“Hi,” Adrienne said, reaching over a narrow wood-topped island on wheels.
“I love your costume,” Merritt said.
“Can you tell what I am even without the hat? It itches, and I’ve been mentally composing a letter to the costume shop about it for the last half hour.”
“Of course. You look amazing.”
Adrienne did a mock curtsy, but she looked happy.
“Thank you. You’re Whit’s friend?”
Something prickled across Merritt’s skin at the words. A disagreeable sensation. She knew what these women must think, and it embarrassed her. Was that it? Was she embarrassed that Willa and Adrienne thought—she might as well give it words—there was something between her and Whit?
There wassomething, of course, because here she was at this party, but in what capacity? Whit had texted to invite her (hardly a grand gesture), and he’d suggested they meet here (the oppositeof romance), and he was bringing his daughter with him. Plus, he wasn’t even here yet.
“I am,” she said, answering Adrienne’s question. “His friend and faithful servant.”
“Friend andsavior, it sounds like,” Willa said with a pantomime of exaggerated relief.
Merritt laughed, gratified that Whit had evidently spoken well of her, or at least of the work they had done together.
“Well, he’s saving me a bit, too. It’s been inspiring me to write again.”
“What do you write?” Adrienne asked, moving to the stove for a moment before turning back with mugs for Merritt and Willa as well as one for herself.
Merritt took hers gratefully and immediately sipped to stall.
“Careful—”
Merritt winced.
Adrienne laughed.
“—it’s very hot.”
“So I see,” Merritt said, smiling through the sting. “I’m writing something for kids. Middle grade, I think. Or at least I’m trying.”
“It sounds like you’re on the road to doing it,” Adrienne said, holding up her mug for Merritt to clink.
“I guess so.”
Willa’s hand found her elbow again. “You are.”
She dropped her hand, but the kindness of it and of Adrienne’s words lingered. Merritt brought her mug up to Adrienne’s. Willa joined.
“Cheers.”
“Already drinking without me?” someone said behind her.
Whit.
Merritt turned, trying not to smile, and had to stifle a gasp. The man had shaved. But not entirely.
“Nice mustache,” Willa said, clearly meaning the exact opposite.
“Thank you,” he said brightly, as if he didn’t catch her tone.
“I think I made it pretty clear this was a costume-only event...”
