Page 27 of No Words

The server smiled and poured a generous serving of red wine into my glass, half of which I managed to down in almost a single gulp just as a smiling Molly approached.

This would have been fine—I could have handled a conversation with a children’s librarian just then—if I hadn’t spied Will Price strolling behind her, looking casually princely in the glow of the lamps and moonlight.

All right, I told myself. This was it. Our showdown. I was going to find out exactly what in the whiskers was going on, then let him have it. He wouldn’t be feeling so princely once I was through with him. That’s right, buddy, I’ve got your number. You better have an apology and some explanations ready about what’s going on around here oryou’rethe one who’s going to get kicked back to the author bus.

“Oh, Ms. Wright, there you are,” Molly said brightly. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Have you met Will Price? He’s one of our festival’s board members, and a writer, as well.”

Wait. Will Price was a donoranda member of the festival’s board?

And she really thought I hadn’t heard of him? Was she unaware of the plagiarism scandal that had linked Will’s name with mine forever, much to my everlasting chagrin? Did shenot know we’d all received a copy ofThe Momentin our swag bags, and that some of us were reading every word?

Then again, Molly was a librarian living in the Florida Keys on a small island that felt a million miles from the rest of the world. And judging by that sheriff’s smile and how close she seemed to giving birth, she’d obviously been keeping herself busy doing other things.

“We’ve met,” I said, and boldly stretched my inky right hand toward Will while plastering the smile across my face that Rosie had nicknamed “Fake Jo.” Make him regret his life choices, remember? “How are you, Will?”

“I’m well, thank you.” He took my hand in his. His skin felt warm but dry, unlike my own, since I was sweating up a storm. Stupid Florida humidity.

He’d changed since I’d seen him at the airport that morning. He’d been unable to do anything about his hair—it still fell in unruly dark curls around his handsome, angular face—but he’d made an effort to get rid of some of the five-day stubble, at least. He’d ditched the jeans and Timbs for a white cotton button-down, the sleeves rolled up at the elbow to reveal muscular, tanned forearms, and pale blue linen trousers. He looked cool, calm, and collected.

It wasn’t fair. He had the home-court advantage and knew it.

But I wasn’t going to let him win, any more than Kitty Katz ever let her mortal enemy, Raul Wolf, win when they competed against each other during school debates and spelling bees.

“I’m so glad you were able to come,” Will said to me in that deep voice that fans of his audiobooks loved so much.

“Thanks for inviting me. You have a lovely home.” How I longed to throw stones through those glass windows of his. “I met your sister, Chloe, just now.”

Will’s dark eyebrows lifted, registering surprise. But before he could say anything, Molly cried, “Oh, Chloe! Isn’t she sweet? She and my stepdaughter, Katie, have become inseparable since Will and Chloe moved here. We’re so lucky to have them both on the island. Will’s become such an asset to the literary community, and Chloe is—well, Chloe is Chloe!”

I couldn’t help it: I smirked.Will Price, an asset to the literary community? More like an ass.

I know. Real mature. But I can’t help it, I write for kids.

Unfortunately, Will seemed to notice my little smirk, since I saw those dark eyes narrow at me.

“Sure,” I said, wiping the smile off my face. I should never have touched the wine. “I can imagine.”

“Anyway, if you’ll both excuse me,” Molly said, “I have to go help everyone find their seats. Ms. Wright, you’re at the Hemingway table over—”

“Oh, yes, I know. And I told you, it’s Jo, please.”

“Right! Jo!” Molly twinkled at us, then waddled over to where Kellyjean was causing a huge clog in the flow of traffic, not because she didn’t know where her seat was, but because her sandals had finally become too much for her, and she’d sat down in the middle of the beach and begun undoing them.

That left Will Price and me alone with each other for the first time since we’d been in that green room together at Novel Con a year and a half ago.

Well, as alone as two people could be at a dinner party with over fifty other people milling around them.

We hadn’t really been alone in that green room, either. People had kept coming in and out.

But I, at least, had thought we’d gotten along so well. Besides bonding over the terrible coffee, we’d chatted about how difficult it was, getting up so early to give a speech to so many people. (Novel Con was one of the largest annual fan conventions in the publishing industry, and there was no greater honor than giving the breakfast speech on day one of the convention, but it wasn’t glamorous. It required being in the green room by sixA.M., while the audience of five thousand filed in to find their seats at their tables in the auditorium by eight.)

Will had even complimented my dress. I’d splurged for once and hired a stylist who’d assured me that the “springtime green” designer wrap dress she’d chosen and I’d purchased (for an exorbitant amount of money, or at least what seemed like it to a girl who was used to picking up bargains at factory outlets) would bring out the blue of my eyes and what were then the honey-blond highlights in my hair.

It seemed to have worked, too. I’d caught Will surreptitiously checking me out.

And I hadn’t minded, because I’d been admiring the broadness of his shoulders in his dark blue sports coat, the way the corners of his mouth turned up at the sides, and, yes, Godhelp me, the slight but perfectly noticeable bulge in the front of his oh-so-perfectly form-fitting jeans.

But why shouldn’t we have checked each other out? We were around the same age, and in the same line of work. And of course we’d both been plagiarized by the same person. We’d even bonded over that (or so I’d thought) as we’d waited to be called to give our speeches, describing how each of us had found out (he’d been told by his publisher, I’d been tweeted by a fan) and what a weirdo Nicole was for thinking she’d get away with it.