BACK OUT FRONT, the party was heating up nicely. Ramsay had taken over pouring drinks for everyone—his arms were so long it was useful to pass things over people’s heads—and Zoe, unable to stop herself from her normal day job, was more or less just selling books if people wanted them, and Bronagh was there with her group of gorgeously attired mystical friends. The man who sold his fish books was there, as were the ladies from the Drunken Book Group. The hardware manager had brought them a new shovel; the man from the clothing shop was wearing an extremely daring pair of red trousers and a dashing cravat. The mums from the story readings were all there, enjoying the wine and planning on making very speedy in-law-based gift choices at some point. There were some cheerful backpackers who had wandered in and were frankly astonished in this expensive city that someone was giving them a free anything; Mrs. Marsh could be seen up and down the shop running her finger along shelves out of habit; Mrs. McGeoghan was curled up in her usual corner, carrying on with Our Mutual Friend perfectly happily—only 370 more pages to go, so she would likely be done by Eastertime—and there was a contingent of traffic wardens Carmen had invited on the pretext of being charitable at Christmastime (and distracting them while everyone parked). The carol singers were also back, having been well primed for the Victoria Street parties and doing very well.

And Skylar and Blair.

Skylar had been looking forward to this all day, showing up once and for all with the hot man of the moment on her arm before she took off to London (hopefully) for the Christmas break, where she hoped he would take her to lots of places that might want her to set up a mindfulness class for people—rich, connected people were always looking for more yoga. And of course he was terribly handsome and charming. That was very important. They didn’t really talk much about things Skylar liked to talk about, which was mostly Skylar, but surely he’d realize how fascinating she was in time and how many men wanted to be with her and come around to worshipping her like they did.

She looked absolutely her loveliest, all in soft pinks with the most adorable pompom hat—fake fur, obviously—on her blond curls, her cheeks lightly pink from the cold snow, and Blair had given her the most blazing smile when she’d arrived promptly to pick him up from the airport.

“Hey, babe,” he’d said. “Right, let’s go dazzle them, yeah? You look great. Totally.”