A silver-haired dude in dark denim shimmied over and bumped his butt against Peaches’ hip. Peaches bumped him back, grinning as she continued to sing. Stuart Little wrapped his arm around her shoulders and bumped his bony ass against her other hip.

“Bang bang!” Peaches sang ecstatically.

She wasn’t acting out or making a point, Greg realized. She was having the time of her life—without him. Greg was shy around new people, sensitive to loud sounds, and generally awkward. It seemed to get worse with age. He would never be as successful or rich as Stuart Little. He would never have the groovy savoir faire of the handsome silver-haired dude with the Rolex. Instead of joining in, he backed out the door and into the night.

Mandy was not sad. She was surreptitiously videoing Stuart for his fan site, which she was supposed to be in charge of and hadn’t even checked since last spring. Stuart was singing and that was a good thing. He needed to sing. She, on the other hand, was trying to keep a low profile. How many boxes of these people’s food had she stolen? The guy who’d literally taken his box out of her hands out on the sidewalk was right there behind the bar. She felt both mortified and smug. No one suspected the lumpy lady in the chair.

But the people here were nice—in a weird, unexpected way. She felt bad about stealing from them. The older English writer was on his way over to her now, bearing yet another plate of snack food.

“Quite a party this is turning out to be,” he observed, offering her the plate.

“Yup.” Mandy slid her phone beneath the plastic plate and nudged a piece of turkey pepperoni away from a smoked mozzarella stick. The game-night snacks from Full Plate were a more gourmet version of the food she used to eat when the Blind Mice were on tour. “It’s great.”

“I don’t enjoy singing,” Roy said.

Mandy gazed up at him, wondering if he was only paying attention to her because he’d heard she had MS. “Me neither,” she agreed.

“But maybe we could pretend to dance?” Roy held out his hand.

Mandy giggled and tossed the plate onto the table beside her. She took his hand and stood up.

“We don’t have to do any twirls or lifts,” he joked. “I’m heavier than I look.”

“I’m supposed to be sick anyway,” Mandy said, because she was pretty sure Roy Clarke didn’t care either way. “So I probably shouldn’t overdo it.”