Page 33 of No Words

“Isn’t it obvious?” Garrett sounded indignant. “He wanted to make sure she’d show up, of course.”

Kellyjean gasped as she whipped her head around, long blond hair flying, to look at me. “Of course! Jo isn’t in love with Will.Will is in love with her!”

“Oh, comeon,” I said.

“Really, Kellyjean,” Frannie scolded. “Now you’re just being silly.”

“How is that silly?” Garrett dropped the towel he’d brought with him onto a nearby chaise lounge and then sank down onto it. “I’m not the romance writer here, but it’s a pretty good explanation, isn’t it?”

“Honestly, Garrett,” I said. “You’re wrong. Will’s made it pretty clear that he hates my guts as much as I hate his. And we’ve only met one time before this, and that was almost two years ago for approximately an hour, after which he dogged me to a reporter. Does that sound like the act of a man in love?”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Saul shook his head. “I carried a torch for Frannie for years after meeting her only once, but she wouldn’t even consider going out with me because I told her I thought the Knicks stank. I had to swear allegiance to a basketball team I don’t like to get her to even consider a date.”

Frannie patted him on the hand. “And you’ve never regretted it, have you, dear?”

“Will probably only paid me such a huge stipend to make sure I showed up here so he could clear his conscious,” I insisted. “He told me he thought about apologizing before, but wanted to do it to my face.” I didn’t mention how Will had said he hadn’t been able to find the words. No one would have believed me.

“Well,” Jerome said. “That is one expensive apology.”

“If anyone deserves it, it’s Jo,” Bernadette said warmly. “I mean, Jo’s had terrible writer’s block ever since Will said all those nasty things about her books.”

I sent Bernadette a warning look. I appreciated the sympathy, but enough of my private business had been shared with the group.

It was too late, though.

“Oh, no!” Garrett exclaimed. “Is that why there hasn’t been a newKitty Katzbook this year, Jo?”

“Yeah, I was wondering the same thing.” Jerome looked concerned. “They’re Aesha’s favorite. She asks me when there’s going to be a new one all the time.”

I didn’t think things could get worse from there, but they did. Kellyjean scrambled to her feet and ran over to throw her arms around me.

“Oh, you poor thing.” Kellyjean hugged me. “I had no idea you were blocked. Do you want to use some of my essential oils? I have some sourced from theRosa damascenaplant that should open you up to inspiration and joy. Did you bring a diffuser?”

I was already enveloped in whatever essential oil or perfume Kellyjean habitually wore, and the scent was so strong, it was making my eyes water, not opening me up to joy. “Uh...”

“Never mind,” Kellyjean said. “You can borrow mine. Remind me when we get upstairs to bring it around to your room.”

“No, really, it’s okay—”

“Iinsist.” Mercifully, Kellyjean released me, but still held on to one of my hands, which she squeezed. “We’reartists, Jo. We have tohelpone another in our hours of need, not tear each other down.”

Great. Now I felt terrible for having asked them all for help snooping into Will’s personal life.

I felt even worse for letting slip how much more I was being paid to be at the book festival than they were. But how was I supposed to have known they weren’t receiving an equal (or greater) stipend? Male authors in the book industryoften received higher advances and speaking fees than their female counterparts. It was odd that it was the opposite way around this time.

“So are we all reading that book of Price’s, the one that came in our swag bag?” Jerome asked out of the blue.

I kept my mouth shut. The real trick to being a writer, I’d learned long ago, was to keep quiet and observe.

“Saul is.” Frannie twinkled at her husband. “Saul loves it.”

Saul shrugged. “So sue me. The guy spins an entertaining yarn.”

“That female love interest, Melanie, remind you of anyone?” Jerome asked.

“Melanie?” Saul thought about it. “Not really. Is she supposed to?”

“I think she is.” Jerome looked at me. “You reading it, Jo?”