“I see we have a class clown. I have a computer. I just prefer this ol’ girl for writing.”
“What are you writing?”
“My love story with my dear Esmerelda. Love of my life.” He kissed his fingers and sent his affection upward. “I miss her every day.”
“Is that what we’re doing here?” Jett glanced back at Coral. “Are you a writer?”
“Does ex-blogger count?”
“What’d you blog about?”
“Beauty products. I own CCW Cosmetics.”
CCW. He knew the brand from his bathroom shelf. “My ex-wife used your products.”
Her nod was courteous. “Most women twenty-five to sixty-five use our products.” Despite her air of confidence, Jett detected a hitch in her voice. “What do you do, Jett?”
“I’m a professor of literature at New York College.”
“Well then, professor, you’re in charge. Let’s get to work.” Ed rolled a piece of paper into his typewriter. “I’d like to know how to get started. Do I start in the beginning or somewhere in the middle? Or a favorite memory?”
“Look, Ed, I’m glad to give some suggestions, but I’m not in charge here. I’m not the one who sent the invitations. I certainly don’t have time to run a writing clinic. However, there are writing groups all over the city. I’m sure—”
“Is this the story society? Jett?”
On his feet, Jett faced the big guy, Chuck, from Central Booking. Never thought he’d see the man again, but in the moment, he was kind of glad. They clapped hands.
“What are you doing here?”
Chuck held up an invitation. “I have no idea. I found this in my car and thought, shoot, why not? What else am I going to do on Monday night? Been driving all weekend for a limo service.” He circled the room, whistling at the books. “Look at this. Giving me a panic attack. Like I’m back in school only without football and cute girls.” He spun around to the chairs, gaze landing on Coral. “I take that back.” He greeted her, hand extended. “Chuck Mays, at your service.”
“Coral Winthrop.”
Chuck’s gaze lingered on her a moment longer, his giant smile rivaling the wall sconces, before turning to Ed. They exchanged names and pleasantries before the big guy took the chair next to Coral.
“So, what’s this all about?” Chuck glanced around. “Winthrop. Same as the old New York family?”
“The same. And my great-great-grandfather built this library, but I did not send the invitations.”
Jett endured the “Who did?” conversation one more time. By simple deduction, the group, or society, awaited one more person. Four of the five chairs were occupied.
“Perhaps the person who belongs in that seat sent them.”
Chuck leaned back, curiosity in his eyes. “Why would I get one? I’m not a writer.”
“What do you do?” Coral asked. Her voice reminded Jett of thick molasses.
“Drive for Uber.” He flipped Coral his card, then one to Ed and Jett. “Also drive for Elite Limo. Call if you ever need to arrange a night out in a fancy car.”
“I have a car service,” Coral said, handing back the card. Chuck hesitated, almost dejected, before taking it back.
“I ride my bike,” Jett said.
“Subway for me.” Ed tucked Chuck’s card in the chest pocket of his red-and-blue plaid shirt.
Then the Bower went silent, all eyes on the vacant chair.
“I feel like I’m in one of those escape rooms.” Chuck leaned forward, slapping his broad hands against his legs. “Or worse, a cheap horror flick.” He hunched down, then in a flash snatched at Ed’s shoulder.
The old man jumped up, clinging to his Underwood, his breath labored, his words trembling. “Good grief. Give me a heart attack.”
“Sorry, old man.” Chuck winced. “Just trying to break the tension. I do dumb stuff when I’m nervous. Or angry.” He glanced at Jett then his phone. “How long do we hang around?” He tipped his head toward the empty chair. “It’s eight fifteen. What if this person doesn’t show?”
“Then we go home.” Coral sat tall and relaxed. As if she didn’t have any place to be.
“Let’s give it a few more minutes,” Jett said. “Anyone a Giants fan?”
Chuck groused and waved him off. “Broke my heart last season.”
“Why don’t we at least try to write something?” Ed tapped the side of his typewriter. “The invitation did say story society.”
“Story doesn’t have to be written,” Jett said. “It can be told. Every day we tell, listen to, live, and breathe stories. What we’re doing right now is a story. People who would’ve otherwise never met are sharing a moment.”
“You two seemed to know one another.” Coral motioned between Jett and Chuck.
“It was a series of unfortunate events,” Jett said.
“Really?” Coral shifted in her chair. “Do tell.”
“Nothing to tell really,” Chuck said. “Do you think this is some sort of reality show?” He scanned the length of the crown molding.
“Why would we be in a reality show?” Ed frowned at the ceiling and any possible, invisible cameras.
“Because Coral here left her groom—”
“What?” Coral leapt up and glared down at Chuck. “I’m not the culprit here. If I were to be on a reality show about . . . well, anything, I’d certainly not invite the lot of you.”
“Chuck, what are you talking about?” Ed leaned into the conversation.
“Coral.” Chuck glanced up at the statuesque beauty. “You are the Winthrop heiress, right? Engaged to a prince in—”
“Is this the story society?”
The door opened, and the discussion crashed to a stop. Jett rose to meet who he believed was the fifth member of this weird, cockamamie “society.”
“Lexa?” If possible, the world stopped spinning. His heartbeat slowed, and his thoughts careened together.
She moved across the threshold with ease, hitched her backpack on her shoulder, and raised her sparkling hazel gaze.
“Jett? You’ve got to be kidding me.” She had more heat in her eyes than the flames in the fireplace. “Did you do this? Send that stupid invitation?”
The backpack slipped and crashed down on her arm. She righted it again as she spun toward the door.
“No, I was hoping the person coming through that door had the answers.”
“Then I’ll say good night.”
Wait. Say something. But he couldn’t move or speak. Just like all the times in the past.
Chapter 4
Lexa
“Wait, whoa.” The massive guy in the Queen Anne jumped up with an easy grace, blocking her exit. “You can’t go yet. You just got here.”
“Trust me. I’m leaving.” He wasn’t the boss of her and she refused to stay in the same room with him. But a spark of ire whirled her around. “So not funny, Jett.” She snatched the invitation from her backpack and tossed it at his feet.