My Follow-Up Novel: LOVE UNLISTED

There’s a great amount of pressure off my shoulders now that the first novel A PREVIOUS ENGAGEMENT is out and about in the world.  Of course, there are other pressures now… the pressure to write a follow-up that keeps my new “fans” interested. The pressure to be just as funny, witty, and romantic. The pressure to release two brand new characters into the world.

In my follow-up novel LOVE UNLISTED, I hope I’m achieving all of these things and so much more. As an author, I always want every successive work to be better, stronger, more gripping, and even more successful (of course).  This novel has been shelved for a bit, only to be tackled with new fervor after releasing my debut novel.  Now, as I get closer and closer to my pub date in October, I’m confident that it will be a worthy addition to my published book shelf. (And no, that’s not the final cover… just a mock-up to give you the general feel.)

Here’s the skinny on Grace & Colin’s love story in LOVE UNLISTED…

Grace Shields goes above and beyond your average control freak, bring a new level of organization to everything she touches. She drives most people crazy, but her roommate Bernsie understands her neuroses and is always there to help. Except when it comes to Grace’s weird habit of listing anything and everything in something she calls The Book of Lists. Her reasons are her own, and their deeply meaningful, but no one can accept her weird compunction without judgment.

Enter Colin Kilbourne, an adorably disorganized musician with a knack for bumping into (literally) Grace. He’s the first man to make Grace second-guess her strange habits and, with a little force, get her to calm down just a little bit. Not that the road is an easy one for either of them.  Together, they’ll have to work together to find a golden middle-road to love between structure and disorder.

Read on for the opening scene of LOVE UNLISTED, where we get to see Grace in all her charmingly crazy glory as she tries to dump her boyfriend…

            Mark Preston doesn’t have enough line items in the Pro column to keep dating him.  It’s not that he has too many Cons, just not enough Pros.  I scroll through the list in my head one more time as I wring my hands, waiting for him at Ciao Bella on Boston’s famed Newbury Street. There’s no need to consult my Book of Lists; I easily memorized The Pros & Cons of Mark Preston as I agonized over this decision.

            The simple fact that I’ve been waiting here for almost a half-hour, watching the condensation drip from our matching glasses of ice water onto the red tablecloth, is enough of a reason for me to be mad at Mark. Mad enough to dump him? Not on its own, but when considered along with that lengthy Con list, it’s enough.

            Although I’m confident in my decision, I’m still nervous.  I mean, really nervous.  I’ve never let a man stick around this long before. Six months is a substantial amount of time for me. Mark’s not that bad.  He’s a good guy, but there’s just not enough substance between us.  I’m going to do this. I’m going to do this.  I’m going to freaking do this.

            Mark enters the restaurant, looking handsome as usual, and he grins when he catches my eye. In six months’ time, he’s never missed an opportunity to smile at me, one of his top Pros.  It’s flattering, and kind of sweet, but I can’t let it deter me from my objective. 

            He’s also well-dressed, another Pro, in a vibrant burgundy tie and the sharp black suit, my favorite of his extensive wardrobe. It’s been nice to date a guy with keen fashion sense for once, but sometimes Mark is almost too dapper. That’s a big Con. No man should be better dressed than his girlfriend; I’m supposed to be the arm candy here.

            I force a smile onto my face as Mark leans down to give me one of those awkward half-bent-over hugs and a peck on the lips.  I stiffen involuntarily at his touch.  Oops.  Mark is very perceptive, something that’s both a Pro and a Con.  It’s nice to know he cares, but the only thing more annoying than being annoyed with Mark is hearing him say””

            “What’s wrong, Grace?”

            Every five minutes.

            “Nothing,” I mutter through gritted teeth. Let him ask me a dozen times, but I’m not giving in.  I’ll drop the news when I’m good and ready. Mark sits. He stares. He gives up””thank goodness.

            “I got stuck at work. Sorry to keep you waiting,” Mark sighs, glancing at the menu.  He plans children’s birthday parties at our shared work place, Creative Celebrations in Boston.  I’m glad business is booming for him, but there’s only so much time Mark can spend booking balloons, pony rides, and clowns””a huge Con, for the record.  Since he’s a bit of a work-a-holic, another Con, it’s tough to pull his focus from his work desk some days.

            By now, I know his innocuous comment is an invitation for dialogue.  I consider taking the bait while I scrape absentmindedly at a scratch in my seat’s leather padding, and decide to let the comment linger unanswered.  Talking about work is overrated. And boring. Also, clowns terrify me.

            “Have you been here before?” He asks the air, still buried in the menu. I shake my head silently, but it doesn’t seem to matter that he can’t hear or see my response.  He excels at conducting a one-sided conversation, which is useful because I often have trouble thinking of something to say to him. “How did you find it?”

            “Phantom Gourmet said it has a comfortable ambiance,” I answer, staring at the back of Mark’s menu. Ciao Bella’s “contemporary, artistic décor” is just as advertised, but sitting near the window makes me feel a bit exposed to the pedestrians trudging through the snow on Newbury Street.  Granted, the street is mostly devoid of foot traffic in January, so it’s not so bad.

            Ciao Bella, on the other hand, is warm, friendly, and busy.  The perfect place to conduct an abrupt, and possibly awkward, breakup. I only hope I can get home in time for American Idol. It’s Hollywood week, after all.

            The server takes our order uneventfully. Mark asks for the Veal Parmigiano and a glass of wine. I request the Chicken Marsala and a Diet Coke, then pass on the salad, as usual. 

            “Are you ever going to try something new?” Mark asks. Picking on my eating habits is another Con, but I try to shrug it off this time. Stick to the plan, Grace, and you’ll make it out alive.

            “Why? I like Chicken Marsala.”

