Page 1 of Love in the Time of Conversation Hearts

“Are we thinking toupée or hair implants?”

I tilt my head thoughtfully, and Dorothy mirrors the gesture. We’re eyeing Councilman Roberts, whose sparse cul-de-sac suddenly grew bushes overnight.

With a mouthful of the black-and-white cookie Dorothy brought from her bakery for the forum, I mumble, “Toupée. Definitely.”

She shakes her head, silver hair brushing her flour-dusted blouse as she does. “Thought so. Why can’t people just accept that they’re getting old?”

I elbow my friend and meet her gaze with a smile. “Because we don’t all age as gracefully as you, my dear.”

Her snort draws the attention of Mayor Adam Sullivan, who scowls at us over his shoulder. He’s just a few years older than me but has silver speckles taking root among the brown of his close-cut facial hair. A line forms between his brows, and I can practically hear him admonishing me in his thoughts. It takes all my strength to ignore the instinct to stick my tongue out at him. At thirty-two, I shouldn’t be resorting to such childish antics, but I can’t help it. The man infuriates me.

First of all, he’s a part-time mayor who takes this job way too seriously. In his real life, he works in financial risk management, and every ounce of boring energy he can siphon from that role into this one, he does. Especially when it assists him in raining on my parade.

As the Director of Tourism for Heartsong, California—the town I’ve lived in and loved for my entire life—it’s my job to keep this ship not only running, but thriving. And the way to do that isn’t through tightening our purse strings at any suggestion of fun, though Adam seems to think that’s the case.

Hence why we’re gathered in the gymnasium of Heartsong Elementary. Lionel Roberts and the rest of the city council fill the stage, where six wooden chairs have been arranged in a semi-circle. A microphone stand is their focal point. Another has been placed to the left of where Dorothy and I sit at the end of the aisle to allow for guest speakers. Above the heads of the council, adorable, messy, and clearly student-created Valentine’s Day decorations hang precariously from string, signaling the start to my favorite holiday.

Today’s topic? What to do with the grant I won in December.

I shuffle the stack of papers in my lap, ensuring their edges perfectly line up. There’s page after page of research into why beautification is the way to drive tourist numbers and, in turn, revenue for the town. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since I got the email that we’d won the grant.

That and the upcoming Heartsong Valentine’s Day fundraiser, but now is not the time.

“Just so you know, Cora, the fact that I’m going to win is nothing personal.” Adam drapes an arm over the back of the empty seat to his right and turns in his chair to look at me. His sleeve is rolled up to his elbow, exposing corded forearms that do nothing but piss me off. How dare a man in finance have those kinds of muscles?

“Just so you know, Mayor Sullivan, Cora is gonna kick your ass.”

“Dorothy!” I whisper-shout. But I can’t help it; I’m also smiling a mile wide. I am going to kick his ass. It was my hard work that won the grant in the first place. He and the council wouldn’t have even known about it if I hadn’t been searching diligently for options to get the funding I needed. Funding meant to improve the city I love, not the roads leading into it that function perfectly as they are.

Adam quirks a brow. His gray eyes are amused but not surprised. Everyone in town knows Dorothy Shelley. Her pastries may be sweet, but she’s as spicy as they come. And fiercely loyal when it comes to her friends.

Speaking of my friends… “Where’s Lauren? I thought she was going to be here tonight.”

Lauren Alcott is not only my oldest and best friend, but her family also owns one of the largest attractions in Heartsong. Alcott Family Winery has been a staple in the community for two generations, with Lauren set to take the helm after her parents. For now, she manages the daily tasks and finances at the winery and functions as the liaison to the Heartsong Department of Tourism. Not to mention, she keeps me and the rest of our friends supplied with more vino than any one person should drink.

“Wine emergency,” Dorothy mutters. “Don’t ask.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’d like to get started.” Councilman Roberts audibly presses his lips to the microphone as he speaks, and I cringe internally. The man is pushing seventy but refuses to give up his seat on the council. “As you all know, this forum has been called to help decide how Heartsong will utilize the improvement grant we were awarded in early December. Two possible proposals have been submitted. One by Cora Bennet, and the other by Mayor Adam Sullivan.”

Adam winks at me, then mouths, “Good luck.” I’m tempted to poke him in that eye with my pen.

Roberts adjusts his slipping toupée. “Mayor, if you’d like to open the discussion?”

“What happened to ladies first?” I grumble.

Dorothy stops fiddling with her glasses and chuckles. “Burned it with our bras in the sixties, I’m afraid.”

Adam saunters up to the microphone. There’s no other word for the way he moves. His long legs close the distance in no time. He’s the picture of confidence as he folds the lone piece of paper he’s been carrying and tucks it into the back pocket of his gray slacks. When he addresses the council, it’s with his light brown hair perfectly coiffed and hands relaxed at his sides. The man thinks he’s got this in the bag.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the council, the basis of my proposal is simple. We cannot generate revenue for this great town if that money has difficulty getting here in the first place. The two-lane road leading into Heartsong from I-80 needs widening if it is to support the growing number of tourists we all desire. Best to do it now, so we are prepared when Ms. Bennet’s grand ideas inevitably put our home on the map. If success is a pyramid, expanding these roads is the foundational layer, and as such should be our highest priority.”

Was that a compliment sandwiched in there? “Does he seriously think placating me will earn him my support?”

“If he does, he certainly doesn’t know you very well.” Dorothy’s gaze drifts ever so slightly lower, and she grunts. “Boy, does his rump look good in those slacks. I’d cast him as my Christian Grey.”

“I regret ever allowing Fifty Shades into the sacred space that is our book club.”

She snickers. “I don’t.”