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“I hadn’t thought that far ahead, I guess,” Cam answered after a moment.

“You mean to tell me you know what specials you want to serve on Wednesdays but you don’t even know the name?” Ian smiled.

“Priorities,” she said, smiling back at him. “Besides, what’s it to you, as long as you get all the ricotta-filled French toast you can eat for free?”

“You mean there are other benefits to sleeping with the owner?” Ian asked. “I knew I liked this idea of yours.”

As she rested her head on his shoulder, her arm stretched across his chest, she considered his question lazily. She could keep the name. After all, Martina’s Cafe was what everyone in town knew it as. It was listed that way in guidebooks, and she wouldn’t have to change the sign. But that didn’t seem quite right. Cam was going to put her stamp on this little place, and a new name would signify that. The people of Silver Cove might kick up a little fuss about it, but they would get used to it eventually. A little change wasn’t such a bad thing.

A thought struck her—she could call it Ada’s Cafe. After all, the ghost was the reason she had decided to stay in town. Maybe not the reason, exactly, but more of an inspiration. Ada had missed her chance at true love, but Cam didn’t have to.

But another idea tugged at her. It was another lesson from Ada—no more ghostwriting. No more being a ghost in her own life. Cam was alive and ready to put herself out there in the big, messy world.

“I think I’ll call it Cam’s,” she said. “Not Cam’s Cafe. Just Cam’s.”

“I love it already,” Ian said. “Can I get a T-shirt as part of this deal?”

“Hmm, I don’t know.” Cam pretended to think it over. “I think you might have to work a little bit for all these perks.”

“Oh, I’m very, very willing,” Ian said, and he pulled her close to show her just how much.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

On this slightly chilly day in early spring, Cam was running late to the big event. The centennial celebration of the publication of Stormy of Silver Cove had turned out to be far different than people had anticipated only months ago. For starters, the signs she walked by lining Main Street showed an oversized image of the book’s cover that bore a new author’s name: Ada Poulson. The giant, freshly painted mural on the brick wall greeting visitors to town was a portrait of Ada, her chin tilted just so. The cutout-face photo setup? It featured Ada, too.

The red tape had been something to work out, but the Historical Society had finally hired Russell, who had finagled a reissue of Stormy, complete with a redesigned book jacket. The new edition also restored Polly to her original role as the book’s protagonist, something Russell said was sure to give it an even bigger audience.

The sequel would be out in a few months—better, Russell had said, to space them out. And of course, he had made sure to orchestrate a giant publicity campaign around the new release. He had even convinced Cam to do an interview—on camera!—for a national morning TV show. She had left out the ghost part, of course, so as not to freak out the masses, and only spoke of how she had become fascinated by the author of a cookbook she had found at a jumble sale and followed a few leads to discover the manuscript that proved Ada’s authorship of one of the most beloved children’s books of the early twentieth century.

The press had eaten it up—a story of a dastardly husband and a woman claiming her rightful spot in the American literary canon? It was like catnip. Russell made sure to circulate the photo of Ada, which ran with every story. It seemed Ada had developed a fervent following among young people who had adopted her as a feminist heroine. Paige had shown Cam and Birdie T-shirts an artist had for sale on Etsy. They bore the image of Ada’s photo superimposed with a crown on her head. All of which meant a far bigger crowd in Silver Cove than the usual drill celebrating boring old Marshall Merriweather would have elicited. The B&Bs in town were all full, and the cafe had a line out the door.

Ada would have loved this, Cam thought, taking it all in.

She spotted Russell in the crowd. He was impeccably dressed as usual—though Cam wondered if the slim-cut seersucker suit he wore was just a little too on the nose for a small-town celebration—and he hovered around the tables bearing copies of the newly issued book as well as plenty of merch for the crowds that were starting to drift in. Preteen girls and their parents seemed to make up much of the tourist presence, although there were plenty of adults snapping up Silver Cove T-shirts who were Stormy fans from back in their own childhoods. She hoped they would also stop by Merriweather House while they were in town, where new exhibits about Ada told her story. Her pink dress and Muriel Cooper’s apron were on display, too. Marshall’s portrait had been put in storage, a move Cam was only too happy to oversee, and a newly commissioned one of Ada had taken its place.

