Sad. I bet I can get it to come back, though.
I’m not able to say anything else, because Bart and Mindy have almost reached us now. Mindy scurries in teetering heels, and despite Bart’s average height, he walks in long strides with a possibly unearned level of confidence. He has on a bow tie instead of a normal tie, and he offers us a lopsided smile that’s only slightly forced. He seems to have moved past the awkward meeting in my office, for which I’m mostly glad; I’d be lying if I said a small, petty part of me wasn’t looking for a reason to hold a grudge.
When I look down and see his hand clasped with Mindy’s, however, I send them both a stern look. For a few seconds they jointly pretend not to understand, but then finally they let go of each other. I glance at Aurora to see if she’s noticed, although I shouldn’t care. But she’s busy looking around the square, biting her lower lip as her eyes narrow in thought. Then she nods decisively and looks at us.
“Right,” she says. “Shall we?”
Bart just shrugs, and that seems to be good enough for her. She strides away from us at a brisk pace, her posture impeccable as she heads for the center of the square. I follow with my hands in my pockets, content to watch her do her thing.
“So here’s what I was thinking,” she says when we’ve all reached her. She holds her arms out toward the opposite side of the square. “A stage here, because I know it will fit. The town has used one there before and it worked out well. I think it would be good to have the date auction elevated. And then here”—she turns around and gestures to the space around us—“we’ll have small tables, large enough for maybe four or five people, but standing only to encourage mingling instead of sitting in one place the whole time.”
“And if it rains?” Bart says, but he’s not being obnoxious; his voice is simply professional.
Aurora grimaces. “I did talk to our usual tent vendors yesterday. We can have large coverings on standby, but it costs more than if we just put them up from the start. We’ll need to talk to budgeting and see what they think.”
“Our budget is decent for this,” Bart says as Mindy nods. “But I think open air would be much better if possible.”
“Me too,” Aurora says.
“What are you thinking for local vendors?” Mindy pipes up, tucking a few strands of thin hair behind her ear. “Mostly these?” She gestures at the shops that line the town square, and Aurora nods.
“I think we’ll have the best luck with these, and there are a lot of useful places here. You’ll need to talk to them about our marketing packages,” she says, flicking her chin at Bart, “but I think they’ll be more than willing. There’s a record shop and a romance book store close by, at the end of Main where it turns into the square,” she says, pointing off to one side of the square, “and there are several food vendors we could work with too.”
“Do we have a head count for this thing yet?” I say. They all look at me, possibly because they’ve forgotten I’m here.
“Not yet,” Aurora says.
Mindy shakes her head. “Ticket sales have opened, but the window to purchase will go for the next two weeks. We’re only at a quarter of what we expect so far.”
“You’re placing advertisements, I assume.” It’s not a question, but Bart still looks faintly affronted.
“Of course we are,” he says. He gives his bow tie a little tug, adjusting it.
I nod and exhale. “Well, it all sounds good to me, but I don’t really know much about this.”
The question hangs in the air between us:Then why did you come along?
I grin at the words no one speaks, my eyes darting between the three of them. “Shall we keep going?”
Aurora’s sigh is long-suffering as she looks at me. “Let’s split up and talk to these shops,” she says with a nod at the businesses lining the square. “Ask them if they’d be interested in setting up a stall, explain about the marketing packages we offer for our event advertisements, so on and so forth.”
“We’ll head this direction,” Bart says, nodding at the little row of treat shops. Aurora shrugs.
“That’s fine,” she says, and without another word, she turns in the opposite direction. “Are you coming?” she says without looking back.
“You remembered me,” I say as I catch up to her in one stride. “I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be,” she says. “I can just tell you need direction or you’ll stand in one place all day.”
“Is that any way to talk to your direct superior?” I say, falling in step next to her. “Is that how you address the nepo baby who’s been dropped into this position with no real qualifications?”
She snorts. “Babyis right. How old are you?”
“Old enough,” I murmur as I look at her, and when she raises her brow at me, a smile tugs over my lips. “Guess.”
“I am supremely uninterested in guessing anything about you.”
“Not even why I was in the holding cell?”
