€œThere’s John Grisham,” I said.
    â€œHe’s not really Grisham,” Samantha said.
    â€œYeah, I know that,” I said. “I’m just not so sure that he does.”
    We found an empty table near one of the windows and put our bags on it, then went over to the buffet table. The day’s main courses were chicken cordon bleu, sausage lasagna, and vegetarian lasagna. I opted for the chicken and Caesar salad.
    I gave the woman at the cash register one of my conference meal vouchers and went back to our table. Samantha was already eating.
    â€œHow was your workshop group?” I asked. “As bad as you thought?”
    â€œI’ve decided the F stands for freaks,” she said. “Just about everyone but me is into paranormal romance. But it was okay. They gave us playing cards to pair us up with writing buddies.” She took a bite of food and I waited for her to finish chewing to continue. “I drew the queen of hearts, which I figured was a good omen. How about you? Did they pair you up with someone?”
    â€œYes. But we picked our own buddies.”
    â€œDid you have any men in your group?”
    â€œJust one,” I said.
    â€œWe didn’t have any. He wasn’t that one guy, was he?”
    â€œWhich guy?”
    â€œYou know, the hot one who’s got the whole Clooney thing going? Handsome, cool glasses, a little older.”
    â€œYou mean Zeke?” I said.
    â€œYou know his name?”
    â€œHe’s in my group. And I met him earlier in the gym.”
    â€œI want to meet Zeke.”
    I cut into my chicken. “You will.”
    Samantha looked impressed. “I love your optimism. It’s quantum physics—you make your own reality. Just throw it out to the universe and it’s going to materialize.”
    â€œIn this case it’s going to materialize sooner than you think. He’s going to be joining us for lunch. He’s my workshop buddy.”
    Samantha looked at me incredulously. “Clooney’s your workshop buddy.”
    â€œHe’s not Clooney, but yes.”
    â€œI told you I was in the wrong group. The closest thing to a man in our group was this one chick who writes werewolf love stories. She looked like one of them.”
    â€œLike a man or a werewolf?”
    â€œBoth.”
    â€œThat’s mean,” I said. “And here’s Zeke now. Watch your tongue.”
    Zeke walked directly up to our table, his hands in his pockets. “Hi.”
    â€œHi,” I returned. “Zeke, this is my friend Samantha. Samantha, this is Zeke.”
    Samantha just stared at him. “You can call me Sam,” she said.
    â€œBut Samantha is prettier,” he replied.
    â€œSamantha’s good,” she said.
    Zeke turned back to me. “Still all right if I join you?”
    Before I could answer Samantha said, “Please.”
    â€œThank you.” He pulled out a chair and sat down.
    â€œDid you want to get some food?” I asked.
    â€œWhat are we eating?”
    â€œI’m having the chicken