Page 114 of In a Word, Yes

The real story of Baxter Holt is likely only known to those closest to him. The little things that are in fact the biggest.

Stuff that never makes the paper.

Forty-Four

burgeon(v.): to grow or develop quickly

Ineverloved the saying “Never say never.” But it’s a life motto I might have to consider adopting.

Case in point: Here I am, participating in trivia night, of all the ridiculous things, and my teammates are an eclectic bunch of townies from a writers group I was dead set against joining.

Chase has ditched me to play on Dot and Tony’s team. While nothing in the food carts would tempt my son to eat, I’m not worried. He brought an avocado from home.

Meanwhile, as I carry my dinner basket to Team Charity Falls Writing Society’s picnic table, it’s possible I’ve never been more excited about a dining experience. Cilantro wafts from mydostacos from Rigo’s, and I have to hand it to Ian, the creative genius who proposed this field trip. For bonding purposes, he said. Because “creativity thrives when we give ourselves opportunity to play.”

I’m fairly sure Sunny is enjoying her wood-fired Margherita pizza. It’s hard to tell, but she’s certainly approaching it with gusto. I settle in next to her.

Dot’s been clocking me and Wyatt all night, shooting over-the-top winks with great regularity.

I can play it cool. Although if I keep stealing glances at Wyatt’s laughing eyes or that darn dimple, I’ll be done here. Worthless.

I’ve never had a poker face.

The deep-voiced guy calling out the trivia questions is dressed to the nines like a retired Grand Ole Opry legend. Black Stetson. Embroidered black sport coat. Crisp white shirt accessorized by one of those fancy cowboy neck cord thingies.

“Next question,” he bellows into the microphone. “What are the names of Prince Charles’s five grandchildren?And...go!”

Country music resumes at full volume while the clock ticks. It’s the final round, and our team sits dead last. The only one in our group who’s at all up on pop culture is Billie, and she’s becoming more and more useless by the minute, no thanks to a second glass of wine.

Ian acts as team captain, cheerleading and recording our answers. “Wyatt. Lucy. Can either of you help? The five royal children. So far we have Charlotte and George. I may be an embarrassment to my home country, but that’s all I know.”

Unlike Ian, Wyatt, I’m learning, isn’t super competitive. “Hold on,” he says. “These tacos deserve a moment.”

“Mmm. Right?” I say. Who cares if there’s taco juice dripping down my hand?

Wyatt holds out his taco, and I clink it with mine.

Nytasha’s brow furrows. I can see her wheels turning, analyzing the energy zipping between me and Wyatt.

“Oh, wait!” I say. Thanks to Dot’s passionate tutelage about all things British royal family, I may actually know this one.

“Thirty seconds!” barks the George Strait guy.

Ian leans toward me, pencil at the ready. “Whatcha got, Lucy?Hurry.”

“Okay, okay. Let’s see. Harry and Megan have two. The boy is Archie. Write that down.”

“Got it. Good. We only need two more.”

“The girl has a pretty name. Lilly? Lillian? No.”C’mon, brain.“Lilibet!”

Ian writes quickly.

This is way too stressful. “Okay, and it’s the other prince that has three kids, and the little one is... Ah! Fiddlesticks. I’m sorry, I don’t think I—”

Ian slaps a hand to his forehead. “Wait! I do know this! How could I forget? Louis!”

I don’t know why I’ve always avoided this kind of thing. Fear of making a fool of myself? Who really cares?