Page 37 of Battle of the Exes

I whisper a silent prayer and get back to work.

Chapter Thirty-One

Ivy

I’m on my way back to the venue, dressed for success. Rue and her family are driving separately. I haven’t seen my sister this excited in ages. Honestly, it’s contagious. I have no idea if today will change the trajectory ofThe Silver Quill’sdemise, but at least we’ll enjoy this Hail Mary while it lasts.

My phone buzzes with another text from Jasper. The guy is relentless. I ask my phone to read it out loud. It’s completely unintelligible.

I pull over to check it myself. It’s a jumble of random characters, followed quickly by another message:

I nd cofee asap. Comeget mee.

Prolific.

The festival’s already underway, and he’s supposed to be on stage with Rue in less than an hour.

Anyway, when did I become his errand girl? That job belongs to Beau. I remind Jasper of that.

Beau’s busy. Plzz? U can help me wit the interview qstns.

Sheesh. I’m pretty sure I’m being played by the most entitled author I’ve ever met. But I can’t risk him backing out today. He’s the headliner. Everyone in town is buzzing about the big appearance by world-famous Jasper Kensington.

I text Rue letting her know where I’m headed and go hunt down the star of the show.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Beau

Things couldn’t be going better at the festival. Ivy, however, is AWOL. So is Jasper. My gut is screaming. I step over to The Silver Quill tent. “Hey, Gary, Lulu. Have you seen Ivy?”

Lulu is helping a customer. “Sorry, no. Dad?”

He shakes his head. “Haven’t seen her. You should ask Rue.”

I find Rue near the stage, chewing on her bottom lip, her eyes fixed on a paper in her hand. “Your interview questions?” I ask.

She nods. “May not need them. Jasper isn’t here and he’s not answering his phone.”

“Where’s Ivy?”

The question seems to fall into place. “She said she was getting him. That he texted her to pick him up.”

My senses are on high alert but I keep my tone steady. “I’ll go see what’s holding them up.”

I send another text to Jasper.

This time, his reply comes in fast, full of typos.

He’s drunk.

It’s barely eleven a.m. and the most celebrated author on the schedule can’t string a sentence together. Terrific.

I mentally add another item to my already overwhelming to-do list:

Sober up the headliner of the first-ever Silver Pine literary festival.

When Rue’s back is turned, I race to my truck.

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