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“Oh, wow.” Jerome came up behind us, holding a coffee and looking mildly excited. “I see there’re already sparks flying between two panelists and the festival hasn’t even officially begun. This is going to be some day.”

Silently, I agreed with him, but I didn’t want to add any more fuel to Garrett and Kellyjean’s fire. Instead I took a bite of my croissant, relieved to see that the author bus was pulling up outside. “Oh, look,” I said. “Here’s our ride. Let’s get going.”

But my relief turned to another feeling entirely when the doors to the minibus slid open to reveal that the driver this time wasn’t Molly or her husband, but someone I recognized instantly by his overlong curls, broad shoulders, too-small mouth, and night-dark eyes.

“Good morning,” Will said cheerfully from his perch behind the wheel.

I stood there frozen, my coffee in one hand and croissant in the other, staring up at him. What was happening? Was I still asleep? Was this a nightmare... or a dream?

No. Definitely not a dream.

Because even in my dreams I wouldn’t have pictured a bus driver who looked as delicious as this. Unlike Molly, Will filled the seat, looking large and absurdly competent for someone I knew perfectly well didn’t make a habit of going around driving mini-shuttles in his daily life.

Still, he had the sleeves of the pale gray button-down he was wearing rolled up like he was just some ordinary transit worker, driving his daily route—though those rolled-up cuffs revealed muscular forearms that I knew had become toned from regular workouts in his home gym, not hauling the luggage of passengers.

To my astonishment, he was smiling. Not the fan-friendly smile I’d so often defaced in airplane magazines, but a smaller, less assured smile that seemed to be saying,Hi. I know this is awkward, but there’s nothing I can do about it, so I’m hoping this is all right. Is this all right?

Um, no. No, it most certainly was not. Especially not after the love scene I’d read in his book last night.

“Wh-what?” I could find no words. “Wh-where’s Molly?”

The smile didn’t waver.

“Oh, she’s at the hospital.”

Frannie came squawking up behind me like one of the chickens we’d seen running around loose on the streets the night before. “What?Is she all right?”

“I think so,” he said. “It’s probably a false alarm—she’s not due for another two weeks. But, you know—” He shrugged. “Better to be safe than sorry, right?”

Frannie, Bernadette, and Kellyjean exchanged knowing glances. “First baby,” they all said in unison, members of a club I was relieved, at that particular moment, not to be a part of.

“Well, is the festival still going to go on?” I was hoping the answer was no—not because I wanted to deprive the people of Little Bridge Island of their first-ever book festival, but because I really didn’t want to have to spend any more time with Will than was strictly necessary. Even though I’d lose out on selling a lot of books (probably), I’d be fine with being as far away as possible from those eyes and those arms.

Unfortunately, the answer was not to my liking.

“Of course the festival is still going on.” Will was laying it on thick, giving us the hundred-watt smile I recognized from the red carpet photos at his many movie premieres. Not that I’d spent much time poring over them. Okay, maybe I had. “Molly always considered this a possibility since the festival was so close to her due date, so she made a backup plan. And this is it.” He gestured broadly at himself, which sadly only drew my attention once again to those wide shoulders and lean waist, which even his oh-so-casually-loose resort wear couldn’t hide. “I’m here to give you all a lift.”

Never in the history of time had there been such a good-looking—and well-dressed—bus driver.

This was a disaster.

No one else seemed to think so, however.

“Well, all right, then!” Frannie cried. “Saul? Saul, come on. Will’s driving.”

Then she and Saul climbed onto the bus, followed by Jerome (who at least murmured a polite “Excuse me” to me before he passed by), and then everyone else.

It was only when I was the last author standing on the sidewalk that Will said to me, conversationally, “Since Molly probably won’t be back in time, I’ll be giving the opening speech just before your panel in order to welcome everyone to the festival.”

What?Bernadette and I were going to have to follow an opening act byWill Price?

I thought of Lauren and her friends on the plane and how happy they were going to be about this, and felt a little queasy.

“Jo?” Will eyed me. I think he was wondering why I’d been standing for so long with my coffee and croissant held frozen in my hands. I’d stood there so long, in fact, that the hotel’s resident cat had walked up, butted its head against my bare leg, got tired of my lack of response, and moved on. When had I ever not leaned down to pet a cat that had head-butted me? Never, that’s when. And it was all Will’s fault. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” No. No, I was not all right. I was never going to be all right. “Yes, I’m fine.”

He smiled again, not quite the hundred watter, but close. “Great! Well, you’ve already got quite a crowd gathered over at the library, so we better get going.”