The Wrong Mr. Right (The Queen’s Cove Series Book 2)

THE NEXT EVENING, I sat at the counter in a bar in Port Kennedy, a nearby town, waiting for Naya and watching my phone as the video of Wyatt chopping wood went viral. I had sent him a screenshot of the video, pointing out the views and comments, and he responded with nice work, bookworm and a winky emoji.

A shiver rolled down my spine at the memory of what Wyatt had done with me. How he had touched me and made me moan.

And then I remembered Miri and Randeep reenacting those moans and I cringed for the thousandth time that day.

“You must be Hannah.”

I glanced up from my phone. Naya greeted me with a huge smile and a warm hug.

“So good to meet you,” I said as she took her seat on the stool beside me.

Naya beamed at me and her brown eyes shone. “I’m excited to talk concepts with you. Thanks for sending over that Pinterest board.”

Earlier in the week, Liya and I had trawled for images of murals we loved, and they all had a common theme—vivid, striking, and colorful.

I nodded and swallowed as guilt caught me by the throat. I was sitting in a bar planning a mural to which my dad had said no. I was going to cover up the mural my mom had commissioned.

The mural needed an update, though. The books in the existing mural were from a different time, and they didn’t represent the world anymore. They didn’t represent Queen’s Cove, and they didn’t represent publishing.

There was no doubt I was erasing her by painting over it, though. My heart twisted.

Naya pulled out a tablet and tapped through screens. “I’ve been thinking a lot about our conversation about your mom.”

My chest was tight. “Oh?”

She nodded and shot me a wistful smile. “Yeah.” She inhaled and sighed. “The way you talk about her, it’s clear she’s in every part of the store.”

I nodded and swallowed past the rock in my throat. Naya could see this was a mistake, too.

“And I want to honor that in the mural.”

My ears perked up. “You do?”

Her teeth flashed with her wide smile. “Absolutely. You have the same passion for books that she does.”

“I do. I love stories. She showed me how incredible they were.”

Her tablet screen glowed as she scrolled through images. “I was thinking about what she used to say, there’s a story for every soul.”

“There is. There’s a book out there for everyone. I love when people find the perfect book and come back and tell me about it.”

“So, this is what I came up with. If you don’t like it, that’s fine, we can change it. It’s just an initial concept.”

She set the tablet on the table and I leaned forward to study the sketch.

The magenta letters looped and dipped in a swirling, whimsical font. Tropical flowers framed the text, growing thick and wild with emerald leaves and vines. Birds perched among the foliage, a racoon peeked out from behind a flower, and a deer grazed along the bottom of the image.

A story for every soul, it said. Tears stung my eyes. It was my mom in art. My guilt vanished and resolve took its place. I wasn’t erasing her. The mural was her.

I nodded at Naya and rushed to wipe a tear as it spilled over.

“Is this good?” she asked, watching my expression carefully.

I nodded and another tear spilled over. “Sorry. Yes. Good.”

Her hand came to my arm. “It’s okay. I’m so happy you like it.”

“It’s beautiful,” I choked out, staring at the image. “So freaking beautiful, Naya. Can you send this to me?”

Her face burst into a beaming smile and she nodded.

We sat at the bar for a few more minutes, chatting logistics and schedule. Naya would begin the mural next week. My stomach fluttered with excitement as I studied the sketch. My mind whirred with ideas for social media posts of the mural. I couldn’t wait for the town to see it finished.

My dad wandered into my mind.

He might hate it. No, he would hate it. Anything that she didn’t personally put her stamp of approval on, he hated.

Something sharp wrenched in my chest. He would just have to get over it, because the new mural was happening.

Naya slipped her tablet away and rose. “Well, friend, I’ll see you next week.” She shimmied her shoulders in excitement. “This is going to be fun.”

My heart fizzed with happy anticipation. “See you next week.”

I watched Naya leave and checked the time on my phone. It was about an hour’s drive home.

“Can I get you anything else before the show?” the bartender asked. She had blue hair, shaved short on the sides.

“The show?” I blinked at her.

“The drag show. It’s the first Tuesday of the month.”

I gasped. “I’ve always wanted to go to a drag show.”

