And then Sally picked up her shoes and was walking away, just as the sun dipped below the horizon.
“Wait!” Amy called out.
Sally stopped and turned.
Amy swallowed. She wasn’t completely sure that what she was doing was the right thing but something was telling her it was.
She walked over to where Sally had stopped and stood in front of her.
“Thank you for telling me,” she said, meeting Sally’s eyes with her own.
“I knew I was going to tell you fifteen seconds after I walked into the coffeeshop,”
“Then why didn’t you tell me fifteen seconds after you walked into the coffeeshop?”
Sally shrugged.
“What if I was the only one who felt the way I did? I was hedging my bets, I guess. I figured if you were lukewarm to me or if you spent our entire date checking out that hot brunette behind the counter—”
“Vanessa,” Amy supplied. “But you would have to give me a pass on her. Everybody checks out Vanessa. I even know a married lesbian couple who have a No-Cheating-Except-With-Vanessa policy.”
Sally laughed.
“I could totally understand that. Anyway, the point is, if I felt that you weren’t feeling the same way I was, I’d let you walk away none the wiser.”
“But you knew I felt the same way?”
Sally nodded.
“I did,” she confirmed. “And so here we are.”
“Is everything else you told me true?”
“About my boring life? Yep.”
“Don’t forget the part about being named after Charlie Brown’s sister,” Amy added.
“I have her tattooed on my ribcage.”
Amy’s breath caught. She wanted to see that tattoo.
Actually, I just want to see her ribcage.
She pushed that thought away. It was counterproductive now.
“Before I decide if I never want to see you again,” Amy began, “start from beginning and tell me everything.”
***
How long it took, Amy didn’t know, nor did she care. They had sat back down in the sand, facing each other as it grew dark, until the beach was illuminated only by moonlight. It could have been an incredibly romantic setting and she supposed to anyone passing by, it looked that way.
Sally did what Amy had asked and told her everything. How Sally herself had only found out the truth about Jillian Ashley just last week. How Sally had been just as shocked by the revelation that her favorite lesfic author was really a man. How this guy, Max, had come to write the books in the first place and how he had offered Sally twenty percent of his royalties to pretend to be Jillian from time to time.
“Wow! Twenty percent?” Amy was impressed. She didn’t know the particulars of how many Jillian Ashley books had been sold, either in Kindle format or in paperback, but she figured a twenty percent cut was nothing to sneeze at.
“Amy, I swear,” Sally began, “going on a date with you had nothing to do with money!”
“I totally believe you,” Amy assured Sally. And she did. From the story which Sally had related, this whole her-pretending-to-be-Jillian-Ashley escapade was nothing sinister, nor had it been embarked upon with any evil intent. “But I’m still having trouble wrapping my mind around the fact that Jillian Ashley is actually a man.”