Promises & Pen Names (The Riley Siblings #1)

1. Sidney

Chapter One

SIDNEY

“ A re you nervous?”

My gaze shifts from the backpack I’m currently rummaging through to my bed where three pairs of deep blue eyes stare back at me. Well, two pairs are staring at me, the third is occasionally glancing my way in between emptying my suitcase, sitting in it, then climbing on his brother and sister.

Which makes me sigh as I shrug. “Sort of. I’m more excited than anything.”

“You should be.” Sloane beams a huge smile my way, the dimple all three of them inherited from me popping in her cheeks. “This is a pretty big deal, Mom.”

I return her smile and try to hide my nerves with a confident nod.

She’s not wrong.

This is a pretty big deal, kind of huge actually, and the fact that it’s finally happening has a storm of emotion swirling in my empty stomach.

“You have my flight details, right? The itinerary for the week? ”

Sloane rolls her eyes but grins. “Yes, Mom. Your flight leaves in six hours, straight shot to Orlando International. You’ll land around four and you’ll call us as soon as you’re at baggage claim. After that, you’re going to the hotel to get settled, you’ll FaceTime us so we can see how cool your room is, then you’re going to dinner,” she says as she grins wider and bats her lashes while clutching her hands together under her chin. “With Blake .”

Jack rolls his eyes with a smirk as Sloane breaks into a ridiculous rendition of Sidney and Blake sitting in a tree , my middle child eventually joining in at ear -piercing volumes while Holden claps and laughs uncontrollably from his place inside my suitcase.

“Stop.” I try to scold but it comes out a little giddy and a lot awkward while I blush and shake my head. “This is business and you know it.”

“Mom.” My fourteen-year-old much more successfully scolds. “It’s business, yeah, but you and Blake have total chemistry. This trip could be more than business and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“How do you even know anything about chemistry?”

Sloane shrugs. “I guess I really don’t but I see the way your face lights up when he messages you, and how goofy you get when you’re texting him.” Then she gives me a soft smile. “That hasn’t happened in a long time. You haven’t even dated since...”

Since I divorced their father three years ago.

“I like working with him. Blake is a great guy, and we get along really well. Not to mention, this project is pretty huge for both of us, so yeah, maybe I get excited when I talk to him, but it isn’t like that with Blake.” Not that it could be like that, even if I maybe sorta wished it could. Too many reasons for it to never be like that with Blake.

“Well, I think you’re wrong. ”

I blink at my oldest baby. “You think I’m wrong?”

She nods. So does Jack and Holden, but my eleven-year-old probably isn’t totally sure what he’s agreeing to since his nose has been in his phone almost this entire time, and I know for a fact my three-year-old doesn’t have a clue. Siblings united though, so I can’t complain.

“Enlighten me, oh great relationship guru.” I finish checking my backpack, zip it up, turn, and lean my hip into the dresser.

Sloane giggles then sighs. “Ok. So, I see the way you act when you talk to Blake, when you’re going to talk to him, or just finished talking to him.”

“Which is how?”

“Like the girls at school when they get notes from boys. You totally have a crush on your writing partner, and judging by the way he’s always messaging you, I’d say Blake might just have a crush, too.”

“And talking to my writing partner a ton means this is more than just business?” My brow lifts. “Not because it is business, and the only way we can conduct said business since we live in different states?”

“Come on, Mom. Think about it. You guys text all day long and not just about your book. Then after we go to bed, you sit up all night on Discord while you work.”

“And he thinks you’re pretty,” Jack grunts.

Apparently, he’s paying a little more attention than I thought.

With a sigh, I walk to the bed and plop down between my kiddos. “He didn’t say I was pretty, Jack. Blake was only commenting on the pictures I thought I needed for the book signing. It’s different.”

“Nope.” He shakes his head but his eyes never leave his phone as Jack’s shaggy auburn curls bounce around his ears. “ You had Alexa reading your messages and I heard him say you probably looked really pretty,” my son says, lifting his head to give me a pointed look. “ Beautiful in the one you picked. Which is why you picked it.”

Man, my kids are perceptive.

Blake didn’t exactly say I looked beautiful, he just said he was sure I looked great in the photos and to choose whichever one I thought made me look best. Then he laughed at me when I scrapped all of them in favor of keeping up with my anonymity until we’re at the book signing. Blake couldn’t tell me based on the photos—if I’m pretty or not because he’s never seen me, just like I’ve never seen him.

Blake Morgan is a chart topping, bestselling author of romance novels that pack all the heat and swoon, a man who has been melting panties with his words for years, but no one has ever seen him. And he writes under a pen name like so many of us out there so things stay that way.

