16. “PRESSURE, PRESSING DOWN ON ME, PRESSING DOWN ON YOU” #4
In the dining room, the restaurant breathed a long overdue sigh of relief. Candles were lit, and tables were dressed. Logan was just wrapping up the balloon arch, and things were starting to look like a real party when an angel of a waitress brought her a cocktail.
“Thank you.” Jocelyn nearly kissed her. Taking a long, overdue sip, she let the alcohol do its magic and hopefully calm her nerves as she inspected the room for any last-minute touches.
Squat mason jars crowded with baby’s breath and trailing eucalyptus perfumed the tables. Logan had run into town to buy more candles to cover any lingering odors. Standing at the center of the dining room, she breathed deep, smelling what her design had curated and nothing more.
“Finally,” Logan said with a laugh.
“I know. You can’t smell the fish.”
“I meant, finally as in it’s good to see you smile.”
“Oh.” She really had been a bear this morning. “Thank you for putting up with me. I wouldn’t have been able to pull this off without you, Logan.”
“You planned everything, Joce. Grey’s going to go nuts over the nautical theme. And Wren, well, she’ll probably cry.”
Happy tears, Jocelyn hoped.
Candlelight drenched the mahogany walls in restless amber. The room glowed like the inside of a lantern, a perfect complement to the blues and ivory.
“Ms. Collins?” Camille approached, guitar case in hand. “Where would you like me to set up?”
She smiled at the musician, because everything was finally coming together and her music was the final cherry on top.
“Back corner, by the windows, beside the cake table. I’ll have Simon help you.
” Her gaze dropped to her belly, and she remembered Wren telling her that pregnant women developed a sense of smell stronger than that of a bloodhound. “Does it smell in here to you?”
Camille looked confused but gave the air a nervous sniff. “It smells like flowers and linen.”
“Nothing…fishy?”
“No. It smells nice.”
Jocelyn grinned. “You’re a lifesaver, Camille.”
The singer shrugged, unsure of what she did and said, “Glad I could help.”
The door chimed, and the first guest crossed the threshold. Jocelyn turned, and her smile stalled halfway up her face. Not a guest. Birdie Quinnley—the town busybody—with a gift bag swinging from her wrist.
“Jocelyn, dear, what a lovely spread.” Birdie’s gaze traveled the beams, the booths, the banners, then hooked back to Jocelyn.
“Birdie, what…” She went over the guestlist in her head. The list she obsessed over for months. The list she specifically gave Paige when she shipped the invitations. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“So early,” Logan quickly covered, shooting her a look.
“I like to have my pick of seats for things like this.”
A balloon popped, and Jocelyn flinched. Birdie’s beady eyes went to Simon, who was currently wrestling with the arch.
She looked back up at Logan. “Hmm, you’re not the Hawthorne I expected to see.” She folded her frosted-pink lips into a knowing purse.
“Greyson has two brothers, Birdie,” Jocelyn reminded. She’d know that if she was close enough to the family to garner a spot on the guestlist.
“I’m aware.”
Of course she was. As the town busybody, Birdie knew something about everybody.
She probably knew what color underwear Jocelyn chose that morning.
As a matter of fact, she was so informed on everyone’s personal business, she could very well publish a weekly column with the amount of secrets hidden under all that purple-tinted hair.
“Why don’t I carry this to the gift table for you?” Logan said, relieving her of the bag.
Jocelyn’s eye twitched. Was she Lady Lovewatch? She could be. Anyone could be. And with a party hosting so many locals, chances were someone would notice Soren’s absence and next week’s column could assume the worst about such a public vacancy.
“Soren had a business commitment,” she blurted. “If you’ll excuse me.” She rushed off to check on Simon.
“How’s it going?” she asked, clearly able to judge his progress without a report.
“Almost done.” Simon tied the bottom piece to the leg of a nearby table.
She turned and came face to face with Logan.
“Hey, you okay?” he asked.
“Fine. Birdie wasn’t invited,” she whispered.
“She’s never invited, but she also never misses a party. You should have expected her to crash.”
Jocelyn huffed because he was right. “Well, she better be the last crasher. We only have so much food.”
The door chimed again, and Astrid and Bodhi returned. Then it opened again, a bright peal of afternoon sunshine ushering in another face who had no earthly business knowing about a private shower.
“What the hell?”
“Let it go, Joce,” Logan warned, bundling up trash from setup. “It’s too late now. You just gotta let it ride.” He nodded to her cocktail. “You look like you need a sip.”
