“Let’s hope not,” I say, glancing out the window at the setting sun. “Hey, do you know how late it is?”
“I do. My in-laws take Olive on Thursday nights. She sleeps over there and I go to the pub. You stopping by tonight?” He continues quickly, “And before you say no, it would mean a lot to Nettie and Peter to see you there.”
“No, it wouldn’t.”
“It would, actually. Things have been a little slow for them, and if a certain famous writer showed up once in a while, it would drum up a lot of business.”
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I’m not even the teeniest bit famous. I wasn’t even the biggest writer in my apartment building.”
“But here, you’re a big deal.”
“Nope. Forget it. Not falling for it.”
“Abby, how many authors do you think live in South Haven? And of those, how many have books on the shelves at the library?” He asks. Holding up one finger, he says, “That’s right. One. And I have it on good authority there’s a wait-list on all your titles.”
I shake my head. “That knowledge actually makes me want to barricade the door and never go outside again.”
“What’s the point of writing if you refuse to meet your public?”
“First of all, I don’t have a ‘public,’” I say doing air quotes. “Second, I write because it allows me to earn a living while avoiding real people. So, showing up at the pub every week would literally be the opposite of that.”
“You don’t have to go often. In fact, it’s better if you only make the occasional appearance—just enough to keep everyone guessing. That way, they’ll all show up every week for fear of missing out on the chance to see you.”
I start to protest but Liam holds up one hand. “Trust me. You’re the biggest celebrity to come to South Haven.”
“What about the Beckhams?”
Liam barks out a laugh. “So, you’re thenewestcelebrity, then.” Before I can dispute this, he says, “Just come tonight—for your kindly neighbors that gave you a big discount on your stay.”
I let out a long groan and drop my shoulders. “Really? You’re going to guilt me into going?”
“Whatever works.”
“Well, that is plain evil.” I cross my hands across my chest.
“Oh, come on. It won’t beallbad. They’ve got beer and pie. Plus, you can say you’ve done your good deed for the day.”
“What?” I ask, wrinkling up my face in disgust. “You’re supposed to do oneevery day?”
“In theory,” he says with a wink. “Now, I better go home and get cleaned up. I’ll see you later, then?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Fine. But I’m not happy about it.”
“You’re a good woman, Abigail Carson. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”
Chapter Twelve
The nice thing about living in a small town is that when you don’t know what you’re doing, someone else does.
~Immanuel Kant
I can hear the music as soon as I walk out my front door, and I find myself hurrying along the road to the B&B. Not that I’m excited about going or anything. I’m only rushing so I can get this over with and go home to watchScandal. In fact, I’m not even going to sit down. I’ll just have one beer, maybe some pie, then leave.
I walk up the steps, then take a deep breath as I open the door. I give myself the once-over in the lobby mirror. Not awful. I’m in some cropped jeans, leather sandals, and a cute flowy V-neck blouse that hides a lot of flaws. My hair is down and I took the time to run the straightener through it. The overall look says, ‘hasn’t quite given up on life.’
The song ends just as I walk in, and I join in the applause while I look for somewhere to sit in the crowded room. This is one of those moments that’s so much nicer when you’re part of a twosome. I play with Isaac’s ring, trying not to think about how much he would have loved this or how much more comfortable I’d be with him holding my hand right now.
The tables are set in a large U-shape with both musicians and their fans sharing the space. I spot Eunice, who is dressed in a glittery black sweater and pleather pants. She waves at me. “Abby, come meet the mayor!”
