Curt’s hand shot up. “What about all the people who look forward to the Rhubarb Rally? Won’t we disappoint them?”
“A very good question. Which is why I’m proposing we run a simultaneous secondary event. An event within an event, if you will. The Rhubarb Rally within the Strawberry Jamboree will feature our traditional rhubarb offerings.
“That is my plan for all of our seasonal events. If we want to keep Ordinary fresh, and keep the tourists coming, we need to reimagine our offerings. Take what works and add a dash of something new to it.”
I glanced at Myra and Jean. They both sat there wide-eyed. Shell shocked.
Yep. Making every event a two-in-one was going to be a royal headache for logistics. Not to mention manpower and getting the advertising and marketing correct. I glanced to my right to see how the audience was taking it.
Mixed, but definitely intrigued.
The door opened, and a man paused on the threshold before spotting me. He held my gaze with laser-like focus as he walked down the aisle toward me.
Ryder Bailey was a handsome man. With his light brown hair, mossy eyes, and wide shoulders, he looked every inch a man who worked with his hands and worked hard. I loved the look of him, the strength of his body. But it was that mind of his, clever and thoughtful and curious that really did me in.
And right now, I could almost hear what he was thinking: Why had I’d been avoiding him? Why weren’t we on our vacation right now?
I gave him a small smile and pointed at the open chair next to me—thanks, Myra—then turned my attention back to Bertie before she called me out in class again.
Ryder settled into the chair. The scent of rain mixed with the sweet, foresty smell that was all him.
“Hey,” I whispered.
“Hey,” he whispered back.
I put my hand on his thigh, and he immediately dropped his palm over mine. Our fingers laced together, and his thumb found the inside of my wrist, stroking gently there.
A chill washed over me, and I leaned my shoulder into his, enjoying his weight as he leaned back.
“What’d I miss?” he whispered.
I handed him the paper. He read through it, and his eyebrows knitted. “Huh.”
Bertie hadn’t missed a beat or stopped talking. She was still spinning the details of how she was going to merge the Slammin’ Salmon parade with something that involved a town-wide, cosplay-treasure hunt, and I was listening. Really, I was.
But only with a part of me, the police officer part of me that was calculating how we’d handle traffic, lost kids, and shoplifting.
The rest of me, themostof me, was zeroed in on the pad of Ryder’s thumb. The soft stroke across my wrist, over and over, bringing me out of my mind, out of my worries, back again and again to my body. To sitting right here, in this moment, with him.
I felt my shoulders relax, my breathing settle. A soft tingle radiated deep in my belly. This, now, was familiar. A part of my life that I never wanted to change. Both of us together, holding on no matter what ridiculous events were headed our way. Both of us connected, alive.
“Sign-up sheets are here to the right,” Bertie called out, “and I strongly encourage each of you to sign up for at least one event. When we all work together, we can make great things happen. Also,” she went on before anyone could bolt for the door, “suggestions, comments, and ideas are vital to the success of these events.
“Please do not be shy. Tell me what you think. Tell me what you need or expect from these events, and I will take it into consideration. If anyone would like to discuss something in more depth, I will be here for another hour.”
The room filled with conversation, and Ryder turned toward me. “Wanna sign up now, or after everyone’s picked the good stuff?”
“You forget there is no good stuff,” Jean said, leaning around me. “What’s the latest idea, almost-bro?”
“Cabin in the mountains. Solitude. Quiet. Just the two of us. Snow, fir trees, and a hot tub. Heaven.”
“Nice,” she said. “Don’t you think that’s nice, Delaney? Super nice?”
“Super nice,” I agreed, meaning it. “Let’s sign up. We don’t want to miss out on that bowling-league-burger-and-balloon-ride thing.”
Jean laughed. “Do you think she’ll let us bowlfromthe hot air balloons? Because I am in for it, like a million.”
“I think there’s a rule about dropping bowling balls out of the sky,” I said. “And if there’s not, I’m making one.”