Her lip curled as she slugged back several sips and sighed. “Seriously, who crashes a baby shower?”
He chuckled. “In Hideaway Bay? Everybody. They probably pinned up an invite at the senior center.”
“They were private invitations.”
He shrugged. “Don’t sweat it. They’re here to support Wren and Grey.”
But how were they going to feed them?
Over the next twenty minutes, the door kept opening as guests flooded in.
Some were expected, but many were not. A shopkeeper from Anchor Lane.
Two women from the church choir, both old enough to be Wren’s grandmother.
And a woman from the vet who claimed she took care of the rescue cats at The Haven.
“We’re going to need more seats,” she told Simon. “Ask Richard if he can set up a few more tables.”
“On it!” Simon ran off.
Her gaze swept the room and tallied heads of the people not on her list. There were at least twenty of them. They were going to have to use smaller plates and stretch the food thin.
“Jocelyn! It looks just gorgeous in here,” one woman said.
Jocelyn didn’t know her name, so she only smiled. “Thank you.”
“You’ve outdone yourself, honey,” another woman complimented.
Every last one of them wanted a word with her.
“Where’s that handsome Soren hiding? Thought for certain he’d be by your side.”
“Is Soren coming? I heard the two of you were finally getting along.”
“He’s out of town…” … “Had a business trip…” … “…couldn’t make it.” Her excuses rolled off the tongue while her body slowly went numb.
“Couldn’t make it to his brother’s shower?”
“Such a shame.”
“Everything all right in the romance department, honey?”
Each question shaved another sliver off her composure. She smiled through the barrage, parrying with a practiced lightness that left her lightheaded and dizzy.
She stole a glance at the clock above the bar. Quarter to two. Still needing to change into her party outfit, she tried to escape to the restroom, but the guests kept flooding in.
“Excuse me.” She snatched up her garment bag from behind the hostess station and fled into the sanctuary of the ladies’ room.
The hush landed like a cool cloth pressed to her fevered skin. She sagged over the marble sink, giving her reflection a Kubrick stare in the mirror. “You can do this.”
She normally wasn’t this jittery. Typically, she showed up like a wrecking ball and took charge.
Blowing out a breath, she held her stare in the mirror, forbidding herself to spiral after making it this far.
“Everything worked out, and you’re not going to freak out over a few extra guests. Who cares what they say? You can pull this off without him.” With a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders. “This is why you’re better off depending only on yourself.”
She rooted through her cosmetic bag and dug out a brush. Within five minutes, her makeup was freshened, and a mask of composure was in place.
As she tossed her lipstick back into the bag, she paused. Where had she left her phone? Jocelyn tried to remember where she plugged it in.
Quickly changing into her dress, she swapped out her sneakers for heels. Inspecting her reflection one last time, she gave a nod of approval. “Jocelyn Collins, your tits may be sweating, but you are a badass.”
Then out the door she went.
The crowd had doubled, and the slow din of conversation she’d escaped minutes ago had climbed to a soft roar.
The dining room swelled with the warm, chattering hum of friends, here to support Wren and Greyson’s family.
This was why she loved her town. No matter what, they were always there when it mattered.
Unlike some people.
Jocelyn waded through what turned into a town affair, greeting guests, directing people to tables, all while laughing precisely on cue. Sometime just before the guests of honor were set to arrive, her disappointment shifted again to anger.
How could he miss this?
Every few minutes, the same realization that he wasn’t here brought the same slap of disappointment. Then came the paranoia.
Any one of these women could have been Lady Lovewatch.
A sense that others were quietly judging her sent a bowling ball rolling in her stomach.
The gossip columnist dwelled somewhere in this very room.
She could feel it. Camouflaged behind a friendly mask, taking notes, passing judgment, preparing to wield her pen like a sword come Monday.
She should start bracing now for the headlines.
Left High and Dry at the Shower…
Love On The Rocks…
The One That Got Away…
Something’s Fishy In Hideaway Bay…
From Page to Pier, Plot Twist For The Romance Author!
She had to stop obsessing.
Wren was going to be there any minute, and Jocelyn could not make this about herself. It was Wren and Greyson’s special day. And while Soren might be okay with missing it, she wanted to be fully present for her friends.
She peeked out the window and stepped back, colliding with something solid. For a moment, she mistook Logan’s broad build for Soren’s and a quiver of hope sent a tremor of relief up her spine. But the second she realized it was only his brother, disappointment struck again.
“See anything?”
“Not yet.”
Logan studied her for a moment. “Everything looks perfect, Jocelyn. You did a great job.”