“Sunrise Reader, you've been corresponding with 'Saltwater Stories' about your shared love of maritime adventure novels. Your pen pal is...Captain Jim Weatherby!”
The crowd gasps in delight as the retired fisherman who gives boat tours hobbles up to shake the young man's hand. “Didn't know you were so young!” Captain Weatherby laughs. “Thought I was writing to another old salt!”
The audience loves it. More applause, more laughter.
“And now,” Grandma Hensley says, her voice dropping to something more dramatic, “we come to our final pair. The one you've all been waiting for.”
The crowd goes quiet.
“For months, one of our most dedicated readers—known only as 'Between the Lines'—has been corresponding with a mysterious author. Someone whose letters revealed a thoughtful, romantic soul hiding behind a rather grumpy exterior.”
I see Jessica shift in her seat. Michelle squeezes her arm.
“Between the Lines, will you please stand?”
Jessica rises slowly, and the crowd's heads turn toward her. She's beautiful in that green dress, her red hair catching the fairy lights.
“Jessica Wells,” Grandma Hensley says warmly, “your pen pal signed their letters 'Coastal Quill.' But Coastal Quill has another name. One that millions of readers around the world know very well.”
Murmurs ripple through the crowd. I see Penelope lean forward, phone already in hand.
“For fifteen years, this person has published twenty-three novels under the pen name V. Langley. Romance novels that have sold millions of copies worldwide and have touched countless hearts, including mine.” She dabs at her eye with a handkerchief. “And tonight, for the first time ever, V. Langley is going to reveal their true identity.”
The murmurs become excited whispers. I see people looking around, trying to guess who it might be. A few glances land on Jessica, probably wondering ifshe’sV. Langley.
“Please join me in welcoming to the stage...my dear friend...Scott Avery.”
For a moment, nothing happens.
Then the whispers become gasps.
Then the gasps become?—
“What?” Penelope half-rises from her seat with an expression of pure shock.
“The grumpy landlord?” someone says in the back.
“Scott Avery writes romance novels?” Mrs. Ziegler sounds delighted.
I walk to the podium on legs that don't quite feel like mine. The crowd is still buzzing, a hive of shocked whispers and excited chatter. Jessica is beaming at me, her eyes bright.
“Hi,” I say into the microphone. “So. Surprise?”
Laughter. Some of it nervous, some of it genuine.
“I've been lying to all of you for fifteen years, and I'm sorry about that. Well—” I glance at Grandma Hensley. “Not lying, apparently. 'Maintaining a pen name.' Very different.”
More laughter.
“The truth is, I started writing because I didn't know how else to process my feelings.” I pause. “They were right because it did help, and somewhere along the way, the writing became became a way to believe in what I was too scared to believe in out loud. Love. Hope. Happy endings.”
The crowd has gone quiet now.
“I hid behind V. Langley because I was afraid that people would think I was weak for writing about feelings. That the businessman who wore suits and made tough decisions couldn't also be the person who cried while writing reunion scenes.” I shake my head. “I was wrong. Being vulnerable isn't weakness. It's just...hard. And I've spent a lot of years choosing the easy path instead of the honest one.”
Michelle has her arm around Jessica, and they're both crying, and Hazel is passing tissues down the row like she came prepared for this exact scenario.
“But I'm done hiding, pretending to be someone I'm not. So—” I gesture at the covered easel. “I'd like to show you something.”
