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Cold swamped her skin, but she told herself it was just those nerves kicking in, because at that same instant the door to the shop opened and a group walked inside. The clock read seven on the dot.
After that, Malibu & Ewe filled almost as fast as the guests filled their plates with Nikki’s appetizers and desserts. The bookstore clerk was busy, too, ringing up sales, and Cassandra and Jay, favored children of Malibu, chatted up the locals Juliet suspected they’d arm-twisted into attending. Even Gabe came out of the shadows long enough to lead a reporter and photographer from a coastal-living magazine over to her.
She tried not to appear stiff as she posed with a copy of Wayne’s book and she was just leaning forward to answer the reporter’s question when Cassandra drew her toward the podium. “It’s time,” she said, turning her to face the rows of occupied chairs. “Slay ’em, sister.”
Cold washed over her again as she looked out at the crowd. Joining the locals she’d noticed before was a plethora of media types. Microphones bristled from the front of the podium. Two men with video cameras perched on their shoulders hovered at the rear of the room. Another stood at her left.
Jay had promised that the NYFM interview would trigger even more press attention and apparently he was right. On top of that, she knew he’d made some calls—she’d made a couple herself—that appeared to have paid off as well. Still, it must have been a slow SoCal news day, because this exceeded her highest expectations.
Or getting a glimpse of the Deal Breaker and the Happy Widow was more intriguing than she’d imagined.
Remembering the ugly nicknames froze her for a moment. Her mouth dried and her fingers curled around the copy of the book that was set on the podium. She clutched it as tightly as she’d wanted to hold Wayne in this life.
But then movement in her peripheral vision jerked her out of her paralysis. Nikki set a glass of water onto the podium beside Juliet’s white-knuckled hands. “Page thirty-two,” she whispered. “Noah says to start there.”
Her gaze sought him out, standing at the back of the room. His expression serious, he looked like the ex-soldier he was, his legs braced, his arms crossed over his chest. He made a small gesture with his chin. Go ahead.
She’d sticky-noted a different section to read, but instead turned to page thirty-two. She smiled, recognizing the passage, and without making any opening remarks, she cleared her throat and began to read. It was a humorous account of Wayne’s first day at a boot camp he’d attended in Junior ROTC. The people in Malibu & Ewe laughed at the appropriate moments, and she was gratified. Despite the humor, she didn’t think they could miss what came through so clearly in Wayne’s own words as well—the caliber and remarkable quality of the man himself.
When the passage ended, she closed the book and looked up. “Wayne always said that if he hadn’t become a professional soldier, his second career choice would have been professional football quarterback. But those of us that knew him also know that ‘quarterback’ wouldn’t have been enough for this man. He would have wanted to plan the plays, call the plays, and execute the plays. He was player, team leader, exacting coach, all rolled into one. Thank you for coming to help me honor ‘America’s Hero’ and my beloved husband.”
A smattering of applause broke out as she made to retreat, but then a reporter jumped up. “You’ll take questions?”
Her heart jolted at his abrupt tone. Behind him, she registered that Noah moved forward, but then she did, too. “Of course,” she said. This was the real test—and the real opportunity.
Gazing at the man, Juliet realized some of Cassandra’s knitters were in the audience as well. From her seat beside the aggressive reporter, a woman wiggled her needles at Juliet in a subtle greeting. It made her smile. “I’d be happy to address anything.”
“What was his appeal to a young woman like yourself?” The implication she’d been a crass gold digger was clear in his tone. “Tell us what you thought the first time you met him.”
Before big tests, she’d always over-prepared. Tonight was no different. In considering everything that might happen and anything that might come up, she’d brought along her diary. That very first diary. From the shelf beneath the podium’s top surface, she drew the familiar little book, and placed it beside General Matters. The binding had broken long ago, and the front cover fell open easily.
“The time I first met my husband, he didn’t give me a second thought. This is what I wrote about him, however.” Juliet took a breath. “Dear Diary: Tonight I met the man I’m going to marry…”
