which have hit The New York Times Best Seller list…well, except his first book. Which I think is great, by the way.”
I gave him a nod. “Thank you.”
“He’s also released a few short stories that have been printed in The Paris Review and The Washington Post. And he’s co-written a book with none other than the James Patterson.”
Ron and Joanne stared at Pete with blank expressions.
“Should we know this James Patterson character?” Ron asked with a befuddled look. I had to fight to hold back my bark of laughter at Pete’s stunned face. I thought everyone knew who James Patterson was.
“You don’t know who James Patterson is?” Pete asked.
They both shook their heads.
“He’s only one of the best, if not the best, mystery writers of all time.” Pete shot me a quick look. “No offense.”
I brought my hands up. “None taken.”
“He also writes science fiction and young adult novels,” Amanda added.
Ron turned my way. “And you wrote a book with him?”
I focused on putting the vegetable medley Joanne had passed my way onto my plate. “Yes, sir. I did.”
Pete huffed. “It was on The New York Times Best Seller list for six weeks. But Hudson’s last book, Night Fall, it’s still on the list, and it came out a month ago.”
“Oh my,” Joanne said, her hand over her chest. “To think we have a famous writer staying at our bed and breakfast.”
“A famous writer?”
The female voice had us all turning to look and see who was there. A pretty brunette stepped into the dining room wearing a smile. She looked slightly familiar.
“Brighton! You’re able to join us for dinner!” Joanne jumped up and made her way over to the woman. She appeared to be about my age, and I tried to place where I had seen her. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail, and she had on yoga pants, a long-sleeve T-shirt, and running shoes.
“Sorry, I would have changed, but I just got back in from a run,” Brighton said, making her way to the table and sitting down. “I’m Brighton, Ron and Joanne’s daughter.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Brighton,” Amanda quickly said. “I’m Amanda, and this is my husband Pete. We’re on our honeymoon and staying here for a week.”
Brighton gave them a polite smile. “Congratulations to you both.” Then her gaze swung in my direction. “And you are?”
“Hudson Higgins,” I answered.
“He’s a famous writer, Brighton. Has been on The New York Times Best Seller list! Staying here!” Joanne gushed. I watched as she got up and straightened a sign that read I love you a bushel and a peck. I smiled, realizing that there was a pillow in my room with the same saying, except mine also said, and a hug around the neck.
I could feel my cheeks heat slightly at all the gushing, and I gave Joanne a polite smile when she glanced over at me. I turned and looked at Brighton, who was studying me.
A smile passed over her face, but she quickly rebounded, smoothing her features into a neutral expression. “Aw, that explains what you were doing at Turning Pages today.”
Her words caused me to draw my brows in slightly. “I’m sorry? Did we meet there?”
She laughed. “No, not exactly. We ran into each other, literally, outside the bookstore and I followed you in.”
Recognition dawned on me. “That’s right. Again, I’m so sorry I wasn’t paying attention.”
Brighton brushed off my apology with a soft chuckle as she placed food on her plate and glanced over at me again. “Don’t worry about it.”
We exchanged a friendly smile, and I thought the conversation was over…but clearly Brighton wasn’t finished.
“What did you think of the owner, Greer Larson?” she blurted out.
I paused with my fork at my mouth as I searched my brain for a reply that wouldn’t involve my dick going hard again. “Ms. Larson?” I asked, to stall for time.
Brighton nodded and tilted her head, waiting for my reply.
With a quick glance around the table, I realized everyone seemed to be focused on me, also waiting for my answer. “I thought she was, um, very nice. Are you close friends with Ms. Larson?”
Brighton smiled again as she shook her head. “No. I mean, I consider her a friend, but not a close friend. I actually live in Boston. I’m a lawyer there.”
“Really? I’m originally from Boston. Moved to New York City when I was out of college and started working for The Washington Post.”
She lifted her brows. “Impressive, Mr. Higgins.”
I chuckled. “Please, call