Page 66 of No Words

“Sure.” I clinked my glass to his, figuring it would be ungracious to tell him that I didn’t believe in luck any more than I believed in magic. Will seemed to have really fallen hard for the whole Florida Keys lifestyle, though, what with the boat and the linen shirts and the belief in the local superstitions.

“What kind of luck are you hoping the green flash will bring you?” He had to raise his voice to be heard over the music.

“Oh, uh.” No way was I telling him about my wish from the night before... or that it had sort of come true already. “I guess what I’m really looking for is a little, uh... real estate luck.” Yes! This sounded good. “I’ve been checking out places in Florida for a few months now for my dad, and he’s hated every single house I’ve chosen for him.”

“Really?” Will looked surprised. “What seems to be the problem?”

“I don’t know. My dad’s just hard to please. A real New Yorker through and through, I guess.”

“Hmmm.” Will glanced at the ceiling as he sipped his champagne. “So not at all like his daughter, then.”

It took me a second to realize he was joking. Will Price, author of some of the most maudlin love stories ever published, was trying to be comedic.

“Oh, ha-ha,” I said, swatting at his shoulder. “Very funny.”

Laughing, he dodged my hand... and spilled some of hisdrink onto his sister, who’d come bouncing over to speak to us.

“Chloe, I’m sorry.” Will snatched up some napkins from a nearby table and attempted to dry off his sister’s bare arm, but she waved him away impatiently.

“Will, you said the team could do our dance number during the cocktail hour to entertain everybody.” She pointed at a small stage that had been set up along the railing on the restaurant’s deck, probably for live music during a normal night. It was really more of a platform than a proper stage, though it had a gazebo-style roof over it, from which hung an assortment of stage lights, and large speakers on either side. Sharmaine and some of the other Snappettes were leaning against these speakers, looking surprisingly sullen for girls wearing red-and-white dance uniforms.

Will nodded. “Yes. What about it?”

“Well, Garrett Newcombe is saying that Molly told him he could do some kind of magic trick first.”

Will glanced around until he spied Garrett, still yukking it up in his pirate costume with Lauren and her friends and their moms. Then his eyes narrowed menacingly. “She never said anything to me about it.”

“I know.” Chloe’s dark eyes were flashing as balefully as her older brother’s. “And I don’t want you to call and bother her about it since she’s just had her baby. But can you tell Mr. Newcombe that he has to wait to do his trick until we’re done with our number? Sharmaine is having us all over for a slumber party barbecue after this and her mom wants us there before her dad burns the ribs. You know how he is.”

Will put down the champagne glass he’d been holding. “Happy to,” he said, his jaw set in a way that would have made me uneasy if I’d been Garrett. “If you’ll excuse me a moment, ladies.”

Then he began striding toward Garrett, who was still absorbed in conversation with my readers and their moms, and had no idea what—or who—was about to hit him.

“Um,” I said to Chloe, feeling slightly alarmed by the purposeful look I’d seen in her brother’s eyes. “Do you think we should do something?”

Chloe had pulled her cell phone from the waistband of her dance shorts and was gazing down at the screen. “About what?”

“That.” I nodded at Will as he tapped Garrett on the shoulder, then began interrogating him, a conversation I sadly couldn’t hear due to the volume of the music inside the restaurant.

Chloe glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, no,” she said with a shrug. “They’re fine. How are you tonight, Miss Wright? Did you enjoy your time onThe Moment? Those dolphins were brilliant, weren’t they?”

“Um,” I said. I couldn’t take my gaze off Will. He had Garrett’s full attention, the smaller man waving his hands around as he spoke, the hem of his cape flying as Lauren and the other girls, along with their mothers, backed slowly away. “Yes, they were.”

“Did you hear about Mrs. Hartwell?” Chloe was scrolling through text messages on her phone. “She’s had a little boy.Well, not so little, actually. He weighs ten pounds! Just shoot me, am I right? Only joking. Here, see?”

She showed me a photo of a newborn baby. Molly’s son looked exactly like every other newborn I’d ever seen, except perhaps slightly more red-faced and indignant at having been thrust out of the womb into the real world.

“Oh,” I said politely. “Sweet.”

“Yeah, I think so. They’re calling him Matthew after a character out of a book—Anne of Green Gables. Do you know it?”

Startled at the burst of emotion I felt at this news, I looked down, hoping my hair would hide my suddenly tear-filled eyes. “Yes. Yes, I know it. That’s very nice.”

“Is it?” I needn’t have worried about Chloe seeing my eyes, since she hadn’t glanced up from her phone. “I haven’t read it yet. There are lots of books I haven’t read yet that everyone else has, but I’ll get to them soon enough. I’m not surprised Mrs. Hartwell named her baby after someone in a book. They met in the library, you know, she and her husband. Katie says they hated each other at first, but then they fell in love. Isn’t that the most romantic thing you ever heard?”

I took an extra-big gulp of my champagne and looked frantically around for help. “Yes. Definitely.”

What was happening to me? Why did I feel so weepy over a photo of a baby and the story of how his parents had met? I wasn’t particularly keen on babies—except for Bernadette’s, of course. They were lovely. But other babies? They were fine to look at, but I’d never wanted one—not once the wholetime I’d been with Justin. All babies ever do is cry and take your attention away from your writing, and of course your adorable cat.