LITTLE BRIDGE BOOK FESTIVAL ITINERARY FOR: JO WRIGHT
Saturday, January 4, 8:00 p.m.–11:00 p.m.
– Building Bridges Dinner –
Please join all festival attendees for a night of fine drinking and dining by the sea at Cracked on the Pier.
Joooooooo!”
Of course the first person we ran into when we got to the restaurant was Kellyjean. She was resplendent in a red-and-gold kimono, her long blond hair flowing loose around her shoulders, her skin glowing from her day out on the water, despite her organic sunscreen.
“Wow, Kellyjean,” I said. “You look like a tequila sunrise threw up on you.”
“Oh, stop!” She gave me a playful but clearly delighted slap. I wasn’t certain Kellyjean knew what a tequila sunrise was. “Where’ve y’all been? You almost missed it!”
I was worried she meant that we’d missed a group reading aloud of the BuzzFeed article until Kellyjean, seeing our confused expressions, laughed and said, “Sillies! I’ll show you!”
Then she grabbed Bernadette and I each by the shoulder, and wordlessly pushed us not inside Cracked, but around the side of the restaurant, onto the pier. It was weirdly crowded there—not just the fenced-off deck with white-clothed tables reserved for diners at Cracked, but the rest of the pier, as well.
A huge crowd had gathered onto the weathered dock, everyone staring off into the west where the sun was slowly sinking into the sea with a blaze of color almost as vibrant as Kellyjean’s ensemble.
I glanced around suspiciously. “What’s happening?”
“Yeah,” Bernadette said. “What’s everyone looking at? Someone get mugged?”
“The sunset.”
The voice at my side was deep. I’d have recognized it anywhere even without the British accent, so I didn’t need to turn around to see that Will had come to stand beside me, but I did anyway.
Yep, there he was, looking tall and ridiculously handsome in a dark linen suit and another crisp white button-down shirt that showed off his deep tan. How many of these did the guy own? Hundreds, probably.
“What do you mean, the sunset?” I glanced back at the horizon. There were sailboats and yachts gliding around on glassy water in front of us, each as crowded with people as the dock we were standing on. “Are you trying to tell me that all of these people are out here just to watch the sun set?”
“Yes.” He had on the little half smile he seemed to wear habitually, except when he was frowning with anxiety—or displeasure—over something. So it was impossible to know if he’d seen the gossip about us online, unless of course he’d seen it and found it amusing. I didn’t think that Will was the kind of person who’d find that kind of thing amusing, however. “It’s a nightly tradition here in Little Bridge.”
“Watching the sunset?” I was baffled. “But the sun sets every night. Why on earth would anyone stand around and watch it?”
Will’s smile deepened as he glanced at me with what I could only call a pitying expression. “Because it’s beautiful. I know that might be a difficult concept for a New Yorker to understand, but some people do find nature soothing.”
After making a face at him, I turned back toward the sea. I supposed there was something slightly relaxing about watching the boats bob on the smooth surface of the water, and the sun sink lower and lower behind them into the sea. There was only a small crescent of it left now, since Bernadette and I had arrived so late to the party.
“But that’s not the best part,” Kellyjean declared, so loudly that I jumped. I’d forgotten she was standing so close to me. “Tell them the best part, Will.”
“They say that when the last rays of the sun hit the sea,” Will explained, “if you see a green flash, you’ll have good luck for a year.”
“What?” I couldn’t believe it. More magic?
“I’ve heard of that.” Bernadette already had her phone out and was snapping photos of the brilliant sky to send to Jen and her kids. “It’s like a mirage or optical illusion or something.”
Will nodded. “Right. It only happens at sunrise and sunset, when meteorological conditions are exactly right.”
“Of course,” Kellyjean said, with a chuckle, “my kids will tell you that according to the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, it’s something else entirely. Brad and I probably shouldn’t let them watch so much—”
It was at that moment that the last ruby-red sliver of the sun slipped beneath the water. Then three things happened all at once:
First, a roar went up from all the people gathered on the boats, rippling over us like a wave, and applause broke from everyone on the dock around me.