Her agent grabbed her arm and pulled her aside for a conspiratorial whisper. “You would not believe the interest I’ve gotten for the sequel,” Russell trilled. “And the cookbook! We’re going to publish it this summer with those absolutely dead-gorgeous vintage illustrations. Wait till you see them, you’ll die. And it’s still early days, but I found a company that might even bite on the idea of a line of Stormy toys! And guess who is very interested in buying the film rights to Ada’s life story? None other than our friend Izzy Jones and her fabulous production company.”

“Sounds like good business for you.” Cam playfully swatted his seersuckered arm. “Looks like the house on Fire Island is going to happen after all.”

“I won’t lie,” Russell said, clutching a hand to his chest and striking a sincere tone. “The money is very nice. But this one feels different. I have plenty of clients I love—I mean, I’m looking at one, lady!—but I’ve never had a dead one. And it’s weird, but I find myself fighting harder than I ever have to get the very best deals for her. It helps that the money is going to an amazing cause. And those scholarships are going to be well-funded, believe me. But I also feel an overwhelming drive to give Ada the recognition she deserves after all these years. It’s like I’m trying to help make it up to her because what happened to her was so unfair.”

Cam nodded in understanding and took in the busy scene around them. A crowd was gathering around the gazebo where the ceremony was set to start in a few minutes. “From the looks of it, you’re off to a good start,” she replied warmly, although the thought of Russell employing his very best ninja negotiation skills on some hapless toy executives left her just a little terrified.

“Okay, I’ve gotta go, Russell,” she said, submitting herself with a grin to her agent’s usual double-kiss goodbye. “I have to go check on the concession stand. Who knows what they’ve gotten up to without me?” She caught herself, checking her usual instinct to try to control everything. “Though I’m sure they’re doing just fine.”

Russell shot her a knowing smile. “And I know you’re busy with this Hallmark-movie life you have going in this enchanting little town, but don’t forget, you owe me a manuscript for your cookbook in”—he checked his Cartier watch—“less than three months. I’ve got big plans for Recipes from Cam’s Silver Cove Cafe. And I finally found another ghostwriter for Meredith McAllister, now that you’re only writing under your own name.”

“Russell, have I ever missed a deadline?”

For the Stormy celebration, Cam’s cafe had set up a few long folding tables and a big grill along the town square where Cam spotted Ian tending to a few dozen hot dogs. Paige was manning the register. She had introduced Cam to a mobile-pay system that was surprisingly easy to use, and a cluster of customers were just grabbing their orders. The operation wasn’t going to be a big moneymaker, but she had quickly come to understand that the job of running concessions at whatever festivities Silver Cove was up to at the moment was just part of the deal of owning the town’s favorite cafe. Of course, in typical fashion, Cam had aimed to upgrade the offerings from the usual fare, at least a little bit. The usual hot dogs and soft drinks were a must. But her chunky chocolate-chip cookies also seemed to be a favorite. Cam had also added a themed drink, Ada’s Punch, to the brief menu, which she took from a recipe in the cookbook that had started her down the wacky path that had led her here.

“Hey, Cam!” Paige greeted her. She was wearing dangling earrings, and as Cam looked closer, she realized they were cutouts of Ada’s face stylized like an Andy Warhol artwork with SLAY across the bottom in a bold black font.

“Nice.” Cam nodded in approval. It seemed Ada was, in fact, a bona fide pop culture celebrity. She would have loved that.

“I see you brought in extra help.” Cam motioned toward Paige’s dad.

“Yeah, try keeping him away.” Paige rolled her eyes.