True. But, “He never said he was single, and I am notdatingan actor.”
“He’s not an actor. He’s a lum—”
“Don’t you dare say ‘lumberjack.’ I’m not dating one of those either! You are paying him to play Paul Bunyan.”
“No.” Annabelle rolls her eyes dramatically, setting her phone down on the table. “Be real, most likely he’s a trainer at a gym and agreed to fill in for one of my no-shows.”
Yeah. I can see that; he looked fit enough to be a personal trainer,notthat I was scoping him out.
“Filling in as someone who pretends to chop wood for a living,” I counter, crossing my arms. “That makes him an actor.”
“You are grasping, my friend.”
Maybe so. But I’m not comfortable giving a random guy my phone number until I’ve at least vetted him properly, the way I can do on an app by asking him questions. Especially a guy passing through town short term.
“Don’t know what to tell you.” I shrug as I sip my tea, which is now lukewarm. “I will say this, though—he wasreallycute.”
“Cute? Now we’re getting somewhere.” Annabelle is tapping away at her laptop again. “Good-looking guys will bring women flocking to the show, which means more money for us.”
True. “Speaking of money, how’s it looking?” I ask, tilting my head. “With the budget, I mean.”
Annabelle exhales, leaning back in her chair and stretching as if she’s been sitting in that chair for days. “Not great. Fall Fest is supposed to make up for all the funding the community center lost this year, so it’s on me to pull a miracle out of my ass. Since I’m volunteering my time for this while juggling a bride who can’t decide betweenivoryandcream. Lindsey Vodgs is on the verge of buying two dresses.”
I wince. “That sounds terrible.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.” She giggles, though we both know Annabelle uses the wordfinethe way other people use Bubble Wrap—to protect herself from having a meltdown. “Wedding planning pays most of my bills, but I also need to give back, you know?” Her sigh is loud. “Plus, I spent all my time at the community center as a kid—if we don’t make enough money, we’ll lose the winter programs.”
I know how much this means to her. The programs she’s talking about—free dinners, after-school events and babysitting, and sports—are a safety net for a lot of families in town.
Annabelle’s been pushing herself to the brink to keep it all afloat.
“Okay,” I say, determined to be supportive. “So the show needs to be a hit. We have to sell a ton of food. More sponsors? Maybe one of your lumberjacks will go viral for his wood-chopping skills.”
Annabelle snorts. “We need one who looks like Thor.”
“Thor? Now you’re getting greedy,” I tease, though I can’t help but think of Harris—his broad shoulders, the scruffy jawline, the effortless way he looked like he belonged in a flannel shirt.
My mouth begins to water despite my objections to him having my contact information.
Annabelle narrows her gaze at me. “Why are you smiling like that? You have that weird look on your face.”
“I have a weird look?”
“Youdo, actually.”
I hold my hands up in mock surrender. “Listen. All I will say about it is, Harris will meet your Thor quota.”
Her stares. “He looks like a superhero, and you won’t let me give him your number? What iswrongwith you? I’m offended on his behalf.”
I shake my head. “He’s just a guy. A guy who happens to have, you know—a chiseled jawline and great hair.”
Windswept hair.
“Justa guy?” She slaps her desktop lightly, glaring at me. “No, Lucy. Larry from Lakeside Plumbing isjusta guy. Harris sounds like the kind of guy we close our eyes and masturbate to.”
Facts! He is.
“So?” Her words do not faze me. “I’ve learned my lesson about jumping too quickly into something that looks shiny on the surface.”
