Excerpt from Some Bright Nowhere by Ann Packer, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Ninety-eight point three," she said, reading the thermometer. "So more like ninety-nine point three, but that's still fine. OK, I feel better leaving."

Once she was gone the evening lay ahead of them. Eliot delivered pills, prepared small snacks because Claire felt nauseated and though hungry could eat only a little at a time. Awake very late, she sat with him in front of the TV while an oldish comedy played. She liked to guess the year a movie had been made using only what clues were provided by hairstyles and clothing. "Those shoulder pads!" she said. "Where's my phone, I have to see if Holly remembers this movie. I had a blue linen dress kind of like that, with shoulder pads like wings. Will you get me my phone so I can call her?"

"It's almost midnight."

"She'll be up. Or she'll call me back in the morning."

Eliot found the phone and handed it to her. "What if she has your number set to wake her?"

"She'll go right back to sleep. She wants me to call. She keeps saying so."

"Of course."

Holly was Claire's oldest friend, her dearest, going back to second grade. At the beginning, when Eliot and Claire had been dating for a month or so and it was time to be introduced to family and friends, Eliot slightly dreaded meeting Holly. Claire had reported various cutting things Holly had said about other guys, and Eliot knew she wouldn't soft-pedal any doubts. After the first encounter, Claire reported that Holly found Eliot "quietly witty," such an unrousing endorsement that Eliot for the next week or so made a point of being as noisily witty as he could. At last Claire asked what was up with him, and he confessed that Holly's comment had caused him to try to be more dynamic. "Well, don't," Claire said. "You're being weird." She reported the whole thing to Holly and came back saying she'd had it wrong, Holly hadn't found him "quietly witty," she'd found him "quiet and witty," which was so much worse. But the entire back and forth delighted Claire and served as a small stepping stone on her path to feeling Eliot was the man for her. He was smart and competent, he knew how to move through the world. Those were the qualities she prized.

"When we were young," Claire said now, setting the phone down absently, "I was in such awe. I always felt so dumb and ordinary in comparison."

"To me?" Eliot said, puzzled.

She laughed lightly. "To Holly, honey. She was such a sparkler, she had so much verve. I mean, in retrospect it was probably agita over all the stuff at home expressing itself, but to me she was magically funny and energetic. I was really a little dullard."

"No, you weren't," Eliot said, but he was lagging behind, wounded by her amusement at his mistaken assumption.

"If I said I was," Claire said, "that means I felt I was."

Now Eliot was flustered. "OK. Sorry."

"You're so literal."

"And yet so unliterary. It's amazing we lasted." He looked at her and waited, wanting just an agreement, an acknowledgment of his value, something. In the old days she sometimes called him "my businessman," a label that an observer might assume she employed to emphasize how different she and Eliot were, when the point was that she loved his practical, efficient side.

She motioned at the TV. "I think I'm done with this."

Excerpted from Some Bright Nowhere by Ann Packer. Copyright © 2026 by Ann Packer. Excerpted by permission of Harper. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.