“Pete, you promised,” Amanda whined.
I let out a soft chuckle. “I’m glad you’ve enjoyed my books. It’s always nice to meet a reader of mine.”
Amanda sat back in her seat and rolled her eyes as she looked from her husband to me. “Oh, trust me, he’s read every one of your books, and since he saw you check in yesterday, he’s been hell bent on proving to me that you’re the Hudson Higgins.”
Ron handed me the plate of carved roast and smiled. “So you’re a writer, huh? Have you released many books?”
Before I could reply, Pete answered. “Indeed, he has. He’s released forty-five, full-length novels, all of which have hit The New York Times Best Seller list…well, except his first book. Which I think is great, by the way.”
I gave him a nod. “Thank you.”
“He’s also released a few short stories that have been printed in The Paris Review and The Washington Post. And he’s co-written a book with none other than the James Patterson.”
Ron and Joanne stared at Pete with blank expressions.
“Should we know this James Patterson character?” Ron asked with a befuddled look. I had to fight to hold back my bark of laughter at Pete’s stunned face. I thought everyone knew who James Patterson was.
“You don’t know who James Patterson is?” Pete asked.
They both shook their heads.
“He’s only one of the best, if not the best, mystery writers of all time.” Pete shot me a quick look. “No offense.”
I brought my hands up. “None taken.”
“He also writes science fiction and young adult novels,” Amanda added.
Ron turned my way. “And you wrote a book with him?”
I focused on putting the vegetable medley Joanne had passed my way onto my plate. “Yes, sir. I did.”
Pete huffed. “It was on The New York Times Best Seller list for six weeks. But Hudson’s last book, Night Fall, it’s still on the list, and it came out a month ago.”
“Oh my,” Joanne said, her hand over her chest. “To think we have a famous writer staying at our bed and breakfast.”
“A famous writer?”
The female voice had us all turning to look and see who was there. A pretty brunette stepped into the dining room wearing a smile. She looked slightly familiar.
“Brighton! You’re able to join us for dinner!” Joanne jumped up and made her way over to the woman. She appeared to be about my age, and I tried to place where I had seen her. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail, and she had on yoga pants, a long-sleeve T-shirt, and running shoes.
“Sorry, I would have changed, but I just got back in from a run,” Brighton said, making her way to the table and sitting down. “I’m Brighton, Ron and Joanne’s daughter.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Brighton,” Amanda quickly said. “I’m Amanda, and this is my husband Pete. We’re on our honeymoon and staying here for a week.”
Brighton gave them a polite smile. “Congratulations to you both.” Then her gaze swung in my direction. “And you are?”
“Hudson Higgins,” I answered.
“He’s a famous writer, Brighton. Has been on The New York Times Best Seller list! Staying here!” Joanne gushed. I watched as she got up and straightened a sign that read I love you a bushel and a peck. I smiled, realizing that there was a pillow in my room with the same saying, except mine also said, and a hug around the neck.
I could feel my cheeks heat slightly at all the gushing, and I gave Joanne a polite smile when she glanced over at me. I turned and looked at Brighton, who was studying me.
A smile passed over her face, but she quickly rebounded, smoothing her features into a neutral expression. “Aw, that explains what you were doing at Turning Pages today.”
Her words caused me to draw my brows in slightly. “I’m sorry? Did we meet there?”
She laughed. “No, not exactly. We ran into each other, literally, outside the bookstore and I followed you in.”
Recognition dawned on me. “That’s right. Again, I’m so sorry I wasn’t paying attention.”
Brighton brushed off my apology with a soft chuckle as she placed food on her plate and glanced over at me again. “Don’t worry about it.”
We exchanged a friendly smile, and I thought the conversation was over…but clearly Brighton wasn’t finished.
“What did you think of the owner, Greer Larson?” she blurted out.
I paused with my fork at my mouth as I searched my brain for a reply that wouldn’t involve my dick going hard again. “Ms. Larson?” I asked, to stall for time.
Brighton nodded and tilted her head, waiting for my reply.
With a quick glance around the table, I realized everyone seemed to be focused on me, also waiting for my answer. “I thought she was, um, very nice. Are you close friends with Ms. Larson?”
Brighton smiled again as she shook her head. “No. I mean, I consider her a friend, but not a close friend. I actually live in Boston. I’m a lawyer there.”
“Really? I’m originally from Boston. Moved to New York City when I was out of college and started working for The Washington Post.”
She lifted her brows. “Impressive, Mr. Higgins.”
I chuckled. “Please, call me Hudson.”
Brighton nodded and then turned to Amanda and Pete. “So tell us all about your wedding.”
Her words launched Amanda into endless chatter about the wedding, the reception, and their plans for the remainder of their honeymoon. When Amanda finally came up for air, my plate was empty, and I stood to help Mrs. Rogers clear the table.
“No, you don’t need to, Mr.—”
I raised a single brow, which caused the older woman to chuckle. “Hudson. No guest here clears the table. Now, dessert will be served in the living room in about thirty minutes. I also keep a plate of goodies out at all times in the hallway on the long table, in case you haven’t seen it yet. It’s filled with cookies, brownies, and different types of breads that are made at Adams Apiary. Arabella is dipping her feet into baking for the bed and breakfast.”
I nodded. “An apiary, huh? I don’t remember that from when I was younger.”
“They do tours; you should be sure to check it out. They also have a little shop and café as well. Arabella, the owner’s daughter, makes the best chicken salad I think I’ve ever had. Her father and mother, James and Sharon, are dear friends of ours,” Joanne added.
“I’ll put that on my list of places to visit.”
Joanne leaned in closer to me and softly said, “Arabella is single too. Pretty young thing with eyes the color of the sky. So blue you have to wonder if they’re real.”
That had me drawing my head back in surprise. Was Joanne trying to fix me up with someone?
She kept right on talking. “Of course, folks will tell you Greer is the more outgoing girl. Sweet Arabella is quiet and likes to keep to herself. But she’s a lovely girl. Mind you, Brighton is single as well.”
“Mom, did you need me to take those plates from you?” Brighton asked, shooting me a look that said she was sorry.
“Oh no, it’s okay, darling. Mary Lou will help me.”