Page 86 of Plotting Summer

“That sounds fun.” Jane glances around. “Who are we still missing?”

“I think we’re just waiting for Deedee and Tala,” Cat says.

Since Tala left the house before me—and since I see the lemon bars we made are already on the snack table—I assume she must be getting Grandma. “I can go check where they are.” But right then, Tala and Grandma walk into the room.

Their gazes lift to us, and Tala waves. “Sorry. Were you waiting on us?”

Jane smiles. “You’re totally fine.”

Grandma gives me a kiss on the cheek and a conspiratorial grin as she passes, then she joins Virginia on the couch. The other women begin to take their seats, and I grab a chair by Tala, across from where Jane is sitting so I don’t have to be next to her while she moderates the discussion. I want everyone looking in the opposite direction until I make my confession.

“How you feeling?” Tala whispers.

“Like I’m going to vomit.”

She gives me a pitying smile. “Just think how nice it’ll be once it’s over with.”

I nod, trying to hold on to that idea, because right now, all I’m aware of is how bad it’s going to suck to fess up. And my author brain is not the least bit helpful at rallying my courage despite that I’m confident none of the scenarios playing out in my mind will actually happen.

“Okay,” Jane says, smiling at the group of ladies gathered, her gaze pausing on me. “Should we get started?”

I understand the question behind her question, and the buzzing in my chest doubles. Now?! I suppose it makes sense. Just get it over with. I just need to say the words: I’m Sunny Palmer. “If it's okay, I did have one thing to say quick …”

The sound of clicking heels on tile pulls my gaze over my shoulder. My pounding heart stops mid-beat, plummeting downward.

Bridget Hall is standing on the threshold of the room like some kind of goddess descended with her perfectly curled blond hair and off-white flowing jumper with matching wedged sandals. And, for the first time in a long while, my imagination has failed me. Not even my worst-case-scenario thinking conjured up Bridget at book club.

“Bridget!” Cat says, waving. “You came.”

Bridget shrugs her shoulders in response, and Holland squeezes closer to Cat on the couch, then pats the seat next to her. “Come sit by us.” When Bridget does, Holland points toward me. “Capri was just about to say something.”

All twenty sets of eyes return to me, and my mouth goes dry. With Bridget’s sudden appearance, my resolve hasn’t only wavered, it’s disappeared completely. It’s one thing to tell the truth to a small group of women I know fairly well, but it’s a different thing entirely to make a confession of this caliber when Bridget Hall is here. I can’t do it. I’ll just find another way to tell people—maybe in smaller groups. Like over lunch with Holland and Cat. Jane’s been trying to get me to go out with the three of them for a while, and this seems like the perfect reason to finally make it happen. I’ll also find a time to explain to Bridget and apologize. Eventually. Just not right now.

Because right now, I need to get through the next hour attempting to hide my secret identity and simply fly under the radar. Which, for me, usually isn’t difficult. “Sorry, I forgot what I was going to say.”

Jane reads me perfectly and gives a wave of her hand. “That’s okay. But feel free to chime in if you remember. Let’s go ahead and start the discussion.”

Listening to people talk about my book is its own form of torture. But I suppose I deserve it, so I train my expression as people say the things they enjoyed and, on occasion, didn’t enjoy about the book (though Jane moves on quickly from those). I can also tell, with Bridget here, Jane’s doing her best to brush over the real-life connections, but it’s hard when there are so many.

“Bridget is the worst,” Holland says after a comment about a run-in where fictional Bridget pretends not to know Cali’s name, and the familiar prickling of heat starts on my chest. Thankfully, I had the foresight to wear a high neckline and keep my hair down to minimize the visible splotching, but I’m sure my exposed neck is already showing signs of my discomfort. “Not, you,” she says to Bridget with a little laugh. “The book Bridget.”

In my periphery, Bridget’s gaze slides to me, and I go statue still. Like a flock of pigeons could land on me right now, and I wouldn’t budge.

“I started the book this afternoon,” Bridget says, stunning me with the revelation. With how quiet she’s been, I assumed (or really, really hoped) that she hadn’t read it. That she'd held firm to her resolution to not read a Sunny Palmer book. And I’ve never felt so much dread at being wrong. “I’m only about halfway through, but there seem to be a lot of similarities between Sunset Harbor and Coral Cove. Like the golf carts and the canals and how the houses back up to them with docks along the bay-side yards. It’s almost like the author has been here.” Bridget glances around, avoiding eye contact with me. “Or am I the only one who sees all the connections?”

“No, I’ve always thought the same thing,” Cat says. “Which is probably one of the reasons I enjoy it. It feels like I’m reading about home.”

I shift in my seat to stave off my discomfort.

“Maybe the author visited at some point,” Jane says dismissively.

“Maybe,” Bridget looks directly at me this time. “Or maybe she’s from here. Maybe her characters aren’t as fictionalized as we think.”

With her direct stare, the gaze of the entire room shifts to me again, and with the way my face is burning, I’m positive I’m lobster red. I try to swallow, but the tightness in my throat won’t relent. I can’t outright lie to these women when they’ll know the truth soon. And with Bridget seemingly fixed on forcing my hand, the time has apparently come. “Bridget’s right,” I manage to get out. “Sunny Palmer is from Sunset Harbor.”

Everyone looks slightly confused except the people who already know—Tala, Jane, Grandma, and Joy. As well as Virginia, judging by her unfazed expression. No surprise there. Grandma can't keep anything from her.

Joy’s smile dims when she glances toward Bridget. She’s obviously concerned with how this situation is going to play out. As am I.