Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 120631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 603(@200wpm)___ 483(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 603(@200wpm)___ 483(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Jocelyn grinned. “You’re a lifesaver, Camille.”
The singer shrugged, unsure of what she did and said, “Glad I could help.”
The door chimed, and the first guest crossed the threshold. Jocelyn turned, and her smile stalled halfway up her face. Not a guest. Birdie Quinnley—the town busybody—with a gift bag swinging from her wrist.
“Jocelyn, dear, what a lovely spread.” Birdie’s gaze traveled the beams, the booths, the banners, then hooked back to Jocelyn.
“Birdie, what…” She went over the guestlist in her head. The list she obsessed over for months. The list she specifically gave Paige when she shipped the invitations. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“So early,” Logan quickly covered, shooting her a look.
“I like to have my pick of seats for things like this.”
A balloon popped, and Jocelyn flinched. Birdie’s beady eyes went to Simon, who was currently wrestling with the arch.
She looked back up at Logan. “Hmm, you’re not the Hawthorne I expected to see.” She folded her frosted-pink lips into a knowing purse.
“Greyson has two brothers, Birdie,” Jocelyn reminded. She’d know that if she was close enough to the family to garner a spot on the guestlist.
“I’m aware.”
Of course she was. As the town busybody, Birdie knew something about everybody. She probably knew what color underwear Jocelyn chose that morning. As a matter of fact, she was so informed on everyone’s personal business, she could very well publish a weekly column with the amount of secrets hidden under all that purple-tinted hair.
“Why don’t I carry this to the gift table for you?” Logan said, relieving her of the bag.
Jocelyn’s eye twitched. Was she Lady Lovewatch? She could be. Anyone could be. And with a party hosting so many locals, chances were someone would notice Soren’s absence and next week’s column could assume the worst about such a public vacancy.
“Soren had a business commitment,” she blurted. “If you’ll excuse me.” She rushed off to check on Simon.
“How’s it going?” she asked, clearly able to judge his progress without a report.
“Almost done.” Simon tied the bottom piece to the leg of a nearby table.
She turned and came face to face with Logan.
“Hey, you okay?” he asked.
“Fine. Birdie wasn’t invited,” she whispered.
“She’s never invited, but she also never misses a party. You should have expected her to crash.”
Jocelyn huffed because he was right. “Well, she better be the last crasher. We only have so much food.”
The door chimed again, and Astrid and Bodhi returned. Then it opened again, a bright peal of afternoon sunshine ushering in another face who had no earthly business knowing about a private shower.
“What the hell?”
“Let it go, Joce,” Logan warned, bundling up trash from setup. “It’s too late now. You just gotta let it ride.” He nodded to her cocktail. “You look like you need a sip.”
Her lip curled as she slugged back several sips and sighed. “Seriously, who crashes a baby shower?”
He chuckled. “In Hideaway Bay? Everybody. They probably pinned up an invite at the senior center.”
“They were private invitations.”
He shrugged. “Don’t sweat it. They’re here to support Wren and Grey.”
But how were they going to feed them?
Over the next twenty minutes, the door kept opening as guests flooded in. Some were expected, but many were not. A shopkeeper from Anchor Lane. Two women from the church choir, both old enough to be Wren’s grandmother. And a woman from the vet who claimed she took care of the rescue cats at The Haven.
“We’re going to need more seats,” she told Simon. “Ask Richard if he can set up a few more tables.”
“On it!” Simon ran off.
Her gaze swept the room and tallied heads of the people not on her list. There were at least twenty of them. They were going to have to use smaller plates and stretch the food thin.
“Jocelyn! It looks just gorgeous in here,” one woman said.
Jocelyn didn’t know her name, so she only smiled. “Thank you.”
“You’ve outdone yourself, honey,” another woman complimented.
Every last one of them wanted a word with her.
“Where’s that handsome Soren hiding? Thought for certain he’d be by your side.”
“Is Soren coming? I heard the two of you were finally getting along.”
“He’s out of town…” … “Had a business trip…” … “…couldn’t make it.” Her excuses rolled off the tongue while her body slowly went numb.
“Couldn’t make it to his brother’s shower?”
“Such a shame.”
“Everything all right in the romance department, honey?”
Each question shaved another sliver off her composure. She smiled through the barrage, parrying with a practiced lightness that left her lightheaded and dizzy.
She stole a glance at the clock above the bar. Quarter to two. Still needing to change into her party outfit, she tried to escape to the restroom, but the guests kept flooding in.
“Excuse me.” She snatched up her garment bag from behind the hostess station and fled into the sanctuary of the ladies’ room.
The hush landed like a cool cloth pressed to her fevered skin. She sagged over the marble sink, giving her reflection a Kubrick stare in the mirror. “You can do this.”