I’ve been a fan of Blake’s work for a long time, and to be honest, he’s one of the authors who inspired Harper King to start writing.

Harper King being my pen name that I hide behind.

I reached out to Blake on a whim about two years ago; emailed him over a couple of questions I had and we wound up becoming pen pals of sorts. It started out with him deciding to mentor me a little; sharing his knowledge and experience, taking a fledgling author under his wing, but as time went on we developed a pretty solid friendship. Emails turned into sporadic Discord messages, then those evolved into daily texts, and eventually, Blake and I were talking on multiple platforms throughout the day, every day.

And while most of our conversations flow like we’ve known each other for years, we’re very different in a lot of ways .

Like the fact that I’m a pushing forty, divorced mother of three, and he’s a pushing forty, never been married dog dad. He’s all about comics while I only acknowledge them when Jack needs to pick them up off the floor. Blake plays video games and I haven’t picked up a controller since Super Nintendo was all the rage, or because they are also all over my living room floor.

It’s mostly surface stuff where we differ though, because as I’ve gotten to know Blake, I’ve realized we actually have a lot in common where it counts—including our love for writing. Which is what spawned our current project that’s releasing in less than a month’s time.

One night about a year and a half ago while I was spamming Blake with mock-ups for a new logo I was attempting—and failing—to design, I made a joke about us collaborating on a romance novel.

I, well Harper King, write historical paranormal romance and am independently published on Amazon with a relatively decent size following of loyal fans, the only thing our writing has in common is the genre. Our sub-genres and tropes don’t exactly line up, and if I hadn’t been three quarters of the way through the joint I was smoking when we were chatting, I never would have suggested it in the first place.

Blake is a super successful full-time writer, and I’m still working as an English teacher for the local high school while mothering three children, writing part-time, and trying like hell to keep my head above water. And I’m a baby author on top of all that.

I only published my first two books within the last six months, the third is set to release in a couple of weeks, and while they’ve sold quite a few copies, I’m not even close to the same caliber as Blake. And that’s exactly why I didn’t believe him when he circled back around to the idea of collaborating .

It was maybe five months ago when Blake shot me the text that started a complete tornado in the middle of my seemingly normal life, just a simple what happened to the idea of co-writing??

We were both working on our own books at the time but Blake was a month out from release and already onto the next project, one he wanted to work on with me. I thought he was joking, poking fun at my stoner comment months before and when he said he was serious, I freaked out.

Like totally freaked out.

I was so flattered, so flustered and confused and about forty million other emotions I can’t even name, I actually stopped talking to Blake for three days. He was persistent though, and understanding. He knows me really well, better than most, and my response wasn’t a surprise to him, so Blake didn’t let it stop him from making a collaboration happen.

So now, Blake Morgan and Harper King have a romantic suspense, supernatural thriller scheduled to release at the beginning of next month and that’s most of the reason I’m going to Florida for a week.

There’s a book signing in Orlando that we both decided on a whim to be a part of, a first for both of us since we’ve never put photos of ourselves out there despite being super active on social media, and we have definitely never been in public as our pen names. It was another suggestion by Blake, one driven by the book we wrote together, and he thinks if we both appear at the signing, sort of debut who we are while promoting our most recent individual projects as well as the collab, then our sales will be huge.

So yeah, the signing for the promotion of our book is a big part of why I’m leaving my kids for a week, but I’m also doing it so we can review and work on final edits together, settle on a cover and form our online campaign without late night texts and hundreds of emails. And yeah, all of it was Blake’s idea but I’ve been chalking it up to his brilliant marketing and branding skills—a business trip and nothing more—because this project is huge for both of us and has the potential of leading to a series.

If it’s well received of course.

“Ok, kiddos.” I sigh. “Enough about Blake Morgan for now. I need to get you to your dad’s or else I’m going to miss my flight.”

I get to my feet, repack my suitcase that Holden completely emptied, grab my shit as well as their bags, and head out to lock up my tiny three-bedroom house before we all pile into my SUV to drive the ten minutes to my ex’s.

When I married Jordan Kinison, divorce was never on my radar. We were together since college, about fourteen years total, and I just assumed we’d be together forever. Then one day I stumbled across one of his secrets—the only one I thought he had at the time: gambling away our life savings and sinking us so far into debt I’m still struggling to get out—and I slammed the brakes on forever.

We tried to work through his issues; filed for bankruptcy, went to meetings, met with a financial advisor, counselors and everyone else imaginable, but his demons had their claws in him so deep that Jordan completely lost himself to them. And when I walked into the house we shared as a family to find his HR rep topless between his knees while she was giving him a very enthusiastic blowjob—his other secret—forever turned into never again.

