“It’s just yeasty— Ohcrap. Look who all just walked in.” Baxter sighed.
Declan turned, then spun back right away in an obvious effort to hide from being noticed. “I thought Maxine turned into a pumpkin at nine o’clock? What’s she doing here?”
“Well, scout, it’s only eight thirty,” Leslie told him with a smile. “Gird your loins—Cherry’s bringing her on over.”
“Who’s Maxine?” asked Teddy, once again craning in her seat.
“Oh, you’ll find out,” Declan said grimly. “Thank God you got here after her birthday party last week.”
Teddy looked at Leslie. “Did you just say ‘gird your loins’? That sounds so…old-fashioned. Like it belongs in a medieval novel.”
Leslie grinned and spread her hands wide. “Yes, well, I happen to read a lot of historical romance.”
“Yeah, particularly ones aboutsexy blacksmiths,” Declan said, then gave her a loud smooch on the lips. “Which is why you didn’t have a chance when you met me. You were already half in love with theideaof me.”
Leslie rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were a little pink. “I like romance novels. They’re a great escape and are wonderfully entertaining.” She sounded mildly defensive, and Teddy thought she understood why—particularly since she currently wrote thrillers. Romance novels were big moneymakers, but they were also often denigrated as lesser forms of literature next to other genres like thrillers, mysteries, and women’s fiction.
“I love all books,” Teddy replied. “Including romance. With this age of everyone streaming everything on any device imaginable, I’m just happy people still read. And I—”
“Is this the writer?” screeched a voice just behind Teddy.
Teddy turned to discover that a cluster of elderly ladies had basically ambushed her, forming a circle around her from behind.
There were four of them, and the one who’d spoken appeared to be the oldest of the bunch. She had to be at least eighty, and she had very dark skin that was as smooth as ebony despite her age. Her hair was a thick mop of iron gray that was almost perfect enough to be a wig, and she brandished a walking stick that Teddy immediately decided was lethal—especially in the hands of a demanding elderly woman.
“You must be Maxine,” Teddy said with a smile. “I’ve heard all about you from Declan.”
“Youhave, have you?” replied the old lady. “Well, I don’t—”
“Yes, this is loudmouth Maxine Took,” said a plump woman with perfectly manicured purple fingernails. Her hair was an improbable bronzy-reddish henna, clearly covering some major gray, because Teddy suspected she was about the same age as Maxine. “I’m Juanita Acerita, and if you’re really T.J. Mack, I have to say it’s a pleasure to meet you!”
When Teddy reached to shake Juanita’s hand, however, Juanita reared back a little, moving her large leather bag out of reach. “Sorry—Brucie gets a little testy at sudden movements,” Juanita said with a smile, maneuvering so she could shake Teddy’s hand but keep the tote at a distance.
That was when Teddy saw the small canine with bright eyes peeking out from inside. It was the cutest dog she’d ever seen. He had huge ears—they were each the size of its head—and mostly white fur, but with splotches of black and brown over his nose. His butterflylike ears were jet black, and had long, silky hair hanging from them.
“That’s Bruce Banner,” Maxine informed Teddy, shoving her hand in for her own greeting. “He’s named after the Hunk.”
“Move over, Maxine,” said another of the four women, who seemed to ignore Maxine’s confusion about who Bruce Banner was. “I want to meet her too.” This one sounded more professional, yet there was an air of excitement in her tone. She was tall—probably at least six foot—and sturdy, with lots of thick blue-white hair combed into a simple style of short in the back, but bouffant-like on top.
She looked several years younger than Maxine and Juanita—maybe seventy—and as if she could take down a Secret Service agent without breaking a sweat. “I’m Orbra van Hest, Ms. Mack, and I am ahugefan. I buy all of your books in hardcover the minute they come out, and I also buy the e-books so I can make the font bigger and read them better. And I listen to the audiobooks too, when I’m cleaning up—I own the tea shop in town, and anytime you want to come in, I’ll serve you the best scones you’ve ever had.” She said all of this in a nervous rush of words that indicated to Teddy that she truly was abigfan.
“That’s right,” Maxine said, clearly intent on keeping control of the conversation. “Orbra’s cinnamon scones are a national treasure. Can’t say the same about them lavender-blueberry ones you tried on us, though, Orbry—”
“I’m Cherry Wilder,” said a slender, very fit woman in her mid-sixties who obviously knew the necessity of not waiting for Maxine to stop talking. “I’m a big fan too, Ms. Mack, and I was hoping you might sign a few of these books for me.”
“I’ve got mine too,” said Orbra, amid a chorus of other “me toos,” which came not only from the semicircle of elderly women, but also some other customers—including the busty blond that Baxter had a thing for.
“I’d love to sign your books,” Teddy said with a broad smile and genuine pleasure. “All of them,” she added, looking around at everyone else. To her surprise, suddenly, there was quite a crowd. It appeared that Maxine Took and her friends had been the catalyst for several, shyer Wicks Hollow residents to come forward.
And apparently, somehow, they’d all known Teddy would be eating at the Grille tonight. She glanced at Declan, who lifted his hands with a “sorry, what can I do?” look and smiled.
Teddy wasn’t lying when she said she’d be happy to sign their books—there was nothing she liked better than to meet readers. Thus, the impromptu book signing turned into an energetic chat with the diners. Between Baxter and Mirabella, the beers kept coming, and the sense of joviality swelled. People pulled up chairs, Teddy answered questions and asked a few of her own, and got some feedback on her books (mostly welcome, some confusing, and some completely off the wall—but it was all in good fun, and very entertaining).
By the time Teddy was ready to leave and the bar/diner was closing, she was shocked to discover it was after eleven thirty.
Fifteen minutes later, exhausted, and pretty tipsy from several rounds of B-Cubed beer, Teddy climbed out of Leslie’s car. “Thanks for the ride,” she said, waving a little unsteadily as her cousin and his girlfriend drove off.
Yawning, Teddy let herself in the front door of the cottage. She fumbled around for a light switch, didn’t immediately find one, and gave up looking, choosing to use the moonlight to find the door to the lighthouse suite.