            “Right, I know.” Mark takes my hand across the table. “But you always order it.”

            And what’s the problem with that? I want to say. “So?” I say instead, the epitome of eloquence.  Bernsie and I have this argument all the time.  Keeping with tradition, I use the same defense with Mark now that I usually pull on her.  “I know I’ll enjoy my meal.”

            “All right,” he says with an air of I’m not convinced but I’m giving up anyway.  I hate when he uses that patronizing tone, a prominent feature of the Con list. It’s enough to push me over the edge tonight.

            “Mark, we have to talk,” I launch into my prepared speech with completely inappropriate timing.  I planned to wait for dessert, because bad news pairs best with tiramisu, but he’s really getting on my nerves.  It’s time to end this before it gets messy.

             “I know,” he grins devilishly.  He””what now?  “I have a surprise for you.” Con.

            Son of a bitch.  My own sudden outbursts are surprising enough for one evening.  Maybe for one week.  This is not the plan.  This is not the plan.  This is not the freaking plan!

            Mark’s surprises are never a success.  Last week, he showed up unexpectedly on my doorstep with flowers. Of course, since I couldn’t see him behind the gigantic bouquet, I panicked.  Swinging my arms about in my best Jackie Chan-inspired moves, I karate chopped him, obliterating the bouquet into a million tiny, colorful petals.  A month or so before that tragic episode, Mark brought me to see a movie without letting me read the review first. It turned out to be pretty gory, which grossed me out, and I vomited into our popcorn.  Sure, I appreciate all of Mark’s romantic gestures and sweet surprises, but I just don’t handle them well. For good reason, surprises are a no-go for Grace Shields.

            Before I can tell Mark to save it for his next girlfriend, my whole life flashes before my eyes in a series of Dewey-decimalized library shelves, color-coded file cabinets and alphanumerical binders.  Mark settles on one knee, offering me a velvet ring-sized box. He’s talking, but I can’t hear him because my brain is swimming in a hot tub, complete with bubbling jets and whirlpool. As he opens the box, my vision blurs. Mark grins, waiting for me to say something, and gives me the sappy I-love-you face he saves for important moments.

            “Um, well”¦Uh,” I stutter ineffectually.  I only realize I haven’t said any real words when I see Mark hasn’t moved.  Nothing is going as planned, which disturbs me on a level that normal people do not understand.  “Mark.”  I say his name with reproach, sending a slight twitch through his left eyebrow.

            “What do you say, Grace?” He holds the open box up a little higher, as though my eyes will like its contents from a closer angle. The overhead lights reflect off the gold. I turn away.

            “No,” I whisper in stunned disbelief.  To my horror, he doesn’t get up or even look upset.  On the contrary, Mark still grins broadly, flashing those beautifully-aligned, pearly Pro-column white teeth at me.  He really is a good-looking guy, with that square jaw line and the playful glint in his eye.  His dark hair, his golden eyes, and that damned sexy smile. I once thought I could love him.  It never happened.

            Good lucks aren’t enough for me.  I need personality and passion; someone who’ll take risks without being too risky; someone who’s confident without being cocky; someone who won’t try to change who I am. Not only is Mark lacking several of these imperatives, but he also has a number of inexcusable Cons, not the least of which is his poor performance in the bedroom.  Suffice it to say that Grace Shields only likes her surprises in one arena.

            I swallow hard and look him in the eye. “I can’t marry you.”

“What?” Mark asks through his smiling teeth, frozen under the glares of several Ciao Bella patrons.  “What did you say? That’s not what I”””

            “I said I can’t marry you,” I string the words together with great difficulty, motivated only by the desire to cease the unwarranted stares.  “I don’t love you, Mark.”

            Now, now he gets what I’m saying, rising to his feet and snapping the velvet ring box closed in one fluid movement.  “You also don’t listen very well.”

            “I’m sorry, Mark. I wanted to tell you.” I pull a stray thread out of my cloth napkin, keeping my eyes averted.  The table shakes gently as Mark sits in his chair, slamming the ring box down and drumming his fingers loudly against the table.  “It’s not going to work out between us.”

            When I look up at him, Mark’s face is distorted in an unsettling half-scowl/half-grimace.  I feel bad, I do, but I can’t think of anything to say.  Speechless, par for the course when the situation doesn’t go my way, I gawk at him.

            “So what finally did it?” he says abruptly, locking his eyes with mine.  Oh, he’s angry.  “What does your list say? What’s my inexcusable con, Grace?”

            Defensively, I move my feet tighter around my handbag on the floor.  My trusty Book of Lists hides within in, his list safely concealed in its pages. No one reads my lists. No one. “How did you know about that?” I say in surprise, letting my guard down again, to my chagrin.

            “Bernsie told me,” Mark says, narrowing his gaze.  I’ll make a list of Reasons to Kill My Best Friend when I leave the restaurant. If I leave the restaurant. “What does it say?”

            “Nothing.   It doesn’t”””

            “Grace, after six months, you have to give me a reason. You can’t just dump me because the mood strikes you. Now spill.” Mark swigs the remnants of his wine glass. Then he stares right through me.

            Swallowing, I squeeze my eyes closed and try to find the courage to answer him.  He’s got a point.  All dumpees want a reason. As a frequent dumper, I should’ve thought of that.  I’ll add that pointer to Things to Say During a Breakup later.  For now, I’ve got to come up with something.

            My eyes pop open as the perfect answer settles on my tongue. Mark’s expression changes at the sudden movement. I have his full attention. 

            “Well, Mark,” I say bravely, squaring my shoulders.  He raises one dark eyebrow in expectation. “You snore.”

 

Please leave your comment below for a chance to win a FREE SIGNED COPY of my forthcoming novel LOVE UNLISTED when it debuts on October 20!