“Safe?” Natalie rounded on him. “Have you heard something?”

Bertie shook his head. “Not a thing. He’s a celebrity, so …” He shrugged. “There’s almost no information other than the material in his bio. And that stuff looks so … curated.”

“He grew up off the grid,” Natalie said. “I bet his parents are freaks about privacy. He’s fine, Bertie. You worry too much. But he’s not—I just don’t see us together. I mean, the guy’s one of the bestselling writers in the world.”

“And you’re the best bookseller in the world, and you should totally date him,” Cleo said.

“I’m not the best bookseller in the world,” Natalie said. “I’m the luckiest, though.”

Bertie went to open the doors. Kids streamed in with their parents and grandparents, eager to see their favorite author. Tess and Dominic arrived with their crew, large and small. “You look fantastic,” Tess told her. “Those jeans—perfect. God, I can’t wait to not be pregnant anymore.”

“Go grab a seat. I—” Natalie spotted a familiar face and did a double take. What was he doing here? With two kids in tow. “Excuse me.”

Dean Fogarty came over to her. “Hey,” he said. “I heard about this event, so I thought I’d bring the twins to see their favorite author.” He gestured at a girl and a boy, who looked to be about ten.

“Pop-pop, can we go get seats at the front?” the boy asked. He wore a soccer shirt and had a skinned knee. Natalie flashed on her first—and last—soccer practice. The one that had been ruined for her when she’d encountered Dean with his “real” kid.

“Go ahead, Hunter,” Dean said. “Save me a seat.”

“‘Pop-pop’?” Natalie frowned.

“‘Grandpa’ made me sound too old,” he said.

“They’re your grandchildren.”

“Look, if it’s weird for you, my being here—”

“It’s not weird.” It was totally weird. “They’re going to love Trevor Dashwood.”

“They already do.” He lingered a moment longer. “Hey, I read about that rare vase you found in the bookstore. Pretty remarkable, Natalie.”

He seemed about to say something else. Natalie’s stomach was in knots. Did he want to connect with her? Did she need to tell him she knew about the tuition?

“Dean, listen,” she said. “I wanted to let you know that Mom never told me you paid my tuition. St. Dymphna’s and the college savings plan. I found out about it after she was gone.”

“I left it up to Blythe,” he said.

“That was … a surprise. And it was good of you. I appreciate it a lot, Dean.” She held out her hand.