Jordan said he was so heartbroken and lost in our marriage that he felt like I was pushing him away and he was losing me, but he claimed it was the first time he had stepped out and that it’d never happen again. He begged for forgiveness and another chance but that was something I would never be able to get past .

I asked him to leave that night and filed for divorce in the morning.

It was hard in the beginning, Holden was a baby and the bigger kids really struggled to understand what was happening, especially since I couldn’t tell them about Jordan’s issues and infidelity. But eventually we fell into a level of normalcy, a civil and almost comfortable friendship while we navigated our new lives and co-parented our kiddos.

I’ve forgiven Jordan at this point, moved past the heartache and betrayal, ate the debt and bankruptcy, and now I can say with sincerity we are on the way to becoming friends, but I won’t ever forget the way the man who promised to love me forever threw it all away without a second thought.

He’s a great dad though, always has been, and I’m really thankful Jordan has remained a pillar of support and unconditional love for our kids regardless of what happened between us.

He even bought a house close enough to my new place that Sloane and the boys can ride their bikes there whenever they want. We have one hundred percent joint custody—something I never even questioned but wanted a year of working his programs to solidify—and when Jordan proved he had changed, we worked out a really great visitation schedule.

Basically, it’s whatever we want it to be.

Technically on paper Jordan has every other weekend and two nights a week during the school year, six weeks in the summer and we rotate holidays. But we follow that pretty loosely and sort of let the kids decide where they want to be, when, and for how long. And when it comes to things like this, me taking off for a week to further my hopeful career as an author, Jordan didn’t even hesitate.

“Taylor’s here,” Sloane says with a small smile as I pull into the driveway .

My gaze swings to the Ford Fusion my oldest is referring to, the silver sedan parked next to Jordan’s Jeep and does in fact belong to Taylor, his fiancé.

I nod and take a deep breath to combat the anxiety I suddenly feel. “Dad said she’s finally moving in this week.”

“Yeah.” Sloane sighs. “Then we’re going to Six Flags or something before we go back to school.”

“He told me.” Another deep breath. “Sounds like a blast.”

“Mom?”

I peel my eyes off the Ford and force a smile. “I’m fine, kiddo. Just getting more nervous about my trip.”

Sloane stares at me for a few minutes then smiles, nods, and exits my truck.

My kids love Taylor.

She’s really kind, thoughtful, and super invested in being a good stepmom to them without overstepping. She lets Jordan and I make all the decisions for our babies, gives her input because we don’t exclude her, but she never tries to overrule either of us and only speaks up if she feels like she needs to.

Honestly, when Jordan told me he met someone and said he wanted her to meet the kids, I was in shock. Not because I didn’t want him to be happy or move on, not because I was under the impression he wanted to work things out with me, but shock is really the only word to describe how I felt, and I’m not entirely sure why.

I really like Taylor. I appreciate that she’s good to my kids, and over the last year I’ve found that she and I get along relatively well. I’d even say we’re friends, but it doesn’t curb the little sting of jealousy I feel when I pull up and see her car next to my ex-husband’s. Or when I hear about the two of them making a future together that includes my daughter and sons with the possibility of more.

Don’t get me wrong, I do like Taylor and I’m really happy for Jordan, but the jealousy is still there, just not for the reason you’d think.

I’m over him, completely over Jordan and what we had together, but I’m jealous because the man who threw me away, who took my happily ever after and punched it in the throat, has everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I thought I had and lost—twice.

True love. The house, the cars, the kids, even the dog. Jordan has been able to bounce back, to get his life on track and rebuild something beautiful while I haven’t even dated since we split.

Again, not because he was the love of my life or I’m still hung up on him, just because... well because I have no confidence in anything about who I am anymore.

I’m a romance writer for shit’s sake.

I write about confident women and their brooding, albeit sweet heroes, but that’s also taught me a lot about myself, about who I am as a person, not just a mom or an ex-wife or teacher.

Through writing about strong heroines and their epic love, I’ve come to realize I never had that, not really.

Yeah, I had the house, the cars, the kids and the career, but I never had that soul searing love I always longed for with Jordan. I thought I did. I fooled myself into believing that’s what we had, but when I met my ex I had just gotten out of the only other relationship I’ve been in, one I also thought was going to last forever, and I needed to think he was my future. Because the alternative sucked and now that I’m inching closer to forty, I realized I have no idea who I am or if I’ll ever be able to get that happy ending.

Quite frankly, I’ve resigned myself to not having it.

