lifted her shoulders. “Why not? He’ll definitely be gone by the end of the three weeks?”
“He says so. And he said he’d file for separation himself, take care of the legal fees, everything—as long as I give him these three weeks.”
Tired, Adrian gave Olivia a telling look. “Then what’s the harm?”
Olivia narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Usually, I can count on you for cynicism. What the hell?”
Adrian lifted a shoulder. “It’s midnight. I’ve been up since 5:00 a.m. Penny and I threw together over a hundred arrangements at the shop today. My bed’s calling me. That’s all. Talk to me tomorrow after coffee if you want practical advice.”
Olivia sighed. “Right.” She rose. “Sorry to barge in so late.”
Adrian stood. “For curiosity’s sake, what’s the name of this British man-hunk who intends to sweep you off your feet?”
“No sweeping,” Olivia said pointedly. “There will be no sweeping. And his name is Gerald Leighton, for what it’s worth.”
Adrian blinked in surprise. “Gerald Leighton? The writer, Gerald Leighton?”
“That’s his name,” Olivia said. “I don’t know what he does for a living. I don’t know anything about him.”
“Hang on.” Adrian disappeared into the hall where she kept books on built-in shelves. She strolled back in with a dog-eared paperback, turned it over and opened the back cover for Olivia to see the black-and-white picture on the inside. “Is this him?”
Olivia gawped at Gerald’s face for what had to be the third time that night. “Oh, my God. What’s he doing there?”
“Liv.” Adrian closed the book, firming her lips together as her eyes lit up and she clutched the worn paperback to her chest. “Your husband is Gerald Leighton.”
“So?”
“Gerald Leighton,” Adrian said again, a bit louder this time. “The fantasy writer. He’s an international bestseller. He’s won all kinds of awards in the genre, not to mention for writing in general. He writes the Rex Flynn series.”
“Who?”
“Rex Flynn.” Adrian made an impatient noise. “Come on, don’t you read?”
“Not really,” Olivia admitted. “Just the occasional romance novel, heavy on the smut. Short ones—I don’t have time for anything else.”
Adrian raked a hand through the red cap of her hair. “Oy. Okay, Rex Flynn is this amazing hero who has this weird but really awesome time-traveling ability that just gets him into trouble at first but eventually becomes useful for rescuing people, spying and, of course, saving the world. But the best part about it is the love story. In book one, Rex accidentally travels to the fifteenth-century Highlands where he meets the love of his life, Janet MacMillian, and so starts this epic love story that continues throughout the rest of the series.”
“You read love stories?” Olivia asked doubtfully. “Since when?”
“I started out reading the series because Dad suggested it for the history and time-travel elements. But it’s more than all that. There’s intrigue and action and magic and ancient history and love and even a little bit of smut.... Oh, it’s just perfection! He is the best writer. And he’s, like, a multimillionaire.”
“No, he’s not,” Olivia said automatically.
“No, really. He’s an actual multimillionaire. He gets seven-figure advances and he does these book signings where people line up for city blocks just to meet him. They’re talking even about doing a Rex Flynn movie. Liv, this is a big deal. He, Gerald Leighton, is a big deal.”
“Calm down,” Olivia ordered. She put her hands on her head and shook it in denial. “I can’t process this right now. I just can’t. You’re right. We’ll talk more in the morning. Postcoffee.”
“Liv,” Adrian said, snagging Olivia’s arm as she opened the front door. “Can I meet him? Do you think it would be okay if I met him. I mean, meet him again...when I’m not drunk? Maybe he could sign a couple of my hardbacks or something?”
Olivia took one good look at Adrian’s animated expression and shook her head. “For Christ’s sake, Adrian. Get a hold of yourself.” She walked out of the cottage, back into the rain.
If the man had Adrian Carlton of all people beaming sunshine and rainbows, Gerald Leighton was going to be far more trouble than Olivia had initially thought.
* * *
THE BREAKFAST OLIVIA’S cousin, Briar Browning Savitt, served for guests and family at Hanna’s Inn was not to be missed.
Olivia walked around the tavern and the adjourning shops facing South Mobile Street. She crossed the gravel parking lot to the proud white three-story bed-and-breakfast that had been owned by the Brownings for decades. She saw her cousin’s small sedan, the four-by-four owned by Briar’s husband, Cole, who used the brawny vehicle to haul landscaping materials and such, Adrian’s ten-year-old SUV and what looked to be a luxury sportster Olivia could only guess was Gerald Leighton’s rental car.
Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who had shown up for Briar’s cinnamon rolls. Frowning at the blue skies scant on clouds today, Olivia mused that if not for the wet and battered leaves littering the ground and the tangled state of her cousin’s climbing roses and jasmine bushes, one might never have known that the coast had had a very near miss with a Category 3 hurricane. And despite the fact that it was late October, the brush with El Niño had left the Eastern Shore warm enough for it to be mid-May.
Nobody could ever be prepared for Gulf Coast weather. It changed on a dime, rain or shine. In summer, residents suffered through weeks of dry, dusty drought followed by a month-and-a-half straight of coastal flooding. Halloween was on the horizon and Olivia was wearing flip-flops.
She smiled. The unpredictability of the weather was one thing most people around these parts tolerated. Olivia, a creature of unpredictability herself, thrived in it.
She bounded up the steps to the inn’s glass-front entry doors. The bells jangled as she opened them and the smell of cinnamon and home struck her.
Olivia followed the voices coming from the back of the house. She made her way down the hall, past the fancy dining room full of antiques and the living room with its plush, half-moon sofa and flat-screen television. Here brilliant streams of sunlight beamed unfiltered from the connected sunroom, which overlooked Briar’s gardens. Cole’s trim, green yard tumbled down to the rocky, sandy shore and the small dock with its Adirondack chairs and chaise longues.
The bay was still choppy but had settled back for the most part. The storm had stirred it into a murky brown. Light beamed off the surface of the crests, however, and it wasn’t hard to see the gleaming spires and bottlenecked cranes of the city of Mobile beyond it.
Olivia peered through the swinging door into Briar’s kitchen. Standing at the counter, a steaming mug of coffee clenched in one hand and an infant tucked against his opposing shoulder, Cole Savitt was the first to catch her eye. He grinned a lazy morning grin and tipped his mug toward
