Page 33 of Checking Mr. Wrong
“Fancy seeing you here,” Willa says as she steps in my path. “Are you here for my new book?”
“What new book?”
Spinning on her heel, she walks back inside and grabs one off the shelf, whipping it around to show me the cover. “This one. With my name on it.”
“Benny the Blue Rock Thrushis your book?” I ask, following her inside to inspect it. “Wow, congrats! How did this come about?”
“It’s a long story, but the Blue Rock Thrush had only been sighted one other time in Oregon. When some scientists at the Smithsonian Museum found out, they backed a contest to get photographic evidence that there were more,” she laughs. “It coincided with me being here one year, plus there was a reward, and the rest is history.”
“City girl,” I say, giving her a teasing nudge. “Didn’t take you for a bird nerd.”
Willa rolls her eyes. “Whatever. I still can’t believe I found that bird here. It was only its second sighting since 1997. It’s rare because its native breeding habitat is actually in Europe, Africa, and Asia.”
“And it was here, in Maple Falls?”
“Yes, but not was. Itishere.” Willa’s eyes almost bug out of her head. “In fact, because I photographed it, and more birds were spotted, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Services got involved. They found a loophole and added the bird to a protection list. Wild, right?”
I don’t know how to respond—I’ve never heard anyone talkabout birds with such passion in my whole life. Considering I spend most days ducking the pigeons of New York City, or the rats of the air as I call them, I’m completely unprepared for this level of bird enthusiasm. Is this what happens when people leave the city? They stop dodging flying disease carriers and start naming winged creatures like they’re long-lost relatives?
Willa points to someone standing near the counter. “Of course, none of this would have happened if a certain bookstore owner had not encouraged me to self-publish, which I did. She also invested in copies so she could sell them in her store. My book is, currently, exclusive to Falling for Books.”
“But we have feelers out to some other bookstores in the area. We’ll get you on shelves in Washington and Oregon yet,” Emmy says as she comes over to give me a hug. “It’s so good to see you again!”
“You, too,” I say, hugging her back. Emmy Roberts is one of the sweetest humans I know, and she’s also engaged to former Ice Breakers goalie Dawson Hayes. She’s been the face of Falling for Books for as long as I can remember, so it makes sense that now she’s the owner of the store. Emmy’s got the best taste in literature of anyone I’ve ever met. I point to the book in Willa’s hands. “What a great idea.”
“I’m showing it to a chapter of the Audubon Society in Seattle this week, and then going to Portland to meet with a group there, too.” Willa grins at Emmy. “It’s kind of a book tour. A very niche one, but still.”
“I wish I was going with you,” I mutter as I lean against the counter, waving to Neesha as she walks toward us from the back with Fiona by her side. “A city has anonymity, and I need that. I miss it.”
“Are you leaving town already?” Neesha asks, her face downcast.
“No, not at all,” I say as I shake my head. “I’m meeting Asher here in a few minutes to fact-check a few things, and then I can wrap his interview and move on to the next one.”
“Who’s next?” Willa asks.
“Carson Crane, also known as the ‘Gentleman Wingman’,” I say over my shoulder as I let myself scan the shelves. “He’s from the South, seems super nice.”
“Man, some days I miss the ‘go, go, go’ of journalism,” Willa says wistfully. “I loved the days I worked atAthletic Edge.”
“Well, if your idea takes off—” Emmy begins, only to have Willa shush her.
“What?” I ask, looking at the two women.
“I can’t tell you guys everything, yet, since it’s still top secret, but…” She leans in and gathers us around her. “I can tell you that I’m hoping to have a little launch party for the book.”
“We want to get busy planning one heck of a party here,” Emmy chimes in. “Or, we will be once I get ahold of the mayor and have him sign off on this consent form. I swear, I haven’t seen that man in ages.”
I hold my hand out. “Give it to me. I live across the street from him and can drop it off if you’d like.”
“You’re an angel,” Emmy says. “Thanks.”
“If he’s not there, I trust Ashlyn if you want to pass it on to her,” Willa adds. “And thanks—I thought you’d be too busy for much else with your interviews, your mom, and that big party coming up soon. What’s it called?”
“It’s the inaugural bash,” Neesha pipes up.
“Are you going?” I ask as Neesha shakes her head.
“My cupcakes are, but not me.”
