She checked the large digital clock on the far wall. “Isn’t this your prime writing time?” Russ liked to keep to a schedule when he was under a deadline.
“Taking a quick break.”
“Uh-huh. More like procrastinating.” She smiled, thinking of him bouncing a stress ball off the wall across from his computer.
He chuckled, and she snuggled the phone closer to her cheek.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m at the festival meeting.” Even though he couldn’t see it, she grinned. “Rumors are flying around like bats in a haunted house.”
“Oh yeah?”
“We have influencers and authors.” She motioned to an empty end seat, and the person sitting next to it shook her head, indicating that he was saving it for someone. She moved on. “I wouldn’t mind meeting a real author.”
“Hey! What am I?”
Alice thoroughly enjoyed the jealousy floating through the phone. No sense letting Russ think he’d garnered all her attention. If there was one thing she’d learned from classic romance books, it was that heroines left their hero wanting more until they were sure of his devotion. She tucked her hair behind her ear, hoping she sounded flirty when she replied, “You’re a playwright, not a book author.”
Russ heaved a sigh. “Graham warned me that people in Harvest Ranch wouldn’t take me seriously. The wholeyou can’t be a prophet in your hometownthing,” he said, sounding thoroughly pathetic, an act that was only for her benefit.
Alice’s heart fluttered. “I think that’s more for the place you grow up. Like the elementary school teacher who gave you a C on your creative writing assignment would think it was really cute that you’ve continued writing.”
“Mrs. Hackshaw wouldn’t know literary genius if it bit her on the—”
“Anyway!” Alice jumped in before Russ could complete the mental image of Mrs. Hackshaw’s behind. “You should be using that genius right now—procrastinator.”
“Maybe I’ll come down and peruse the rumor mill,” he challenged.
Alice called his bluff. “If you dare. The place is packed, and the mayor has a stack of folders six inches thick in the crook of her arm.”
“Maybe I’ll stay here.”
“And write?”
“I was thinking I could shave. A new look may give me a new outlook on the second act.”
She pictured him scratching under his chin as he evaluated his facial hair in a mirror. She then pictured herself tickling her fingers through his hair. “The beard is distinguished.”
Alice blushed as she admitted her preference for his sense of style. Why a man with well-groomed facial hair gave her fits of daydreams and stomach flutters was beyond her understanding. He just appeared so … so …manly. Like he could tromp through the forest in the fall, wearing thick flannel shirts and harvesting maple.Yum.
The mayor tapped on the mic. “If you’ll find your seats.”
That’s the trick, isn’t it?
She said a quick goodbye and stuffed the phone into her chevron-patterned purse. All around her, people took their seats, moving in some pre-orchestrated pattern that had them all sitting before she knew what had happened. It was a game of musical chairs, and she’d lost. She spied another end seat and darted that direction. As she slid in, she looked down the aisle to see Wynn Westbrook. She waved, and Wynn smiled and waved in return.
Wynn had married Thatcher, Alice’s cousin, who was born with a disease that shortened his life span. He’d passed away several years ago. In her eyes, Wynn was Superwoman—marrying a man she knew wouldn’t see his thirties. Their high school romance was something out of a tragic movie. She handled it all with grace—at least, that was how it looked from the outside.
Alice faced forward and forced herself to pay attention to the meeting. They started with the food vendors. They covered the calendar, and she noted the library fundraiser on the list.
Finally, the mayor asked if there was any other business. Alice raised her hand like she was in class, and she was called on.
“I—” Her voice was too small for this space, and everyone’s head swiveled in her direction so they could hear her better. “I have the volunteer sheet for the library fundraiser. If you could sign up, it would help out a lot.” She handed the clipboard to the woman in front of her and sat down, tucking her hands under her legs.
With her purpose fulfilled, she opened her book and started reading. She was lost in the world of musketeers and damsels in distress, and the time flew by. She came back to the room to find that the meeting had ended.
“Okay—can you set us up?”
