Chapter 34
It had been a full week since the night Frankie officially decided Marcus D Grant might be worth keeping alive, and so far, he hadn’t done a single thing to change her mind. Suspicious.
Smiling, actually smiling, she stood behind the counter at Just One More Chapter and watched Rae and the two girls she’d brought to fashion night put the finishing touches on what could generously be called a sequin-forward window display.
“Is it wrong that I’m kind of obsessed with this?” Maya asked, holding up a copy of Pride and Prejudice now sporting a rhinestone monocle and a feathered hat.
“Not wrong,” Frankie said. “Deeply right. I can’t believe dressing books is now a thing.”
“Book-bling is everywhere,” Rae said. “Someone bedazzled The Iliad.”
“Before or after the literary gods cried?” Frankie muttered.
The girls giggled, proud of their chaos. They’d been at it all afternoon, bedazzling books and reorganizing shelves by color and by mood. “Warm trauma” was now a category.
It had also been a week since the first meeting of Frankie’s very exclusive, definitely-not-about-friendship, Operation Small-Town Chic Club. Seven days. Seven nights. And Marcus had shown up for all of them. Showed. Up.
Rae shoved the glitter bin closed with her foot. “So…Beth cornered us again. Asked if I could maybe mention her name to someone.”
“Someone like me?” Frankie arched a brow.
“I told her I scored an invitation because of my good attitude.”
Her friends burst out laughing.
“What? She didn’t need to know it was mostly because of my tragic sense of style. And I’ve been nicer.”
“As have I,” Frankie said. “Good attitudes are rarer than talent.” She quoted the self-help book fueling her little club and tried not to enjoy it.
Rae shrugged, half pride and half disbelief. “Still wild the cool kids want in.”
“Of course they do,” Priya said. “It’s the one thing they can’t buy.”
As they gathered their tote bags, Maya snatched a copy of the Gi Gi’s Gazette off the front display. “OMG. Miss Informed is about us this week.”
Miss Informed
By Miss Informed
Staff Writer, Gi Gi’s Gazette
Forget the Festival. Francesca’s Guest List is the Real Gala.
Well, well, well. If you thought Gi Gi’s Crossing was only book clubs and festivals, adjust your tote bags.
Feathers are flying and friendships are forming, but not for everyone.
The most coveted invite in town is not the festival gala, it is a certain private club hosted by our very own runaway heiress, Francesca B.
Sources say only the fashion-curious made the cut, and the waitlist is longer than a holiday return line.
Here is the part that tickles my reporter bone. Francesca has been overheard assuring locals that once Vivian returns in two short weeks, she will be changing addresses to keep ahead of dear dad. Adorable. Meanwhile, permanence looks very good on her…and on a certain contractor.
That’s the tea. Steep accordingly.
Miss Informed
“Are you leaving soon?” Rae asked. “Or is Marcus your boyfriend and you two are getting married and staying?”
“Miss Informed is misinformed,” Frankie said, aiming for breezy. “Circumstances dictate that I keep things temporary. Easier not to need a forwarding address.” Her chest did a small, traitorous squeeze.
“At least Evelyn is sticking around,” Maya said. “And she’s super cool.”
“Speaking of which,” Frankie said, smile a little tight, “I bet she’s anxious for you to arrive. Don’t keep her waiting.”
Evelyn had taken it upon herself to teach the Misfits how to sew. Their current project: outfits worthy of the Gatsby festival runway, even if none of them had stitched a hem before last week.
Frankie watched them sling backpacks over shoulders and tumble out in a blur of energy. She let the quiet settle, grabbed her own things, flipped the sign to CLOSED, and turned at the sound of a car outside.
She stepped onto the sidewalk, locked the door behind her, and stopped. Marcus stood there, arms crossed, expression unreadable. In the back seat of his Jeep sat a duffel she hadn’t noticed before.
Her stomach dropped, quick and mean. Don’t be ridiculous, Peterson. She lifted her chin and chose mockery over panic. “So you read Miss Informed,” she said lightly. “Afraid I’m plotting small-town matrimony and you’re making a run for it?”
He said nothing.
“Relax.” She kept the smile in place. “I don’t do boyfriends, and I don’t do permanent small-town addresses.
I am covering for Vivian and then I go. I am not letting any man turn me into a small-town girl.
Mr. Uptight would count that as a win.” She tipped her head, lighthearted on the surface. “I don’t do surrender. I do revenge.”