Page 76 of Unmasking Mr. Crown

Insert witticism here.

One million followers!

“Show-off,” she muttered affectionately.

She clicked the link which led to his website. A black-and-white photo filled her screen. Barefoot and sitting on the edge of a sleek, black leather sofa, he was dressed in a turtleneck sweater and jeans, looking more male model than science fiction author.

Below it, pics of five different books—his entire award-winning, bestselling series. Though his work was targeted at young adults, he'd amassed a huge following in all age brackets.

With a photo like that, it's no wonder. I'm a fan now, too.

Grinning, she tapped About the Author tab.

Born in Boston, Hart Lockwood was raised on science fiction. His parents, both self-proclaimed Trekkies, encouraged his creativity and fostered his nerdiness from a young age. He began his career as a literary agent. After ten years at Howard-Goldman Lit, Hart jumped the fence and began writing. The success of his Tamboor Realm series is currently funding his thrice-a-day Starbucks habit and his addiction to vintage comic book memorabilia. A professor of Creative Writing, Hart Lockwood lives in Chicago with his talented screenwriter wife, Laurel, their rambunctious twin boys, and his obedient mutt, Wedge.

Natalie froze.

Her stomach dropped down into the basement.

Wife?

Twins?

WIFE??

TWINS??

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

NATALIE

Showcase Day

“Just got a notification from Southwest. My flight’s been delayed?! What the hell?” Natalie announced, projecting her best distressed-traveler performance from the back of Foster’s SUV.

Foster caught her eye in the rearview mirror. “You don’t want to wait it out at the airport, do you? Let’s head back home and I’ll throw something on the grill.”

Kate immediately shot the idea down. “Or we grab something at Terrace Oak. I’m dying for a big bowl of their crab-and-oyster bisque.”

Natalie chimed in with the same enthusiasm. Foster shrugged and made a U-turn. Natalie slid her hand up between the front passenger seat and the center console and gave Kate a stealthy nudge. The trap had been set. Next stop: showcase-slash-surprise-birthday-blowout.

At the restaurant, a long line snaked from the valet stand. Natalie’s pulse spiked as she scanned the crowd, hoping all their guests were already assembled in the private courtyard out back. Should Foster catch sight of a few familiar faces, he might put two and two together.

"I don't know,” Foster said. “Seems awfully busy. Why don't we try Carmella’s? They don't have the bisque but everything there is great. And who knows how long the wait might be. And with Nat’s flight up in the air, we shouldn't push it. We don’t want her sprinting through Security.”

“She’ll be fine.” Kate poked her father's shoulder. “You're a big boy of seventy now. Live on the edge a little, Pop."

Inside, Natalie whispered the password to the hostess stand, who in turn motioned to a gentleman in a dark gray suit. Hans, the manager.

"Welcome in. How many in your party?" The man stepped forward.

"Three," Kate said.

"Right this way.” He threw Natalie a covert wink.

Her stomach tightened with each step toward the patio doors.

The moment had arrived.