“That’s quite all right, Kellyjean.” Will smiled. “I think we’ll manage.”
And we were. Will was able to use his credentials as temporary board chair to slip to the head of the enormous line that had formed at the buffet and secure us two heavily laden plates of food. Then I used my cred as the author of a beloved and heartwarming children’s series about talking cats to get us seats at a table.
“Ms. Wright! Ms. Wright!” Lauren bellowed from across the deck when she saw me. “Over here! Come sit with us!”
Lauren was sitting at a table not far from the stage with her two pals, Cassidy and Jasmine. Dressed to kill, the girls were in head-to-toe sequins and had hung purses and wraps over the backs of the empty chairs beside them, but when they saw me approaching, with Will not far behind, they reached to remove them.
“Are you sure these seats are free, girls?” I asked before I sat down.
“For you they are.” Lauren’s worshipful gaze went from me to Will and then back again.
“Especially you,” Cassidy said, batting her long faux lashes at Will.
I wasn’t convinced. “Aren’t you saving them for your mothers?”
“Oh, they’re in line for the bar,” Jasmine said in a scornful tone. “They’ll be gone for ages.”
Will looked alarmed. “But there are servers going around with wine and champagne—”
“Our mothers only drink vodka sodas. Saves on calories.” Cassidy patted the seat of the empty chair beside her. “Why don’t you sit here, Will?”
“I’ll just sit here next to Ms. Wright, if that’s all right,” Will said, and dropped hastily into the seat beside mine.
“Your loss.” Cassidy fluttered those lashes in a way I didn’t blame Will for finding alarming.
“Oh, wait until you taste those shrimp!” Lauren was closely examining everything on my plate. “They’re amazing.”
“Are they?” I sampled one. The ensuing taste explosion was a welcome surprise. “Oh my God, you’re right!”
“See?” Lauren beamed with pleasure. “I told you.”
“Lauren’s glad she took your advice and came, aren’t you, Lauren?” Jasmine grinned wickedly at her friend. “Especially since now we get to sit with the third highest trending couple on Twitter.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I choked on the mouthful of shrimp I’d just swallowed.
Looking concerned, Will asked, “Are you all right?” and patted me lightly on the back while signaling a passing server for water.
“Well, you’d probably be number one,” Jasmine said, mistaking my suddenly streaming eyes for dismay, “if Timothée Chalamet hadn’t been spotted on a beach in Ibiza with Harry Styles earlier today.”
“Oh, please.” Cassidy looked disdainful. “Everyone knows Harry and Timothée are just friends.”
The server arrived with the water Will had requested. I thanked her and, taking the glass, quickly gulped down enough liquid to keep from dying at the table from asphyxiation.
Dying of embarrassment was another matter.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Will asked me.
I nodded vigorously, still unable to speak. Scanning the crowd, I finally found Bernadette seated a few tables away with young fans of her own. She was too engrossed in conversation with them, however, to notice the distress signals I was sending her with my eyes.
“Well, that’s good,” Will said to me. “I know we’ve got some of the best seafood in the world here, but you might not want to inhale it. Now, who did you say is trending?” he asked the girls curiously.
As Jasmine sucked in her breath to reply, I felt my life flash before my eyes.
But fortunately an enormous burst of static came from one of the nearly four-foot-tall speakers sitting not far from us, and everyone’s attention shifted to the stage, where Chloe stood in front of five of her fellow dance team members—the stage was too small to accommodate more—each in a power pose, their pom-poms on their hips.
“Um, hello, may I have everyone’s attention?” Chloe asked into the microphone she was clutching. “Hi, welcome. I’m Chloe Price, co-captain of the Little Bridge Island High School Snappettes. We’re so honored to be here helping out during this first-ever Little Bridge Island Book Festival. Are you enjoying yourselves so far?”
This was met with cheers and applause from not only everyone on the deck as well as inside the restaurant but even farther down the pier, where people who weren’t attending the book festival had stuck around after sunset to continue enjoying the warm night air and ocean breeze. Now they were also gleefully watching the stage at Cracked, which was suddenly covered in cheerleaders.
Chloe looked encouraged by this positive response, and said into the microphone, “Great! Well, we couldn’t be happier to have all of you here, and to show you our appreciation, we wanted to perform a piece we’ve been working on. It’s called ‘Dances to Songs About Writing and Books.’”
What. The. Kitten.
I threw Will a quick, questioning look. He smiled and leaned over to whisper in my ear, “Chloe begged me to allow them to perform this. And after what I did to you at Novel Con, I’m not exactly in a position to judge someone else’s artistic choices, am I?”
I tried to grin back at him but failed, not because I didn’t agree with him—I did—but because his warm, sweet-smelling breath had tickled my neck, causing gooseflesh to rise on the backs of my arms, and other parts of me—parts I didn’t want him anywhere near, but also very definitely did—to snap to tight attention.
Fortunately, he didn’t seem aware of any of this, since his gaze was on the stage, where Chloe had laid down her microphone, lifted a pair of pom-poms, and moved into formation with her fellow dance team members just as the loud bossa nova music from inside the restaurant suddenly went silent.
I’m certain the only expression I was able to make after that was one of utter astonishment, especially as the first chords of “Kitty Katz to the Rescue”—the theme song from the short-lived animated television series Kitty Katz, Kitten Sitter—boomed from the speakers near us.
Then the Snappettes dropped their pom-poms, placed their hands upon one another’s shoulders, and broke into a perfectly synchronized kick line to the riotous, high-pitched all-girl band chords of:
Which li’l kitty is the head of her class?
Which li’l kitty’s got lots of sass?
Which li’l kitty is tons of fun?
Which li’l kitty is number one?
Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty,
Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty,
Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty,
Kitty Katz!
I could hardly believe what I was hearing, much less seeing. But there it was, right onstage in front of me.
I glanced around the deck to see how other people were registering what was happening, but none seemed to be quite as astonished as I was. Most looked delighted … especially when “Kitty Katz to the Rescue” ended and Elvis Costello’s “Every Day I Write the Book” came on. The less manic pace of this song gave the girls a chance to show off more balletic stuff … at least until Don Henley’s “All She Wants to Do Is Dance” began to boom from the sound system.