Page 66 of In a Word, Yes

“That there is aNew York Timesbestselling author shopping three doors down frommybookshop.”

Oh man. This tracks. Meg has several activities lined up for Stoneback this coming week. No word on whether I’ll get to meet her myself.

“Lucy, can you even?”

Oh, my flabbers are definitely gasted, but not for the reason Ian thinks. I drum my fingers across my mouth.

Luckily he isn’t awaiting a response. He only wants to gush.

Next I’m informed about how graciously the author responded when he introduced himself. How she requested secrecy about her visit to Charity Falls but took Ian up on his offer to deliver a cup of tea to her car.

“And Lucy, she said, and I quote, she’d bedelightedto do an author event at Sweet Reads the next time she visits.” Ian’s grin is so big I’m afraid it’s going to crack his face.

“Well, congratulations,” I say.

Between a pair of book lovers, no further explanation is required about why this development took precedence over our coffee date—er, non-date. This is Steph Stoneback.

“Wait!” I all but hiss when Ian makes a move to leave. I hold my palms out, suddenly hungry for the good stuff. “Most importantly, what kind of tea does she drink?”

He grins. “Black. Heavy cream. Very Agatha Christie.”

I knew it.

When Ian and I emerge together from behind the aisle, some members of the writers group are already assembled in the adjacent room. Billie takes notice. She eyes us from the red settee, looking utterly pleased with herself.

Fiddlesticks. The last thing that woman needs is more grist for the rumor mill.

Wyatt’s last to arrive.

“I can see he’s quite taken with you,” Billie whispers as I zip off my puffy jacket.

Three chairs to my right, Wyatt is shedding his coat. But Billie is eyeing Ian, directly across from us.

“It’s nothing like that, Billie.”

“Mm-hmm.” She pats her glossy white helmet of hair.

I can well imagine Billie in 1970, all hot pants and go-go boots, gossiping with the other flight attendants and flirting her perm off. She’s kind of a lot, but she makes me smile.

I wonder if my mom will ever go silver-haired. It’s hard to imagine. But like Billie, she could own it.

Something has shifted in our group over the past several weeks. Familiarity has replaced formality. Even Sunny appears if not exactly happy, then a bit more relaxed.

Hence, Ian has to work harder now to break through our lively chitchat and get the meeting underway. Our leader is positively glowing tonight, and I’m happy for him. I betrayed no one’s confidence, and yet he managed to benefit from the whole Stoneback thing. Fate moved all on its own.

“How many of us will be reading tonight?” he asks. Briefly I flick up my hand. Heat prickles my cheeks, but I’m committed now, and I won’t be deterred. Around me, more hands go up. Bernard (no surprise). Nytasha. Wyatt. And Billie.

Billie’s arm remains lifted after the others go down.

“Looks like we have a volunteer to go first,” Ian says.

“Well, yes, I do have something to read.” Her eyes are mischievous. “But first, speaking of writing and writers and famous authors...”

“Were we?” Nytasha says.

“You will never guess what I heard on my way over here tonight from Jan at the hardware store.” She waits a beat, clearly relishing the spotlight. “Well, I’ll tell you. Jan said that Bill Buck—you know, that ornery fellow who raises longhorns out past Daisy’s old place?—well, he told Jan that his nephew, who’s a private pilot and as straight a shooter as they come, got to yakking with another pilot while they were refueling, and that other pilot happened to mention that he had just transported a certaincelebrityclient to Charity Falls.” Billie shakes her head to herself. “Oh, the tales Buck’s nephew could tell. I’ll have you know, that adorable cowboy actor everyone around here is so gaga about isn’t the only famous person to ever grace our town. Did you know that—”

“Who, Billie? Who did he transport?” Ian’s tone is uncharacteristically forceful.