Second, a flash of green shot out from the exact spot the sun hit the sea, dazzling my eyes despite the polarized lenses of my sunglasses.
And third, I snatched instinctively at the person standing closest to me. It was just a coincidence that that person happened to be Will.
“Did you see that?” I gasped.
“I saw it,” Will said quietly. His gaze fell from the waterline to my fingers, digging deep into his arm. Then those dark eyes moved from my fingertips to my face. His lips curled into a smile. “Beautiful.”
I hastily dropped my own gaze. Of course he was talking about the rare meteorological phenomenon we’d just witnessed, and not me, because this was real life and not some cheesy Will Price novel—but I lowered my hand from his arm, suddenly flustered.
“Saw what?” Bernadette glanced up from her phone, where she’d been scrolling through her photos. “What are we talking about?”
“I saw it!” Kellyjean was practically hyperventilating. “Oh my Lord, I saw it! Two falling stars and the green flash, all in one weekend? No one back home is going to believe this when I tell ’em about it.”
“Oh, man.” Bernadette looked like she wanted to pitch her phone into the ocean, she was so disappointed. “I can’t believe I keep missing everything.”
Will, as soon as I’d dropped my hand, had begun to turn away, heading into the restaurant along with most of the rest of the crowd from the festival.
I felt weirdly disappointed. But why? It’s not as if I believed in this stupid magic stuff, and certainly not as if I cared about Will. Unless . . . unless Bernadette was right, and I’d caught feelings for him.
But that was impossible! He was Will Price, and I hated Will Price, even if he was a really good kisser and it turned out there was a fairly reasonable explanation for why he was the way he was.
But if I hated Will Price so much, why, when he hesitated and looked back at me—and only me—did my heart give a stupid little Kitty Katz schoolgirl flutter?
“Aren’t you coming in?” he asked, those thick dark eyebrows of his raised questioningly. “We should probably toast our upcoming year of good fortune, don’t you think? I’ve ordered some very good champagne for the party—the real stuff, actually from Champagne, France.”
Ordinarily, that kind of statement coming from Will Price would have annoyed me so much, it would have made me want to punch him—or at least one of the cardboard cutouts of him in a bookstore. Did he think I didn’t know that real champagne came from France?
But for some reason, this time, I only felt amused—maybe because I finally knew why he was the way he was. He couldn’t help it. He was Raul Wolf, who’d lost his mom at a young age and then been raised by a beast.
I lifted my sunglasses—I didn’t need them anymore now that the sun had set—so he could see that I’d narrowed my eyes at him in a sarcastic smirk. “Oh my gosh, really, Champagne, France? Catch me before I faint.”
His eyes widened. It’s possible I was the first person in a long time, if ever, to make fun of him to his face. Then he smirked back at me. “I’d be happy to.”
Zing! went my heart. Okay, this was not good. But it was fun.
Inside Cracked, the party was in full swing. Loud, upbeat bossa nova music boomed from the stereo system, while servers bustled back and forth with trays of drinks. On one side of the restaurant, a wall of French doors had been thrown open to reveal the deck overlooking the shimmering sea and still fiery red sky. On the other stood a set of buffet tables so loaded with platters of shellfish I feared they might collapse.
Of course all the donors and readers were gathered on the deck, admiring the view and chatting with one another away from the thump of the music, while all of the authors were crowded in front of the food. I’ve never seen an author—no matter how bestselling—pass up an opportunity for free food. None of us could forget those prepublication days when we were barely scraping by. Many writers never left those days.
So I wasn’t particularly surprised to see Frannie—despite her previous reservations about the locally caught fish—practically inhaling a plate of steamed clams, while beside her, Saul was slurping up raw oysters. Not far from them, Jerome was picking away at a stone crab claw, while Kellyjean had evidently abandoned her vegetarian lifestyle for the evening and joined Bernadette in attacking the shrimp cocktail. All wore rapturous expressions, like they’d died and gone to author heaven.
Only Garrett remained out on the deck, talking with a great deal of animation to Lauren and her friends. Fortunately, their mothers were with them, so I wasn’t worried about anything untoward going on . . . especially given the fact that Garrett was wearing a floor-length purple velvet cape over a pirate shirt and what appeared to be matching pirate pants and boots.
