Or am I wrong? I’m still feeling my way around this kind of character. I’m not a dark-and-brooding kind of woman on most days, which has resulted in the majority of our heroes being pretty optimistic kinds of men. In an effort to mix things up a little, I’m going against my natural tendencies to create a hero that’s comfortable in the shadows.
It wouldn’t be that big of an issue for me, I imagine, if I was starting from scratch. Instead, I’m on Chapter 22 of a 30-chapter romance. It feels like quite the challenge, indeed.
When I spoke of my troubles in making my adjustments, Glynn made agreeing-noises and sympathetic sounds. Except for football season, he’s as far from dark and brooding as any man can be so he doesn’t truly understand my plight at all. During a break in conversation, he said, “You should make the hero someone like me,” and he said it in all seriousness. Since I didn’t know how to reply at that moment – he’s my joy, but not so much a Harlequin hero – I pretend I don’t hear him.
He lets it pass, and we go on.
As we walk, I can hear the rumble of thunder in the distance. Living in California and Illinois, I’d often heard thunder, but it never sounded like this did, growling as it rolled across the Arizona mountains. I could smell the presence of rain all around us; another trick of these mountains is how rain can pour in sheets directly across the street, and never spill a drop on your own house. It’s Nature’s own CGI. Fairly magical.
I stop walking to enjoy the sight of the dark storm clouds in the not-so-distance. Glynn steps in behind me and puts his arms around my waist. The smell of fresh rain grows all the stronger, and I inhale deeply.
“I love this smell,” I tell him.
“This smell. The smell of rain in the air.”
“Oh, that’s just me,” he says softly at my ear. “It’s my new cologne.”
For the second time on this walk, I don’t know what to say.
He continues, “It’s called Rainglow. My cologne, I mean.”
Honestly, he said these nonsensical things because…that’s all I’ve got. Just because. He said them with a straight face, as if lightning had struck my head and I might be so confused, I’d believe him.
Turning around to face him, I said, “Your cologne.”
“Picked it up when I made a Target run. Last Thursday.”
“Did you? Interesting. Products have commercials. I don’t think I’ve seen any commercials for ‘Rainglow’.”
“Probably missed ‘em. We DVR everything, so you probably just zipped right past it. Maybe more than once.”
“That’s a shame.” I wasn’t going to give up so easily. “Products also have slogans and tag lines. Hai Karate had, ‘Be careful how you use it’.” (I don’t know why I remembered that.) “Old Spice used, ‘The Man Your Man Could Smell Like’. What’s the slogan for Rainglow?”
Without missing a beat, he said, “Rainglow: Be Your Woman’s Rainbow.”
“That is the saddest, least sexy slogan ever!” I said. He smiled. Then we agreed that maybe we should get inside before lightning struck either of our heads.
And that whole silly exchange is why my partner will never find himself as a romance novel hero in a book I write. But if I were to start a comic strip….