She laughed. “Well, here’s your chance. It’s no Drag Race but it’s a fun time.”

A prickle of nerves rose in me at the idea of sitting here alone.

Who cares, a voice asked in my head. A voice that sounded a lot like Wyatt.

I shot a smile at her. “Sure. Can you make me something fruity and fun with no alcohol? I’m driving.”

She winked. “You bet, honey.”

She placed a magenta drink with a little umbrella in front of me as the lights dimmed and the music volume increased. A magenta drink, like the text on the mural. Like a sign. I smiled to myself and turned to the small stage area in the back corner. Rickety spotlights shook with the bass’s low thump.

The bartender appeared at the side of the stage with a mic. “Good evening to all the girls, gays, and theys!”

The bar patrons cheered around me.

“We’ve got another great show for you tonight. First up, she’s demure, she’s elegant, and she’ll never be caught dead without her pearls. She’s singing Wouldn’t it Be Loverly—”

Someone near me groaned and set their forehead on the bar.

“—from My Fair Lady for the hundredth fucking time, it’s Josephina Duvet!”

The black curtain separating the bar from the back swished aside and a tall queen strode out with giant platinum bouffant curls, theatrical winged liner, and a wide seafoam-green tulle dress. The audience cheered and whooped for her as she took the mic and stepped onstage.

“The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain!” she boomed into the mic before she launched into an upbeat, pop version of Audrey Hepburn’s classic show tune.

I sipped my drink while I watched her strut around the stage, dance to the music, and sing her heart out. Her makeup was so artfully applied, so fun and theatrical, and yet her outfit paid reverence to an era of women’s fashion with precise detail. Her dress looked like it took time and effort. My gaze strayed to her cleavage. How did she make it look so real?

Josephina whipped her head to me and sang right at me. My eyes widened but my smile lifted. She swayed her hips and I stared in awe before I snapped a quick pic on my phone.

I should have taken hot girl lessons from her instead, I texted Wyatt.

Typing dots appeared and his response popped up.

You out there having fun without me, bookworm?

I grinned at my phone. Yep. Sitting alone at the bar, like you taught me. Having the best time!

Attagirl. Can’t wait to hear all about it.

My stomach flopped and fluttered. Josephina finished her set and disappeared through the curtain.

The blue-haired bartender returned to the stage. “Let’s give Josephina another round of applause!”

I clapped along with the other patrons. Next up was Rockstar Anise, who wore a huge eighties hair-metal mullet wig, fishnet stockings, and gave her everything to an air-guitar rendition of More Than a Feeling by Boston. The music boomed from the speaker system as she lip-synced the lyrics. I was smiling so hard it hurt.

“Thank you, Rockstar Anise!” The bartender glanced at the black curtain. “We’ve got an old favorite here tonight, it’s—”

I gasped as the curtain swished aside, and a drag queen with a Union Jack minidress and giant red wig strode out. My hand came to my mouth.

She even had the red platform shoes.

“Woooooo!” I screamed, clapping as hard as I could.

The queen glanced at me, paused with a little coy smile, and the opening notes of Say You’ll Be There played. My heart dipped as she sang and I danced in my seat.

During the chorus, she pointed at me. I sang along with the lyrics and everyone around me cheered.

I watched with fascination and admiration while she rocked her performance. She knew all the choreography from their music video and my smile reached ear to ear. She winked at me before she left the stage, and while I was clapping hard, familiarity struck me. I narrowed my eyes.

“Another pink drink?” the bartender asked, and I nodded with a big smile.

Two more queens performed in the little bar and I couldn’t look away. I’d have to bring Avery here, she’d love this. Maybe Max and Div would want to come along. We could make a night of it.

“Hi,” my idol dropped onto the stool beside me.

My eyes widened. “Hi.” I was breathless. Her makeup was exquisite. Harsh, swooping brows, full red lips, insane lashes, and precise liner. She was perfection.

She waved at the bartender. “Can I get a water, please?”

That voice. I knew that voice. It clicked and I gasped.

“Div?” My jaw was on the floor.

She smirked at me.

