Mister Romance by Amelia Simone (the reading list .txt) 📕

Penance and groveling were mainstays in romance, and no one could say I didn’t try to embrace them. I apologized and updated my avatars and bio online, then I practiced the fine art of shutting up. Reactions to my newsletter were mixed, but I ate crow like the finest cuisine for a few days before sending myself on social media hiatus. Emails of support were easy to respond to, but a few readers were predictably angry, and I did my best to apologize with grace.

Backlash on Twitter was harsh, as was the dip in sales. A few fans were supportive, but none were Tamra. I had no contact at all from her.

For the next few days of fallout, I worked out with Jimmy like a fiend, avoiding social media. Sleep eluded me, as I replayed reader reactions over and over. The worst were the few people who knew me personally. Matteo and Jimmy were in on my secret, but a handful of other casual friends from high school and college were hurt by my revelation. One woman I dated in the past came out of the woodwork to lambaste my romantic failures in light of my supposed expertise. Staying focused on work was a struggle, but my new schedule helped me remain disciplined.

So yeah, reactions to my revelation were pretty much everything I’d feared. But it was worth it. No more hiding. My flaws were on full display.

A week later, the furor moved on to the next idiot who’d flashed their ass online, and I stepped back into social media actively with recipe posts. Luckily, it’s hard to hate on a man in the kitchen.

I had no way of knowing if Tamra even saw my letter. I guessed she hit unsubscribe to the newsletter when she cut all other ties with me, but I was too chickenshit to check. I hoped that somehow, someway, she’d see my apology and recognize my sincerity.

Chapter 28 - Tamra

I resisted pre-ordering Chase’s new book. My finger only hovered over the one-click button a time or ten. I’d probably yield to temptation when some of the sting of his rejection had passed. I could never resist a Virginia Rothman title.

It was much harder to ignore the minor furor over his identity. The Twitterverse was lit with #RomancelandiaManspread and #FakingItRomanceStyle for a few days. Comments raged fiercely, some applauding his decision to come forward and others roasting him as a fake. I stayed out of the threads. I was too close to the subject to wade in, and commenting on controversial topics didn’t appeal. Snipers were sure to take me out from on high. My newfound confidence was still too fragile to engage in high-stakes conversations.

Dance class gave me an outlet that eased some of my frustration and rebuilt my confidence. Becca and my other classmates cheered on every new skill, and gaining strength and learning new spins gave me something to look forward to.

Eva’s support after Chase stood me up led me to invite her to coffee as a thank you. Setting aside my preconceived ideas about her life and really listening helped me realize that I wasn’t the only one feeling lonely.

I’d even tried dating again, to limited success. Matt, the guy I’d met while waiting for Gina and Vicki at the bar had called. The conversation was good enough that when he asked me out, I said yes. We spent a mildly uncomfortable evening in each other’s company. He didn’t balk too obviously when he asked me about work, and I provided epic levels of detail about the latest delivery I’d assisted with. We parted on friendly terms, but he didn’t ask to see me again, and I wasn’t disappointed.

He wasn’t Chase. Not that I wanted Chase, but I wanted someone who made me feel like Chase had. Special. Interesting. My lips twisted. At least when Chase could focus on something other than writing. No more competing for time and attention. I didn’t need a bumper sticker on the back of the Shaw family minivan to prove I existed. That I mattered. The old gray van with its dusty stickers for each of my siblings’ hobbies and academic achievements had been consigned to the used car lot long ago, and with it, I needed to let that shit go. Pretty sure they didn’t make “Proud Parent of an Introvert” stickers. Not sticking with anything long enough for my own sticker hadn’t held me back in life.

Then again, maybe I should invest in a pole aerialist decal or nursing quote for my own car. A lot had changed in my life and career since I’d lived at home. If I wasn’t enough to keep Chase’s attention, that was on him. Not me.

The night after my lackluster date, I was wrapping up a busy shift with Gina when we were graced by an unusual visitor. A tall, handsome man wearing a firefighter’s uniform approached our desk. His angular jaw and short, dark brown hair over whiskey eyes were so potent that females in his vicinity probably spontaneously ovulated when he strode by. His walk was slow but purposeful, and the absurd thought ran through my head that someone had scheduled a strippergram, until I realized that he was carrying a book instead of a more fireman-worthy prop. He approached the desk where Gina and I were filling out paperwork and cleared his throat. “Excuse me, are you Tamra Shaw?”

I gave Gina a quick side glance. “Yes,” I responded hesitantly. Who did I know that would send me a stripper? Gina gave me round, innocent eyes, and she was the only person I could think of. If he was a stripper, he needed to go back to firefighting because he looked severely uncomfortable.

He stuck out his big hand, engulfing my own when I accepted the contact. “I’m Jimmy Torres. One of Chase’s friends.”

My eyes widened. Suddenly the book made sense. I looked back up into his handsome face. “Oh. Hi. It’s nice to meet you.”

He shifted