Second chances at love are meant for people who had it once in the first place and since my first ended in devastating heartache, that couldn’t have been true love .

And the second time around? I had comfortable. Familiar. Safe. But I never had love, not true love with my ex-husband, and I’m starting to wonder if it even exists.

“Hey guys.” Jordan smiles as he opens the front door, his perfectly straight teeth gleaming from the middle of his clean-shaven face.

I’ll never get used to that.

The whole time we were together my ex had at least a little scruff on his face if not a full-blown beard. I liked the facial hair but Taylor doesn’t, so Jordan has been shaving ever since their first date. Not that it’s surprising though, Taylor and I couldn’t possibly be any more different than we are, inside and out.

“Hi Dad,” Sloane says as she gives him a quick hug then turns to me to do the same. “Have a safe flight, Mom, and don’t forget to call when you land. Love ya.” Then she disappears into the house with all the nonchalance of the angsty teenager she is.

Jack gives me a huge hug next, squeezes me hard but quick, mumbles a love you , then lumbers himself into the house.

“Holden loves you, Mama,” he says as he takes my face in his little hands and turns me so I’m looking at him. “Be a good girl.”

“Promise,” I say as straight faced as possible. “You be a good boy too, ok?”

He nods firm and plants a slobbery kiss on my lips. “Holden promises. Holden will be a good boy for daddy and Tay-tay.”

Yes, my youngest baby refers to himself in the third person. He didn’t talk for the longest time but when he finally did it was Holden this and Holden that . I guess when it’s all you hear, it makes sense to repeat it .

I pass my three-year-old off to Jordan, who gives me a slight grin and lift of his dark auburn brow. “You nervous?”

Divorced or not, he still knows me pretty well.

“Kind of.” I shrug. “This is a big deal, a big step into making this a full-time thing. Nervous, sure, but I’m excited too.”

He nods as he sets Holden down so Jack can take him into the house. “Crazy that your lady porn is actually working out.”

I roll my eyes and frown. Even though we’re civil and almost friends, Jordan has never really understood my dream of becoming an author, nor has he ever called my writing anything other than lady porn .

He’s not necessarily unsupportive, but he’s not really supportive either. While he was ok with taking the kids so I can be in Orlando for the week, Jordan hasn’t been quiet about his concerns over my trip. Or meeting Blake.

“It’s more than that, Jord.” Not that I want to have this argument again . “I don’t just write sex scenes, you know. There’s drama and plot, suspense and conflict. It’s like a movie, only with words on paper,” I say sarcastically with a smirk.

My ex is not a reader.

Now he rolls his hazel-blue eyes and smirks. “Yeah yeah. Novels, not lady porn.” Jordan’s expression goes a little more serious as he levels me with his stare. “You sure about this?”

“Jordan...”

“I know, I know. It’s not my place to worry about you anymore but I can’t help it. You’re the mother of my kids, Sidney. I’m always going to worry, always going to care, and you going across the country alone to meet some guy you don’t even know makes me a little leery.”

I blow out a breath and try like hell to keep my anger in check because I do appreciate his concern .

“Florida isn’t across the country and Blake isn’t a stranger, not some dude I met on a dating site. He’s a great friend, someone I’ve been talking to and working with for two years now. He’s pretty much my best friend and we’re going to a huge conference center with lots of other people to sign books. I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t even know his last name, Sidney. You’ve never seen a picture, never FaceTimed to make sure he is who he says he is. For all you know he could be a serial killer or some shit.”

“Blake isn’t a serial killer,” I huff and give him another eye roll. “Look, I’m going to call Sloane when I’m at the airport. Blake is picking me up and if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll FaceTime when I’m with him instead so you can meet him. Does that work?”

Jordan sighs, frowns, then crosses his arms against his chest. “You still keep mace in your backpack?”

“God.” I chuckle and nod my head. “Yes, I still have mace and the taser you bought me. They’re both accessible between my wallet and devices when I’m not flying but since that’s a big old red flag for airport security, I left them at home so I could stay out of trouble until I land.”

“Yeah, ok, that makes sense. But you’ll really FaceTime when you’re with the dude who writes lady porn?”

I nod.

“And you’ll call me if anything seems fishy? Send up a SOS text if this guy tries to stuff you in the trunk of his car?”

“Oh my god.” I snort. “You’re being ridiculous. I’ll FaceTime as soon as I’m with Blake, but there’s no need for the rest. You just worry about making our kids happy, and leave ‘trying not to get murdered’ to me.”

“Sidney...”

