Blake shoves closer to Logan and steps fully into the frame.
His blue eyes dance with mischief as he says into the microphone, “My theory is the town legend was made up by a bunch of wasted cowboys who sat around the bonfire one night after a long day of work and decided to screw with everyone’s heads by concocting some dumbass…can I say dumbass on TV?” He grins before continuing. “And completely made-up story about Jane Austen and her ghost. Logan always said he thought Vivian’s diary was possibly fifty to ninety percent crap.”
Logan mutters something inaudible to Blake and then turns to look straight at the camera. I have to blink twice to remind myself that he’s not looking straight at me. “I have no comment,” he says quickly before handing his Loganiskey to Blake and disappearing toward the restrooms.
Ginny pats my arm sympathetically as I hurl an insult at the TV.
Eloise glares at me. But if anyone in this place is angrier than I am, it’s Ginny’s mother.
“So, Logan’s going to try to steal my daughter’s thunder?” Mrs. Rattles says in measured tones. “The youngest Wild boy thinks he can just go away, grab some random girl, and bring her back here to marry? Like the reporter said, all of Darcy knows that Logan doesn’t commit! Didn’t want anything to do with marriage his whole life—I mean, we all know his wedding with you was due to a drunken night in Vegas, Macey!”
I blink at the harshness of her statement. The thing is, she’s right.
“Oh, Macey, I hope you didn’t inherit your mama’s luck in love,” Eloise says with a heavy sigh. “So many divorces for her, and now you already have one under your belt. I hate to see a pretty girl like you wallowing alone…”
Mrs. Rattles mercifully cuts her off. “We’ll have to move up Ginny’s wedding. I suggest July first. That’s three whole days ahead of Logan’s wedding. We can’t have my daughter and Logan marrying back to back on the fourth—you’d only get half the attention!”
I nod. “That’s fine. I don’t know what my parents were thinking booking two weddings on the same day. I’ll be sure to change Gin’s wedding to the first on the chapel calendar.”
I return my attention to the television.
“The last part of the so-called legend is creative, I’ll give them that.” Blake is back at the microphone. “The Queen of Romance needing a couple of soul mates to unlock her prison? Brilliant.” He winks into the camera. “Mace? What do you think about Logan and Gigi breaking the curse?”
“Freaking holy jerk of all jerks!” I shout at the TV like Blake can hear me.
And then…I don’t even bother to change into my t-shirt and shorts. I simply pick up my dress by the hem and storm out.
35
As I dash out the door of the boutique, I faintly hear Mrs. Rattles’ screams that I’m going to ruin my bridesmaid gown. Eloise shouts to get back here or else.
But I don’t stop.
I just wobble in my heels down Main Street, ignoring the stares from the people in the street. When I pass Jane Austen sitting atop the courthouse, I glare at the massive statue looking down at me from over the smooth limestone walls.
“This is all your fault,” I mutter under my breath. “If you—Ms. Queen of Romance—weren’t stuck in our bar, nobody would care about Logan and his stupid engagement. But now he’s Mr. Darcy! Now he’s a goddamn hero, and I’m going to have to hear about it all summer long!”
I cross Darcy Square and head toward The Cowherd. As soon as I enter the bar, the reporter I saw on TV rushes me. He has a cameraman with him. Holding a microphone to my face?—
“Austen Macey Henwood? I’ve been told you go by Macey? I’m Ed Wade.”
I nod and then glance past him to scan the room. I’m only looking for one man.
When I find him, he’s already staring back at me.
Logan gives me a brief nod of acknowledgement, and I do the same. His eyes stay focused on me, though, and a smile plays around his lips. He almost looks relieved to see me here. I frown, wanting to talk to him alone. But the reporter hawking me prevents that.
Feeling utterly out of place in my green floral bridesmaid dress, I desperately try to smooth back my hair. It doesn’t work so I forget vanity and let the waves fall loose over my shoulders. That’s when I notice the “Free Jane” button the reporter’s sporting on his lapel.
I glance around the room and realize that everyone here—even old Dye Jenkins and his mutt Rusty—is wearing a button.
Dye waves at me and points at the button on his shirt collar. “Pretty neat huh?” he calls out.
I manage a nod, but I know who made those awful buttons.
Clearly the handiwork of my mother.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I push past the reporter and head straight for Mama. “You know we don’t have a clue about the dumb…”
