Page 69 of No Words

I glanced around the deck to see how other people were registering what was happening, but none seemed to be quite as astonished as I was. Most looked delighted... especially when “Kitty Katz to the Rescue” ended and Elvis Costello’s “Every Day I Write the Book” came on. The less manic pace of this song gave the girls a chance to show off more balletic stuff... at least until Don Henley’s “All She Wants to Do Is Dance” began to boom from the sound system.

Then the team launched into what I could only assume were the capoeira moves Will had been describing earlier, since the many spins and jumps in the choreography sent the girls flying off the stage and onto the deck. Those seated nearby had to duck for fear of having their heads kicked off.

The crowd loved it, however. Jasmine wasn’t the only person who raised her phone and began filming. I clapped alongwith everyone else, but when the performance ended—with the girls performing flips off the stage and landing in perfectly timed splits to the theme song ofSalem Prairie, Kellyjean’s series on Netflix—I still had questions.

“‘All She Wants to Do Is Dance’ is based on a book?” I shouted at Will. I had to shout because the crowd had burst into a standing ovation. I was standing along with them, clapping loudly enough to hurt my hands. The girls deserved it for their grand finale alone.

“The Great Gatsby,” Will shouted back, looking as proud of his little sister’s ingenuity as he was her athletic prowess. “AndThe Ugly American. Oblivious rich Americans dancing as the world around them burns—sound familiar?”

“Oh.” I couldn’t believe I’d listened to this song so many times and not realized the Molotov cocktails referenced in it were actual bombs and not drinks. “Of course.”

“Totally putting this on the ’gram,” Jasmine was yelling to no one in particular. “Otherwise no one’s going to believe me back home when I tell them about it.”

I knew how she felt. Not that I hadn’t loved every minute of it. I wasn’t the only one, either.

“Oh my God, Jo!” Frannie and Saul appeared at my side. “Can you believe this?” Tears of laughter glistened in the corners of Frannie’s eyes. “I swear they were better than the Knicks City Dancers!”

“They were,” I agreed. I’d never been to a Knicks game, because sports—aside from cooking competitions on the Food Network—were not my thing. But I knew Frannie had never missed one, so if she thought this, it had to be true.

“This is some book festival.” Saul had a bright orange streak of buffalo shrimp sauce on his black shirt, in sharp contrast with his image as the king of horror fiction. “Way better than Novel Con. The meals and entertainment are much higher class, and you don’t have to fight for taxis afterward to get back to your hotel. The lines for booze are shorter, too.”

I had to stifle a laugh at this. A quick glance up at Will showed me that he was holding back a chuckle as well. His gaze, bright with suppressed mirth, met mine.

And suddenly that same odd sensation I’d felt before—first when I’d stepped off the plane into the hot, humid air and onto the rickety steps leading to the Little Bridge Island tarmac, and then when I’d kissed Will—swept over me again. A certainty that this was where I belonged... a conviction that I was home.

Which was completely absurd.

What was happening to me? I wondered as I tore my gaze from Will’s and searched once again for Bernadette in the crowd. Was I drunk again? No, that wasn’t possible. I’d only had one glass of champagne.

Food poisoning, then. My God, Frannie had been right all along. Why had we eaten the locally sourced seafood?

“Are you all right?” Will asked curiously.

I realized the horror I’d been feeling at my shocking self-revelation—that I liked this island, and even more startling, was beginning to like Will—must have been showing on my face.

“Oh, fine,” I said, waving away his concern. “I’m fine. Just—” I looked around quickly for an excuse and found it on the table. “I’m sothirsty.” I snatched up my empty champagne glass.

“I think I can rectify that for you.” Smiling, he signaled once again to one of the servers.

Phew. That had been a narrow escape. Now so long as the girls at our table kept their mouths shut about how Will and I were trending as a couple on social media, I might actually make it through the rest of the evening and back to the hotel without—

“What’d you think?” Chloe came bounding over, her pom-poms clutched tightly under her chin, her expression anxious.

“You were great!” Will threw an arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her ponytailed head.

“You really were,” I said, meaning it, as Frannie and Saul and Lauren and her friends all added their kudos as well.

“I don’t know how you remembered all that choreography,” Lauren said.

“Oh.” Chloe beamed. “We practiced tons. I’m glad you liked it.”

“I’m going to incorporate some of your moves into Felicity Feline’s next cheer routine,” I said, only half joking.

But Chloe took me seriously, her mouth falling open. “Oh, Ms. Wright, do you mean that? That—that would be amazing! That would be the biggest compliment ever!”

I glanced uncertainly at Will, only to see that he’d covered his mouth with a hand to hide his grin.

“Well, yes, I mean it,” I said to Chloe. “If I have your permission to steal your moves. I know people can be a little sensitive about—”