Page 107 of The Nanny and the Nerd
“What do you mean?” she questioned.
His expression warmed. “You knowofsomeone who lives here. Someone you admire.”
Nope, that didn’t help either!
“Rowen, I don’t understand,” she began when the front door to the cottage opened. A woman wearing a colorful, flowing dress with long silver hair cascading past her shoulders stepped onto the porch, and Penny’s jaw dropped.
No, it couldn’t be her!
Twenty-Two
Penny
Gobsmacked.
Flabbergasted.
Stupefied.
Pick an adjective. In Penny’s case, all of the above were accurate.
She stared at a face she’d looked at a million times, but only in photographs on book jackets. “Delores Lambert DuBois,” she whispered, her gaze bouncing from Rowen then back to the elegant woman.
“You said she was your favorite author, right? You told me about her views on authenticity and immersion?” Rowen rattled off.
Had she not pinched herself on the boat, she’d swear this was a hallucination!
“When did I tell you that?” she rasped, racking her brain, which, admittedly, was not firing on all cylinders.
“You mentioned Ms. DuBois the first time we read lines for the AI-77 cut scene. You said quite a bit, but her name was all I could remember. After suggesting we enter the steam shower, my brain could only hold on to so much information before it shifted into fantasizing about the ways I wanted to screw your brains out in there,” he answered earnestly. She reached out and caressed his cheek, hardly able to comprehend what he’d done for her.
Rowen looked toward the house, then back to her. “I’m not the greatest at reading social cues, but we probably shouldn’t keep the woman waiting,” he said, lowering his voice as a surge of adrenaline exploded inside of her.
OMG! That’s right!
She was at Delores Lambert DuBois’s house!
Questions bombarded her mind. How did Rowen figure out where Delores lived? The woman was a bona fide genius recluse! And not only that! How did he score an audience with her?
“Penelope, are you okay?” Rowen asked gently.
She shook her head to clear the stupefied cobwebs. “I’m fantastic!” she exclaimed, removing her seat belt, then swinging open the car door as Rowen hurried to her side. She could barely breathe, barely speak as she gazed upon not a photograph but the real-life Delores Lambert DuBois. “You can’t be Delores Lambert DuBois!” she shrieked like a starstruck lunatic.
The woman pressed her lips into a tight line, but her eyes glittered with amusement. “You better tell that to my husband. He thinks he’s been living here with Delores Lambert DuBois for the last fifty years.”
Penny blinked, waiting for the woman to disappear into thin air. But no! She was there! Still, it was hard to believe that Delores Lambert DuBois would invite her, a nobody in the literary world, to her home.
“You don’t share the location of where you live with anyone. It’s common knowledge in the writing world. Everything about you, besides your writing, is kept private. I read it when you gave that one interview to theTimes, years ago,” she garbled without taking a breath.
Delores cocked her head to the side.
Oh no! There was a great chance she’d blown her one opportunity to hang with the legendary author. She parted her lips, not sure what the next batch of verbal vomit would bring when Rowen stepped in.
“Let’s start with the basics. I’m Rowen Gale—we spoke on the phone. And this is Penelope Fennimore.” He glanced at her. “Also, I’d like to add that Penelope is not insane, Ms. DuBois. She’s simply excited to meet you. She’s a huge fan of your work,” the man finished, throwing her an apprehensive look.
Penny nodded, then clamped her mouth shut. She had to stop talking—or at least stop talking as if she’d pounded a case of energy drinks. If she kept up this pace, she’d literally pass out in front of Delores Lambert DuBois’s island cottage, which would, honestly, be pretty cool.
She exhaled a slow breath, attempting to pull herself together. “You can call me Penny. And thank you for inviting us to your home. It’s an honor to meet you. I’ve loved your writing since I was a girl,” she finished, then curtseyed.
