“The Hensley House is going to be beautiful,” Hazel assures her. “I promise. Every wedding there is magical.”
“It’s turning into a Bookaholics Anonymous tradition to get married there,” Amber says. “I love it that you’re following that trend.”
“We all built so many memories there over the years,” Grandma Hensley says, referring to the house she passed down to Hazel that’s been in the family for generations. “The ocean views make it a romantic wedding venue.”
We settle around the island with wine and cheese and our copies ofLetters from a Stranger, this month’s pick. It’s a pen pal romance—two people who fall in love through anonymous correspondence before discovering they already know each other in real life.
I suggested it three months ago.
“Okay,” Michelle says, opening her copy. “Who wants to start?”
“I will,” Grandma Hensley announces. “I thought it was delightful. The letters were so romantic. All that yearning and vulnerability without knowing who you’re talking to? Very swoony.”
“I liked how she figured out it was him,” Hazel adds. “The little clues that added up. The way he described the sunset the same way he’d described it to her in person.”
“That part was well done,” Jo agrees. “Though I kept wanting to shake her and say ‘just ask him!’ The dramatic irony was almost painful.”
“Speaking of dramatic irony,” Grandma Hensley says, turning to me with a gleam in her eye, “how are the planning meetings going for your little author reveal event? Any more progress with that handsome landlord of yours?”
“He’s not my—” I start, but Michelle cuts me off.
“She means Scott. Have you two managed to get through a meeting without arguing?”
“We don’t argue. We have...spirited discussions about event logistics.”
“Same thing,” Amber says. “And?”
“And what?”
“And is there any update? Any lingering glances? Any almost-moments in the poetry section?”
“We’ve been completely professional.”
“That’s not what Caroline told me,” Jo says. “She said you two almost cracked skulls reaching for the same phone and then held hands for way too long.”
“Our fingers brushed. That’s not holding hands.”
“It’s hand-adjacent,” Grandma Hensley declares. “Which is practically engaged in slow-burn romance terms.”
I take a large sip of wine. “Can we get back to the book?”
“Fine, fine.” Michelle waves her hand. “But one more question—do you think Coastal Quill is actually going to show up? At the reveal?”
The question catches me off guard. “He said he would. In his letters.”
“But do you believe him?” Hazel asks. “He’s been anonymous for six months. That’s a long time to hide. What if he gets cold feet?”
“He won’t,” I say, with more confidence than I feel. “He’s been building up to this. His last few letters have been about wanting to be brave enough to show someone the truth. About being tired of hiding.”
“Sounds like someone else we know,” Grandma Hensley murmurs, not quite under her breath.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, dear. Just an observation.” She flips a page in her book with exaggerated innocence. “Now, where were we? The hero’s communication issues?”
“That’s the point though, isn’t it?” Amber says, smoothly picking up the thread. “She’s scared. If she asks and she’s wrong, she looks crazy. If she asks and she’s right, then she has to deal with the fact that he’s been lying to her.”
“Was he lying though?” Michelle asks. “Or was he just...being honest in a different format?”
