Willa by Heart by Coleen Murtagh Paratore Page B

will get my mom off my back. She’s disappointed that I gave up piano lessons. Since I was little, she’s always made me do something in the arts to balance out all of the sports, and I guess this counts for culture, right?”
    â€œOh, absolutely. Definitely culture. And Nana’sgot copies of the play in the store.”
    â€œGreat, I’ll buy one tomorrow,” he says.
    My heart is pounding.
This is perfect.
    â€œWilla?”
    â€œWhat?”
    He looks over his shoulders, up and down the beach. “So if I get the part of George and you’re Emily and we get married, do we kiss at the wedding?”
    â€œThat’s what the script says.”
    â€œGood, we better practice.”
    Then he kisses me, and I’m so happy I fly away with the butterflies.
    It’s getting dark when we pack up the picnic stuff and start heading back.
    â€œThere’s the first star,” I say, pointing.
    â€œMake a wish,” he says.
    So romantic.

CHAPTER 11
“Mare”

    A star’s mighty good company.
    â€”
Our Town
    I dream about a glistening wedding cake. The miniature bride and groom figurines on top are swirling around and around, dancing, dancing. They turn and I see their faces. Me and JFK.
    I wake up smiling and reach for my journal to read what I wrote last night. I want to be sure I captured all the magic. Dinner on our own private island, the wind on our faces, how we laughed, talked … kissed. Then the “first star I see tonight” twinkling above. “Make a wish,” he said.
So romantic.
    I can’t wait to tell Suzanna Jubilee. She and Chickles, her mother—Mama B., as she tells us to call her—are coming this afternoon to talk about wedding plans.
    Downstairs in the kitchen, Mom and Sam are having their morning coffee. Mom is drinking decaf now that she’s pregnant. She’s not showing yet. It’s still too early.
    â€œWe need a signature cake,” I say.
    â€œWhat?” Sam says, setting down his cup. He smiles at me.
    â€œThe Bramblebriar Inn needs its own special signature wedding cake.”
    â€œExcellent idea,” Mom says. “One more way to brand ourselves …”
    â€œWhat?” Sam says.
    â€œTo differentiate ourselves,” Mom explains, “like the things we do to set the Bramblebriar apart from all the dime-a-dozen antiques and blue hydrangea bed-and-breakfast places around here.”
    Sam looks at me and rolls his eyes. I smile.
    â€œYou know,” Mom continues. “Like our fresh cookies and tea at two, and the hors d’oeuvres and drinks at six, and the labyrinth and the Bramble Board …”
    â€œWell, that’s not why I started the Bramble Board, but … I love my business-minded wife,” Sam says, leaning over to kiss her cheek.
    â€œBut what about the cake?” I say.
    â€œIt’s a spectacular idea,” Mom says.
    â€œGood. I’ll ask Rosie to start working on a recipe. Sweets are her specialty.”
    When we get home from Sunday service at BUC, I finish my homework, then begin thinking about our new Community Service project. Sulamina Mum has a teacher friend in Louisiana. Her school lost their whole library in the flood. I find a box to begin loading up. Riley offered to transport all of our boxes down South in a rental truck.
    I stare at all of the books on my shelf, reading the titles, remembering. Finding books I can donate is harder than I imagined. The books in my bedroom library are my favorite, special Willa’s Pix books. I can’t part with any of these. It would be like giving away friends, Tina or Mum. Well, not that hard, but close.
    I carry the box down to the inn library and start looking. I go from shelf to shelf, pulling out duplicates and dog-eared paperbacks and titles our guests will probably never read. When I finish, the box is full, but something isn’t right.
    I feel like I’m getting rid of leftovers, not