“But you—” I shook my head, taking her outfit in. “How did… I didn’t know. Oh my god.” I beamed. “You’re amazing.”

She grinned a little wider. How could I have not seen it before? It was in the smile. The bartender set a water and my second pink drink on the counter.

“Come on.” She gestured for me to follow. “This wig is itching.”

Through the black curtain, the other queens were in various states of disassembly. Div gently removed the voluminous red wig before setting it in a case. From a nearby stool, I watched as he pulled out wipes and removed his makeup in front of a mirror leaning on the wall.

“Where’d you learn to do makeup like that?”

He shot me a quick smile before he smeared off an eyebrow. “YouTube, mostly, but sometimes the queens help each other out before or after shows. Teach each other things, stuff like that.”

“Why did you choose her?” My voice was awestruck.

One of his shoulders lifted and he studied the makeup wipe a moment, before he peered into the mirror and worked at removing the rest. “She’s girl power, she’s femininity, and she doesn’t care what people think.”

I nodded. “That’s why I love her too. She’s so sexy.”

We exchanged a smile that felt like friendship. “She is, isn’t she?”

“Bye, honey,” one of the queens called as two of them left. Div waved in the mirror at them. “Bye, new girl.”

I flushed. I was a spectator here in their world, but it was nice to be seen instead of invisible.

“Why do you do drag?”

Div finished wiping off his makeup before he answered. He left the lashes on. “A couple years ago, my therapist asked me what I did for fun.”

“And what did you say?”

He let out a flat laugh. “Nothing. I didn’t know what to say. I thought it was a weird question. I worked. All I did was work. And before that, I went to school and studied.” His throat worked and he tossed the wipe in the garbage. “It made me realize, what’s it all for? If all I do is work, and I don’t do anything purely for me, what’s the point?”

The last queens waved goodbye as they left and Div and I were alone in the stockroom. Music from the bar filtered through the curtain, and it swayed as the front door of the bar opened and closed.

“When I’m her, there’s a point to it all.” He pressed his mouth into a line. “It’s just for me, it makes me happy, and I love it. It scared me but I’m glad I did. It’s my true self, or one of my true selves, up there.”

He shot me a skewering glance, like he was daring me to laugh or make fun of him.

I nodded and swallowed with a smile. “Well, you’re amazing.”

His expression softened and he looked down at his makeup case. “Thanks.”

“Can you show me how to do eyeliner?”

He laughed. “Sure. I can do that.”

Div finished cleaning up and we walked to our cars together. Something daring streaked through me.

“Hey, Div?”

He sent a text on his phone and looked up at me. “Yes, Hannah.”

“You should come hang out at my bookstore sometime.” I shrugged. “I mean, I know you’re busy working all the time, but if you have a day off or something. You don’t have to—”

“Sure.” He smiled. “That would be fun. Avery won’t shut up about it.”

A laugh bubbled out of me. “Okay. Cool.”

He tilted his head. “So, you and Wyatt.” He raised an eyebrow and his eyes glittered. “Camping.”

I groaned. “Oh my god. Mortifying.”

The corner of his mouth rose. “I expect all the details of what made you howl like a werewolf.”

“I did not howl like a werewolf,” I sputtered, shaking with laughter.

“Maybe, maybe not. Maybe that’s what Miri’s telling everyone. Wyatt likes you, and you should go for it.”

I bit back a grin, flushed. “Maybe I will.”

He lifted his eyebrows once. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

We climbed into our cars and I pulled out my phone. When I unlocked it, the picture Wyatt had taken of me in the bookstore was on screen.

Div had said he was his most authentic self up on stage in drag. He said it was scary but brought him happiness and made life worth it.

The bookstore made me feel like that. Not the old version of the bookstore, but the new one. The one where we sold mostly romance novels, had a stand at the farmer’s market, and would soon have a huge, beautiful mural outside.

My bookstore.

Being with Wyatt made me feel that life was worth it. Pacific Rim was in a few weeks and he might be leaving but memories of us camping and surfing and sitting at the bar, watching karaoke, would last forever.

My heart squeezed up into my throat. I opened my social media and posted the picture of myself that Wyatt took.

The girl behind the books, I typed.