I was going to have to process that later. The sight was entirely too disturbing to deal with now.
“Shall we have a toast?” Will fortunately distracted me by asking, snagging two glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing server and handing one to me. “To our good fortune in the new year?”
“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 his drink 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 on The 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 whole time 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.
But now, suddenly, the idea of having one didn’t seem like the absolute worst thing in the world . . . maybe only the second or third.
Fortunately, Frannie was weaving her way toward me through the crowd, which was getting thicker and thicker as more people headed inside for the buffet. “Oh my God, Jo,” she said, waving a plate beneath my nose. “These shrimp. You’ve got to try one.”
Chloe looked down at the plate Frannie was holding. “Oh, the buffalo shrimp? Yeah, those are good!”
“Good?” Frannie’s beautiful red manicure was no longer visible beneath the orange sauce of the shrimp she was rapidly devouring. “They’re insane!”
Kellyjean sidled up to us. “Are y’all talkin’ about the shrimp?”
Frannie beamed at her. “Divine, aren’t they?”
“I’m about to ask the chef for the recipe!”
I didn’t get to hear how Frannie replied to that, however, because Will reappeared, touched Chloe on the shoulder, and leaned down to tell her something. I couldn’t hear what it was because the music and level of chatter in the restaurant was too loud.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out that whatever it was he’d said had pleased her, though, since Chloe gave him a dazzling smile in reply and rose up on her sneakered toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. Then she darted away through the crowd to join her teammates by the outdoor stage. A second later, they’d all lost their scowls and begun scurrying around, preparing for their big number.
“Well,” I said to Will. “You’ve made some people very happy, anyway.”
He shrugged with exaggerated modesty. “Only doing my duty as temporary board chair. Speaking of which, I see that you haven’t yet been fed. Should we get you a plate?”
Unfortunately, he said this right in front of Kellyjean, who sucked in her breath excitedly.
“Yes, you should!” She waved a hand excitedly. “Don’t forget the shrimp! Do you want me to snag a table? They’re going fast. I’d be happy to save y’all seats.”
“That’s quite all right, Kellyjean.” Will smiled. “I think we’ll manage.”
And we were. Will was able to use his credentials as temporary board chair to slip to the head of the enormous line that had formed at the buffet and secure us two heavily laden plates of food. Then I used my cred as the author of a beloved and heartwarming children’s series about talking cats to get us seats at a table.
“Ms. Wright! Ms. Wright!” Lauren bellowed from across the deck when she saw me. “Over here! Come sit with us!”
Lauren was sitting at a table not far from the stage with her two pals, Cassidy and Jasmine. Dressed to kill, the girls were in head-to-toe sequins and had hung purses and wraps over the backs of the empty chairs beside them, but when they saw me approaching, with Will not far behind, they reached to remove them.
“Are you sure these seats are free, girls?” I asked before I sat down.
“For you they are.” Lauren’s worshipful gaze went from me to Will and then back again.
“Especially you,” Cassidy said, batting her long faux lashes at Will.
I wasn’t convinced. “Aren’t you saving them for your mothers?”
“Oh, they’re in line for the bar,” Jasmine said in a scornful tone. “They’ll be gone for ages.”
Will looked alarmed. “But there are servers going around with wine and champagne—”
“Our mothers only drink vodka sodas. Saves on calories.” Cassidy patted the seat of the empty chair beside her. “Why don’t you sit here, Will?”
“I’ll just sit here next to Ms. Wright, if that’s all right,” Will said, and dropped hastily into the seat beside mine.
“Your loss.” Cassidy fluttered those lashes in a way I didn’t blame Will for finding alarming.
“Oh, wait until you taste those shrimp!” Lauren was closely examining everything on my plate. “They’re amazing.”
“Are they?” I sampled one. The ensuing taste explosion was a welcome surprise. “Oh my God, you’re right!”
“See?” Lauren beamed with pleasure. “I told you.”
“Lauren’s glad she took your advice and came, aren’t you, Lauren?” Jasmine grinned wickedly at her friend. “Especially since now we get to sit with the third highest trending couple on Twitter.”
