Page 17 of No Words

I kicked at a fallen leaf on the pathway. “Well, I’ve always prided myself on my professionalism.”

“Youarea professional.He’sthe one who—”

“Let’s drop it. Look, I’m getting better. I’ve stopped mainlining M&M’s. I’m not eating cookie dough for breakfast anymore. I even managed to get off the couch and get a pedicure before I left the city. See?” I lifted the hem of my palazzos to show her my toenails twinkling out from a pair of black platform slides.

“Black polish.” Bernadette laughed wryly. “Of course.”

“I know, right?” I gave her an evil grin. “To contrast with my upbeat personality.”

“There they are!”

As soon as we entered the lobby, an older white man dressed all in black, just like me, rushed toward us. I recognized him immediately as a globally popular horror writer with whom I’d attended numerous events before.

“We were looking all over for you!” Saul Coleman (not the name under which he wrote) appeared anxious. “Where have you been? The author bus just pulled up!”

“Oh, stop fussing, Saul.” Saul’s wife, Frannie, a petite brunette who looked as elegant as if she’d stepped from the pages ofVogue, came over to kiss us both on the cheek. “Jo, Bernadette, it’s so good to see you both.”

“It’s wonderful to see you, too.” I squeezed Frannie’s expensively ringed fingers. “You look great.” To Saul, I said, “Sorry we’re late. I took a dip and had to change.”

“Adip?” Saul’s eyes widened, as did those of his wife. “You went in thepool?”

Frannie tightened her grip on my hand, drawing me closer and then dropping her voice to a whisper. “I can’t believeyou went in the water, Jo. Haven’t you heard about the flesh-eating viruses you can get in Florida?”

“I’m pretty sure those are only in lakes,” Bernadette whispered back. “But I’ll double-check with Jen if you want me to.”

“Would you?” Frannie glanced suspiciously at the woman working behind the front desk, who’d been extremely sweet and helpful to me when I’d checked in. “You can just never be too sure in the tropics. Even thebugscan kill you. Dengue, Zika, West Nile—it never ends!”

Bernadette and I exchanged knowing grins. Like me, Frannie was a lifelong New Yorker, but the Hamptons were about as far as she’d willingly go out of the city.

But because Saul adored her and always wanted her by his side, she bravely accompanied him to all of his book events. Their marriage was, like Bernadette’s, one I envied.

After my disastrous five-year relationship with Justin, however, I wasn’t jumping back into the dating pool anytime soon—only real pools, with plenty of chlorine, and of course a tiki bar nearby.

“I wonder what kind of food we’re going to get at this thing tonight,” Frannie fretted. “I mean, they don’t even have a bagel shop on this island. No bagels! Can you believe it? Not that the bagels would be any good if theydidhave them. You can only make good bagels with New York City tap water. Everyone knows our tap water is the safest and best-tasting in the entire—”

“Fran, will you stop?” Saul rolled his eyes in loving frustration at his wife. “I’m sure the food will be perfectly fine.”

“I don’t know, you might be right, Mrs. Coleman.” Bernadette always enjoyed baiting Frannie. “Since this place is an island, I suspect they serve a lot of fresh fish here. But who knows what’s in the water. Given all the cruise ships, there might be—”

Frannie looked pale. “Oh, God. I’m sticking to chicken. Oh, no, wait, I saw some chickens running around loose on the street! Why do they have chickens roaming around loose on the streets here? What kind of place allows chickens to run around loose on the streets?”

“Well,” Bernadette began to explain, “on the tour I took earlier today, they said it’s because when grocery stores with refrigeration finally moved to the island, the residents released the chickens they used to keep in coops in their backyards for eggs and Sunday dinner, and since then, those chickens have—”

“Stop.” Frannie held out a hand. “I don’t want to know any more.”

“Hey, everybody.” Garrett Newcombe strolled into the lobby. He’d changed out of the Batman shirt and cargo shorts he’d been wearing at the airport into khaki pants and a blue button-down, which was a step up.

But he was still wearing flip-flops, and also clutching the swag bag we’d all received in our hotel rooms.

“Hi, I’m Garrett Newcombe,” he said unnecessarily, since he had on his author badge. We were all wearing them, as we’d been directed to by the festival staff. “Of the Dark Magic School series?”

“Oh, Garrett!” Frannie beamed. “Our grandson loves your books! I’m Frannie Coleman, and this is my husband, Saul. You might know him better as the author Clive Dean.”

Garrett’s jaw dropped, his gaze laser-focusing on Saul. The name Clive Dean had a tendency to do that to men (and some women) of a certain age. “Oh, Mr. Dean. This is truly an honor. Your books are what inspired me to become a writer, sir.”

Saul beamed and reached out to shake the hand Garrett had extended. “Oh, isn’t that great? That’s always nice to hear.”

I had to give Garrett credit for that one. He couldn’t have said anything more perfect to Saul.