Hazel exhales. “Spring break is going to be the death of me.”
“She’s…spirited.”
“She’s her great-grandmother’s clone, is what she is.” Hazel takes the wine from my hands. “Come on. Let’s get you fortified before the real interrogation begins.”
The kitchen is warm chaos.
Michelle is arranging cheese on a board like a woman who takes presentation personally. Amber is hovering over a tray of something that smells incredible, slapping hands away from anyone who gets too close. Jo is pouring wine with a heavy hand, and Jessica is sitting at the kitchen island looking like she’d rather be anywhere else.
“Delilah!” Jo spots me first and wavesme over. “Perfect timing. We need a tiebreaker. Is it acceptable to read a book written by someone’s fiancé when that someone is in the book club?”
“It’s not about me,” Jessica protests weakly. “It’s inspired by.”
“The hero is a grumpy author who falls for the quirky bookshop owner,” Amber says. “The bookshop is called ‘The Story Corner.’ Yours is ‘The Fiction Nook.’” Michelle adds a sprig of rosemary to her cheese board. “Corner. Nook. He basically just opened a thesaurus.”
Jessica drops her head to the counter. “I’m never going to live this down.”
“You’re engaged to a bestselling author who wrote a love story about you.” Jo slides a very full glass of wine toward her. “Some of us have worse problems.”
“Speaking of worse problems,” Amber says, turning to me with a grin that makes my stomach drop. “How’s your rock star?”
“He’s not my?—”
“Michelle told us about the coffee incident.”
“There was no incident. There was a minor spillage.”
“She threw an entire latte on him,” Michelle reports cheerfully. “I had to mop.”
“It was an accident!”
“An accident that ended with you two staring into each other’s eyes while he dripped onto my floor.”
“We weren’t staring. We were...assessing the damage.”
“For thirty seconds? Without blinking?”
Jo snorts into her wine.
The doorbell rings, and Hazel goes to answer it. A moment later, Grandma Hensley sweeps into the kitchen like a queen arriving at court. She’s barely five feet tall, wearing a cardigan with embroidered cats on it, and she immediately takes command of the room.
“Ladies. I trust we’re discussing important matters?” She accepts the wine glass Jo offers and takes a delicate sip. “Like why Delilah here turned the color of a tomato the moment I walked in?”
“We were just discussing how she baptized him in coffee,” Amber supplies.
Caroline slips in behind her, smirking. She catches my eye and mouths “you’re doomed” with obvious delight. Then she settles into a chair with her wine like she’s got front row seats to the best show in town.
“Can we please talk about the book now?”Jessica asks desperately. “The book that is fiction and not at all based on real events?”
“Of course, dear.” Grandma Hensley pats her hand. “We’ll discuss your fictional love story right after Delilah tells us about her very real one.”
We migrate to the living room, and I have to admit, Hazel knows how to set a scene.
The couches are arranged in a loose circle, the front windows letting in the last of the evening light. Candles flicker on the coffee table between cheese plates and wine glasses and dog-eared copies of “Between the Lines.”
I sink into the corner of one couch, hoping proximity to the exit might save me later. Caroline sits beside me in solidarity. Everyone else arranges themselves with the practiced ease of women who’ve done this a hundred times.
“Okay.” Hazel pulls out a notebook—because of course she has discussion questions. “Let’s start with first impressions. What did everyone think?”
