She looked at Peter, surprised, then continued reading.
“By now, many people in town know that a writer fromAdventure Escape Magazineis visiting Sparkledove to write a story about how we celebrate the holidays. Although this article won’t be published inAdventure Escapeuntil next December’s issue, a few words have to be written about its author. By doing so, this reporter is well aware he could be accused of priming the pump in an effort to encourage a complementary magazine article, but this journalist will risk it.
“Her name is Karen Maraschino. Yes, like the cherry, and she has a penchant for diving into things. She served dinner to community members at a Thanksgiving potluck held at St. Michael’s Church…”
She looked over at Peter. “How do you know about that?”
“I’m a reporter,” he shrugged. “I know a lot of things.”
She turned her eyes back to the paper and continued: “She braved the elements to go into the mountains and be part of the team that harvested the community Christmas tree. She thoughtfully purchased and delivered a small holiday gift to a community member who recently suffered a tragic family loss. She sought out advice and expertise about gingerbread houses when asked to judge the annual gingerbread house contest at the Christmas community dance. As one can see from these examples, this isn’t a person who is just observing and reporting. This is a person who is investing. She’s putting herself into the community and making some good friends along the way.”
There was more to the piece, but an embarrassed Goldie stopped reading, becoming emotional.
“Peter… th—this is incredibly nice. I-I’m not used to such nice things bein’ said about… but, you can’t publish this.”
He took another sip of his drink. “Why not? It’s true.”
“Y-you just can’t, that’s all.”
“Why don’t you read the rest of it?”
“Because I’m afraid I’ll start cryin’ like a baby and it’ll mess up my makeup.”
“Okay,” he agreed warmly. “Read the rest later, then we’ll talk.”
He was distracted when a dapper Ed Peterson walked by their table.
“Hi, Ed,” he said. “How are you?”
Ed was nearly forty years old, thirty pounds overweight, single, and had a round, friendly face. He had a nice-guy reputation and owned the gem store in town.
“Hi, Peter,” he greeted. He smiled at Goldie and extended his hand. “Ed Peterson.”
“Ay, Ed. I’m Goldie.”
“Yes. I just saw you on stage, and the mayor also pointed you out at the tree lighting.”
“Sure,” she remembered. “I was on River Street when Horace Mason used your car for target practice. I’m really sorry about what happened.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, “that was a strange morning. But Horace is paying for the damage, so everything will be set right again. At least, with my car. Don’t know about Horace and Alice, though.”
“Well,yousure look pretty good tonight, I must say,” Peter noted. “You’re puttin’ the rest of us bachelors to shame.”
Ed smiled, pleased with the compliment. “Thanks. It’s a new suit, and you can tell by the way I use my walk, I’m a woman’s man, no time for talk.”
Peter chuckled while Goldie’s mouth fell open.
“Okay,” she said, slamming an open hand down on the table. “That’sit!”
“That’s what?” Peter asked.
“Where did you get that expression?” she asked Ed.
“What?”
“‘You can tell by the way I use my walk, I’m a woman’s man, no time for talk.’ Where did yougetthat saying?”
“I don’t know. But it’s kinda funny, huh?”
