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“Green’s latest? Yes. Got one for you. One for your mom. I had to barter, though. Green was pretty particular about what he wanted.”
He gives a wry smile, and I feel impossible thoughts forming in my head. “He didn’t . . . want . . . mine?” I say incredulously and with growing awe.
“No,” Will says, clearly having no problem dashing my hopes. “Guess again.”
My eyes dance around the tables beside me, covered in our titles. “Jackson’s?”
Will shakes his head.
My eyes dance around again. “Hugh’s?”
Will shakes his head again. “Oswald’s,” he says at last, grinning so much his eyes crinkle. “Evidently, Trace is having some sort of vole problem and thinks Oswald’s the guy for the job.”
I’m momentarily stunned, imagining Green—who is truly on another level—perusing Oswald’s book under lamplight from some massive leather chair in some massive home library. But then another idea lights. “Get a blurb from him. Get a blurb, and we’ll put it on Oswald’s next cover.”
“Already asked,” he says, stepping around the podium to stand beside me. “And while we’re on it, I finished your manuscript last night.”
I raise a hopeful brow. “And?”
“The timeline has some issues. The secondary characters are weak. But, I’ll grant, the hook is strong.”
“Is that so?” I say and give him a playful punch on the arm.
“Gently, Mrs. Pennington.” He rubs his arm with a grin. “You’re wearing diamonds.”
And it’s true. As I pull my hand back, I can’t help admiring the single solitary diamond twinkling beneath the high fluorescent lights of the conference building. A gift from Ms. Pennington—Martha, I amend mentally, although it seems I’ll never get used to calling her that. And the band from my own mother, passed down from her own.
Will leans down, and there, as I’ve come to experience regardless of ambience, regardless of fluorescent lighting or park trees or glowing string lights all around, I experience the perfect kiss.
The perfect kiss, because it’s with the man I love—and will love forevermore, over scrambled eggs and wedding china.
