“Did you get a chance to look around the town, son?” This came from Ron Rogers, Joanne’s husband who was sitting at the table with us as well.
“Some. I spent some time at the bookstore on Main Street. Turning Pages.”
Amanda gasped. “Oh, that bookstore is so cute! And the owner…what was her name again, honey?” She turned to look at Pete.
He tried to quickly swallow the roll he’d popped into his mouth. “Greer, I think.”
Joanne smiled. “Greer is a sweetheart. She’s also the go-to for anything you need to know about Boggy Creek and the valley. She’s sort of our town historian.”
“Is that so?” Amanda asked. “We’ll have to stop back by tomorrow and chat with her.”
“Are you a reader, Hudson?” Ron asked.
It was then I noticed Pete looking at me with a knowing smile. He either knew who I was, or figured I was hanging out at the bookstore because of Greer. I couldn’t blame him…after all, Greer was stunningly beautiful.
Focusing on Ron, who was now slicing up a pot roast that smelled divine, I answered, “I’m an avid reader, yes, sir. But I wasn’t there to read. I’m actually writing a book, and I’ve come to Boggy Creek to finish it.”
“I knew it!” shouted Pete as everyone looked in his direction. “I knew you were Hudson Higgins, the suspense writer. Dude, I love your books; I’ve read them all! When I heard your name, I nearly tackle-hugged you.”
“Pete, you promised,” Amanda whined.
I let out a soft chuckle. “I’m glad you’ve enjoyed my books. It’s always nice to meet a reader of mine.”
Amanda sat back in her seat and rolled her eyes as she looked from her husband to me. “Oh, trust me, he’s read every one of your books, and since he saw you check in yesterday, he’s been hell bent on proving to me that you’re the Hudson Higgins.”
Ron handed me the plate of carved roast and smiled. “So you’re a writer, huh? Have you released many books?”
Before I could reply, Pete answered. “Indeed, he has. He’s released forty-five, full-length novels, all of which have hit The New York Times Best Seller list…well, except his first book. Which I think is great, by the way.”
I gave him a nod. “Thank you.”
“He’s also released a few short stories that have been printed in The Paris Review and The Washington Post. And he’s co-written a book with none other than the James Patterson.”
Ron and Joanne stared at Pete with blank expressions.
“Should we know this James Patterson character?” Ron asked with a befuddled look. I had to fight to hold back my bark of laughter at Pete’s stunned face. I thought everyone knew who James Patterson was.
“You don’t know who James Patterson is?” Pete asked.
They both shook their heads.
“He’s only one of the best, if not the best, mystery writers of all time.” Pete shot me a quick look. “No offense.”
I brought my hands up. “None taken.”
“He also writes science fiction and young adult novels,” Amanda added.
Ron turned my way. “And you wrote a book with him?”
I focused on putting the vegetable medley Joanne had passed my way onto my plate. “Yes, sir. I did.”
Pete huffed. “It was on The New York Times Best Seller list for six weeks. But Hudson’s last book, Night Fall, it’s still on the list, and it came out a month ago.”
“Oh my,” Joanne said, her hand over her chest. “To think we have a famous writer staying at our bed and breakfast.”
“A famous writer?”
The female voice had us all turning to look and see who was there. A pretty brunette stepped into the dining room wearing a smile. She looked slightly familiar.
“Brighton! You’re able to join us for dinner!” Joanne jumped up and made her way over to the woman. She appeared to be about my age, and I tried to place where I had seen her. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail, and she had on yoga pants, a long-sleeve T-shirt, and running shoes.
“Sorry, I would have changed, but I just got back in from a run,” Brighton said, making her way to the table and sitting down. “I’m Brighton, Ron and Joanne’s daughter.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Brighton,” Amanda quickly said. “I’m Amanda, and this is my husband Pete. We’re on our honeymoon and staying here for a week.”
Brighton gave them a polite smile. “Congratulations to you both.” Then her gaze swung in my direction. “And you are?”
“Hudson Higgins,” I answered.
“He’s a famous writer, Brighton. Has been on The New York Times Best Seller list! Staying here!” Joanne gushed. I watched as she got up and straightened a sign that read I love you a bushel and a peck. I smiled, realizing that there was a pillow in my room with the same saying, except mine also said, and a hug around the neck.