to Rosie and to Val, two women who played very different roles in my life. One killed my voice. The other brought it back.
The book published last week and hit USA Today’s Best-Selling Books list. I am on the verge of signing my second contract with the same publishing house. I have no idea how I’m going to juggle school, a baby, a book, a husband, a life, and a trip to London to see Vaughn’s exhibition next year. But I’m about to find out.
“Moonshine.” My fiancé saunters backstage with a cup of tea and a small white box. He hands the tea to me. “How are we doing?” He drops a kiss to my forehead.
“Fine,” I say.
We look at each other and laugh, because we know what this word means. Nothing. It means nothing.
I take a sip of my tea. “Seriously, though? I’m excited more than scared.”
“Good. Have a donut.” He pops the box open, and I eye the carb-loaded treat inside.
“It has a green thing on it.” I scrunch my nose.
“Yup. Pistachio.”
“I hate pistachios.”
“Nugget might like it, though.” Knight rubs his cheek. “Worth a try.”
“Why would Nugget like pistachios? That’s random.”
“Because I did.”
I humor him for sharing this intimate piece of information with me, taking a tentative bite. Despite my disliking pistachio, I feel my stomach flutter immediately. It’s like a little goldfish is swimming in my lower belly. My eyes widen on his.
“What? What?” Knight’s grin might split his face in two.
I’m about to answer him when the event coordinator takes my hand in hers and pulls me toward the stage.
“They’re calling your name. Good luck, Ms. Rexroth!” she says, just as I hear the claps and shouts.
I can also hear some whistling as I stumble to the stage and immediately detect their source. Hunter and Vaughn are sitting in the front row, slung low on their seats with Hunter pumping his fist in the air. Next to them, April, Ryan, and Josh are sitting and staring at me with smiles so big, I know my apology all those months ago was truly accepted.
I flew back to Boon to say goodbye, because I couldn’t fathom the idea of not explaining myself to the people who had changed me so profoundly. Even though April and I had our disagreements, and even though we both did less-than-perfect things, we bridged it out.
And Josh? He’s been dating one of the stable girls for a while now, and it’s getting serious between them.
My counselor Malory is here, too. I kept in contact with her after dropping out. Or, more accurately, she kept in contact with me. She didn’t want to see me crawl back to my old habits, and has been delighted to hear I’ve been doing better than ever.
The event coordinator leads me to a stool in the middle of the stage as the host explains my book. For a minute, I am completely numb. I scan the room, drinking everyone in.
Emilia is smiling at me, a copy of my book in her hand.
Next to her, Uncle Vicious salutes me with a cunning smile.
Dad’s eyes are shining with tears.
Edie is flat-out crying.
Racer, Lev, and Bailey exchange appalled glances. This public display of emotion is not exactly up their alley.
My eyes halt on Dean and Dixie. They sit next to each other, and both look at me intently, ignoring one another. But there’s something there I can’t seem to take my eyes off of: the fact that his pinky finger is almost entwined with hers on the armrest between their seats.
I know Dixie is still wounded and hurt from Knight’s father, although the details of whatever happened have yet to be disclosed.
I know Dean is nowhere near close to moving on from Rosie.
But I also know there’s hope for the both of them, and somehow, that makes me happier for them than I am for me about this book deal.
On her deathbed, Rosie asked me to bring them together, and for the past year, I’ve honored her request: hosting dinner parties, inviting them to restaurants, and making sure they’re around each other, even as the excuses for them to meet up have dwindled and become more and more forced.
Last week, Edie told me she saw them having an ice cream together. A quiet outing. They didn’t speak to each other. They did not hold hands. They simply marveled in the slow, creeping thing called love.
I caress my stomach, put the microphone to my lips, and open my mouth. Feeling the room