Tyler looked at me. “Is it okay, Mom?”
“Sure. Have fun.”
I couldn’t help but smile as Tyler bounded off like a puppy behind Wes, who was already describing the process.
“Hunter, take Ivy to the wine cellar and pick out a few bottles for tonight,” Margaret said. “I’m making fish tacos.”
“You got it.”
Hunter and Ivy went on their mission, leaving me with Margaret.
“Thanks for inviting us,” I said. Had I already said that?
“It’s about time we had you and Tyler over,” Margaret said. “Hunter’s been talking about you two a lot.”
“He has?”
She tilted her head, scrutinizing me with sharp eyes. “You’re even prettier than your author photos.”
“Oh, thank you. That’s kind.” I flushed at the compliment.
She lowered her voice. “Before they get back, I wanted to tell you a quick story. Hunter was telling me this morning that your mother’s name was Georgia.”
“That’s right. Just like his guitar.”
“When he told me that, I nearly fainted dead away. I’ll tell you why. When he was twelve years old, Wes took him to the guitar shop and bought him Georgia. He was excited, bursting into the house to show me what they’d come home with. ‘This is Georgia,’ he said to me, and I’d asked, ‘Why Georgia?’
“He thought for a second or two before he said, ‘She’s just a Georgia. Like someone I couldn’t remember but knew I’d lost and now here she is.’”
“Oh.” More of an outburst of air than a word.
“I know,” Margaret said, shaking her head. “I’d forgotten all about it until he mentioned the coincidence. There seem to be a lot of those between you.”
“It’s strange.”
“Some might say destiny or fate,” Margaret said, smiling. “Two people who search for words that tell stories. Match made in heaven, maybe?”
I smiled back at her. This was a woman who understood an artistic nature. No wonder Hunter loved her so much. “I guess we’ll see.”
“You’ve made him laugh again, and for that I can’t thank you enough.”
“I have?”
“Yep. And put a little bounce back in his step too,” Margaret said.
Hunter and Ivy returned with a few bottles of wine. Soon, Hunter had one opened and I had a glass in my hand. Ivy asked me questions about myself. Easy ones—where was I from; how long had I lived in Willet Cove; what year was Tyler in school; did I have a book coming out soon? I relaxed right away. She was like my girlfriends. Smart and curious, but kind too. Just a regular person, not the superstar she clearly became when she stepped on a stage or into a recording studio.
Outside on the patio, I saw Wes hunched over the ice cream maker, with Tyler right next to him cutting up the strawberries.
Margaret bustled around the kitchen, asking Hunter to grate cheese. Ivy was tasked with slicing up cabbage for the slaw. Margaret informed me that I wasn’t permitted to help, since I was a guest, and instead had me sitting at the island watching everyone else work.
“Did you two get a lot done today?” I asked.
“We recorded a demo of the new song we wrote together,” Ivy said. “And sent it off to Jack Wilder’s people.”
“You’re going to sing it with him?” I couldn’t keep the excitement out of my voice.
“Hoping to,” Ivy said. “If he likes it.”
