Allie and Ruth and Carol are all here in the city for New Year’s.
We invited them on a whim when we were back in Moonlake Village for Christmas. I didn’t really expect them to take us up on it, but sometimes I forget not everyone is me.
George insisted on putting them up at a very nice hotel, arranged a private tour of the New York Public Library that Carol hasn’t stopped gushing about, and got them all tickets toWicked. If he wasn’t Moonlake Village’s favorite new adopted son before, he certainly is now.
Wedidtry to do long distance. It’s just that, for a couple of guys who met and fell for each other without ever being in the same state, neither of us is very good at being apart.
“Hey,” I say to Megan, kissing my craft fair buddy on the cheek. “When did you get here?”
“To the party or to New York? Either way, the answer is a few minutes ago. I decided to stop here first. I knew there’d be awesome food.” She smiles and stuffs a brie cup into her mouth.
Megan has really helped me navigate the whole craft fair circuit here in the city. I’m so glad I decided to keep her card last year. We’re even talking about setting up a joint online shop, so we can share marketing responsibilities (which we both dread).
I wouldn’t say I’m becoming a city person. I don’t think that’ll ever happen. But I’m finding I can be pretty happy, actually, being asometimecity person. Especially when those sometimes are with George.
And the great thing about being an author is that George can work from anywhere. Which is helpful because he has more work than he could possibly ask for.Steele Trapwas huge, and he’s halfway through a three-book Sebastian Steele arc that’s his best work in the series (yes, I’ve read them all now). But thehistorical romance? That took off beyond anyone's expectations. (ThankGodhe used a pen name, so he can’t insist it’s just brand recognition driving sales. And five-star reviews. And the bidding war over the movie rights. For a man with his success, he has ridiculously low confidence.)
I make my way around the room, offering hors d’oeuvres to our various guests. Noteveryonewe know is here (even if the place is so packed, it feels like it just a little bit).
Anabel ducked out a while ago, heading to another party. And Zoe hasn’t shown her face yet. I'm 90% sure that’s not intentional timing for either of them. Zoe and her date were going to dinner before coming here. And Zoe and Anabel have forged a tenuous truce over the last year, each grateful to the other for what she’s meant to George. Still, there was a fairly significant disagreement about the back cover copy on the romance (mostly that Zoe thought she ought to have a say in it, and Anabel, as publisher, disagreed). I think the truce has mainly held because they somehow haven’t actually met yet.
Still, I'm just wondering if maybe I ought to text Zoe and let her know the Anabel coast is clear when the door swings open and Zoe herself appears. Sans date, I notice.
She spots me and meets me in the middle of the overcrowded living room, thrusting a bottle of wine into my hand and kissing my cheek. “Hi, sweetie. You doing okay? I didn’t mean to abandon you to the wolves like this.”
“Hardly the wolves, although a few of them have tried to grill me about George’s secret pen name.”
She tsks. “Who was it? You want me to beat them up?”
She shuffles off her coat. She’s wearing a very clingy, hot pink number that doesn't look particularly suited to combat.
“I'm fine, but thanks,” I look around over her shoulder. “Didn’t you have a date?”
She waves her hand dismissively. “I don't want to talk about it. Let’s just say men are scum, and people should be required to disclose when they have a fiancée. Or three. Now, where’s that adorable boyfriend of yours?”
“Zo!” My adorable boyfriend sweeps in as if on cue. He kisses her cheek, then knits his brows. “Weren't you bringing a date?”
I try to signal him, shaking my head. Zoe just sighs.
“Let's open this bottle of wine,” George suggests, taking it from my hand. We follow him as he gets the corkscrew and pours us each a glass.
The Moonlake Village contingent arrives at our side.
“Hello, Zoe, dear,” says Ruth. “How are you? We haven’t seen you up in Vermont lately.”
I feel heat rise. Yeah, that might be a little bit on me. I think coming to stay in my tiny cabin with me and George being me and George might be a little off-putting even to someone who is as difficult to put off as Zoe. There may or may not have been an incident where we thought we could be quiet, and that she was asleep, and where neither of those things turned out to be true. I glance over at George, and he is redder than I feel, so I know he's thinking about the same thing.
Zoe, to her credit, simply buries a smile in a sip of wine. Then says, “Yes, I should really make it up there again sometime soon.”
As Zoe and Allie and Carol begin discussingWicked(and the flying monkey in the cast Zoe had a brief fling with), George puts his hand on the small of my back and guides me off down the hall towards the bedroom. We pass Raj and Marty on the way, deep in conversation with Jonathan Alcott about his dad’s political campaign. Not so deep, I notice with only mild mortification, that they don't give us matching knowing looks as we pass.
“We’ll be right back,” George tells them, clearly trying to mitigate assumptions.
“Take your time,” says Jonathan, tossing the cherry from his drink into his mouth and looking so amused, it's clear George has only made things worse.
George closes the bedroom door quietly behind us. He looks pained. “I'm sorry, I am so sorry. I just thought maybe you could use more of a break than just slipping into the kitchen for a second.”
I brush some errant curls away from his face and kiss him sweetly. “I could. Thank you.” He winces, unconvinced. I smooth the tension from his mouth with my thumb. “Really.”