I hold up my hands as I back away from his front door. “I’m going to be fine, Jordan. This is a good thing. It’s going to push my career as an author in a completely different and positive direction, something that will benefit our children as well as me. Blake is nothing but a good friend, and I swear I will return to Atlanta exactly how I leave it.” With a smirk and solute, I throw over my shoulder, “In one badass sexy piece.”

Jordan laughs as I get into my Durango but watches until I no longer see him in my rear view. We couldn’t hack it as a couple, but maybe we really can be friends.

A few hours later, I’m sitting at my gate in Atlanta International anxiously waiting for my flight that’s still about forty minutes away.

Not close enough while being too close. My drive wasn’t long but it was more than enough time for multiple and various doubts to sink in.

Am I really doing this?

What if no one shows up to have me sign copies of my books?

What if people are only coming to see me to tell me how much I suck?

What if Blake realizes he made a huge mistake and decides to scrap our book and stop talking to me?

Or what if... what if Blake Morgan is just as wonderful as he has been for the last two years and the crush I won’t admit to having turns into something I won’t put a name to, something that makes me never want to leave Florida?

He oddly enough happens to share the same first name of my first love, whether it’s a pen name or not, it gives me these weird mixed feelings every time I think about it. It isn’t out of the realm of possibility that it’s a sign from the universe, right?

I shake my head .

Yeah right.

Blake is amazing, so amazing and wonderful and I have no doubt he’ll continue to be those things and more when we’re in person, but it doesn’t mean he thinks the same about me.

He probably considers me a friendly co-worker and nothing else, doesn’t have the crush Sloane joked about earlier, and he probably wouldn’t touch a hot mess single mom pothead struggling with who she is and her place in the world, with a ten-foot pole. And that’s without getting into all the hang ups I have about my personality and appearance.

Or how I secretly think true love is a farce.

My phone pings before I can start picking apart everything I dislike about myself and when I pull it free from my backpack, I can’t help but smile.

BLAKE: You at the airport?

Grinning like an idiot, I respond super-fast.

Outside my gate now. There’s an old guy that smells like moth balls and fermented cheese sitting across from me. He’s cute in an eighty-year-old kind of way, but he stinks.

BLAKE:

BLAKE: Hopefully he’s not your seatmate. It may only be an hour and a half flight but I doubt having him next to you would make it enjoyable.

Definitely not.

Plus he keeps staring and I can’t tell if he’s sleeping with his eyes open, checking me out, or wondering how long before I rob him blind and shank him.

BLAKE: Totally checking you out.

BLAKE: He’s probably hoping you’re in the seat next to him.

Doubtful. And with the way he’s clutching his fanny pack, it’s most likely the latter.

BLAKE: Maybe he’s using it to hide his boner.

OMG stop. Also, eighty-year-old man. If he’s still able to pop the occasional inappropriate-in-public hard-on I need to ask what his secret is for whatever dude that’s unlucky enough to be around when I’m in my eighties.

BLAKE: I’m not getting into this with you now. You already know where I stand when it comes to the self-deprecating comments.

You love them because I’m funny. And right.

BLAKE: Weather looks good between ATL and Florida. Shouldn’t have any issues.

I grin at his subject change.

Blake really does hate it when I talk shit about myself, and he almost always veers the conversation when I do.

Smooth.

I’m not worried about that, but thanks for the update, Brick Tamland.

BLAKE: Who?

Never mind.

You’ll be there when I land, right?

BLAKE: Of course. I’m leaving in about a half hour and should get there twenty minutes before you touch down. You still want me to wait in the pickup line or did you want me to come to baggage claim?

Outside is fine. Don’t need the added pressure of looking for you AND my suitcase.

BLAKE:

BLAKE: You remember how you’ll find me?

Tall brunette with glasses, tattoos on the left arm only, wearing all black clothes and red Chucks? Yeah, I think I’ll find you.

BLAKE: Never know. I might be a trendsetter.

I’m sure you’re beautiful and unique.

BLAKE: Wearing your lime green Vans?

Yes I am, as per requested. And I have my electric blue backpack covered in burnt orange tigers. Between that and my hair, you can’t miss me.

BLAKE: Cause that is a real possibility with the body suit of tattoos, piercings and loud mouth.

You love it.

They just called my flight number. Gotta go, I’ll text you when I land.

BLAKE: I do.

BLAKE: Excited to see you soon, Shortcake.

My phone powers off just as those messages ping through, my heart fluttering in time with my belly as I head to the gate. Romance writer or not, words like that from someone like Blake does something to me. But I can’t read too much into them or else I’ll just be setting myself up for a heartbreaking twist the same way I do my characters. I’ve written enough of those to know they only work out between the pages.