Page 142 of One Touch

“Great. What about you, Lily?”

I scanned the menu, my eyes landing on something that sounded appropriately dramatic. “I’ll have the Siren’s Call, please.”

The waiter nodded and disappeared as silently as he’d arrived.

Mary-Beth leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. “So, tell me about your afternoon. Any exciting new manuscripts? Or were you too caught up in Lavender Farms to read anything blood-curdling?”

I was about to launch into a half-hearted description of a mediocre slasher novel when a voice called out from across the bar. “Mary-Beth!”

My heart jumped into my throat as I saw none other than Marge Statten, the Queen of Romance herself, making her way toward our table.

Marge looked just like she did in the photos on the back of her books. Her platinum blonde hair was teased into a voluminous style that looked both perfectly coiffed and effortlessly bouncy. She wore a fitted blazer in soft pink over a silky white blouse, the neckline dipping just low enough to hint at curves that defied her mid-fifties age. Her makeup was flawless, with long lashes framing warm brown eyes and lips painted a bold coral that matched her manicure.

As she navigated the crowded bar in teetering rhinestone-studded heels, Mary-Beth grinned at me. “Surprise,” she hissed. “I told Marge I was here with one of her biggest fans, and she said she wanted to meet you.”

“Well, hello there, darlings,” she drawled, her Southern twang as sweet as honey.

After I’d mumbled an awkward introduction, trying not to fangirl around her too obviously, Marge sat at our table and ordered herself a Shifting Sunset.

“So, which of my books was it?” she asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Which one were you reading today? When you were meant to be going through your slush pile?” Marge’s eyes danced with mischief.

I was struggling to contain my nerves. I’d admired Marge for years and it was difficult to stay calm. I was literally fighting the urge to say “Squee.”

I gave Mary-Beth a look. Then, I mumbled: “It was Lavender Farms book two.”

“Ooh, that’s just delightful to hear! The new one’s comin’ out faster than a jackrabbit, sugar.”

“I love Lavender Farms,” I said, leaning across the table.

“I’m so pleased, honey. What is it that you enjoy about the series?”

I sighed. “It’s just so comforting. So safe,” I said. “I mean, it’s pretty far-fetched, but I like that about it. You’re not afraid to turn everything up to a hundred, and yet . . . it’s still like being surrounded by friends. As for the love stories, your characters are just so damn perfect for each other, it’s like their emotional wounds are tailor-made for . . . oh god, I don’t want to gush.”

“Please, gush away,” Marge said, chuckling softly.

“What I love most about Lavender Farms is that you make sure the characters in the series really work for their happy ever afters.”

“I know it’s naughty,” Marge said, “but I do love to put them through the wringer.”

“Sometimes I think you’re actually evil, Marge,” Mary-Beth said as our drinks arrived. Her gold drink looked like a glass of Ava’s glitter glue. Marge’s seemed to shift colors like a mood ring. Mine? Mine looked disconcertingly like fresh blood.

“It’s true,” Marge said, shrugging.

As we sipped our unsettling drinks, the conversation flowed surprisingly easily. We discussed the publishing industry and Marge’s upcoming book release. She told me that she was looking forward to the book signing in Happy Ever Affogato, and I said I was sad I’d be missing it.

“You won’t come along?” Marge asked.

I swallowed hard, the taste of my blood-red drink suddenly bitter on my tongue. “I don’t really have plans to head back to Bluehaven Beach,” I said, trying to ignore the twinge in my chest as I spoke the words aloud.

“How come?”

“Just . . . baggage.”

“Man baggage?”

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