Cream of the Crop (13 page)

But I certainly wasn't bouncing out of my seat because I'd be meeting with Myra Davis, owner of the Klip 'n' Kurl, a third-­generation beautician and proprietor of the town's hottest beauty spot. Or with Homer Albano, owner of the hardware store on Main Street, who'd been handing out homemade popcorn along with his wrenches and hammers since 1957.

I was bouncing and humming and practically climbing out of my skin because I was going to hopefully, probably see Oscar again. And the thought was driving me mad.

I wasn't unfamiliar with the one-night stand; I'd indulged a time or two or several. The term implied, “Hey, let's scratch this itch and then go our separate ways, but thanks for the orgasm.” Or multiple orgasms, if you were lucky.

But I was coming back to the scene of the one-night stand. The
one
-
afternoon-getting-thoroughly-worked-over-in-the-barn
stand. And I wanted more.

I craved him, simple as that. When I just saw him at the farmers' market, I was free to make up any backstory I wanted about him. Now he was real. Now I knew enough to know I wanted to know more.

Had he thought about me this week? Had he been at work concentrating on something really boring but necessary, and then an image of my naked body shot across his imagination?

I squeezed my hands into fists, channeling the tension I could feel running through my body. It had been ages since I'd been this worked up about a man, and I needed to keep it in check.

I spent another near-sleepless night tossing and turning at Roxie's. I appreciated the guest room; I appreciated the comfortable bed even with the squeaks and creaks. But honestly, how the hell did anyone sleep in this town with all that racket outside? I was finding some earplugs while I was in town today.

Friday morning in Bailey Falls dawned clear and crisp, and before I could say howdy-do I was bouncing along the rutted country roads next to Roxie, eating one of her cinnamon biscuits and marveling at how blue the sky was when you could actually see the sky. Not that there was anything wrong with the sky behind the Chrysler Building, but it just wasn't the same.

“Did you tell Trudy thanks for letting us host the meeting at the diner?” I asked, sipping from a travel mug of my special-roast coffee. After the disaster at the coffee shop last weekend, I came prepared this weekend, getting off the train last night with a smile and two pounds of Colombian gold coffee.

“You can tell her yourself, my mom can't wait to see you. She's officially pissed that you didn't stop by last weekend to see her. She said, and I quote, ‘Tell that city snot to get her ass in to my diner or I'll send Bert after her.'”

“Who the hell is Bert?”

As we turned onto Main Street, Roxie pointed to an ancient cop car sitting in front of city hall. “Bert. Chief of police, coach of the women's bowling team, champion Scrabble player eleven years running, and unofficial number-one flunky willing to do anything my mother asks, on account of the giant crush he's had on her since they were paired together for square dancing in seventh-grade physical education.”

“Wow, that's specific,” I said, peering out the window at the grizzled-looking old man in the cop car peering back at me. “Did he just wave at me?”

“Looks like my mom has already alerted him about the new girl in town. Nice of her, wasn't it?”

“Fucking Mayberry,” I muttered, while Roxie laughed. We pulled into a spot right in front of Callahan's, the diner that had been in Roxie's family for three generations. When Roxie was running the diner last summer she'd made a few updates to the menu, most of which Trudy kept when she returned home from her world tour and realized that even the oldest recipes can be tweaked and brought into the new century.

I hopped down from the Jeep, pausing a moment to straighten out my black pencil skirt and make sure that my button-down had the correct number of buttons
un
buttoned. I didn't know if Oscar would be making an appearance at the town meeting this morning, but my cleavage and I wanted to be prepared.

“Natalie Grayson, get your sweet buns in here and give me a hug,” I heard booming from the behind the counter before I'd even made it inside the front door. All eyes swiveled to me as Trudy Callahan—grown-up hippie and Salisbury steak dynamo—came barreling across the linoleum to hug me tightly.

“Hiya, Trudy, how are you?” I asked, wondering how someone so small could be so powerful.

“We are just
so
excited you're here! A big-shot city ad lady coming to talk to us about our little town? Couldn't be more tickled! Now you sit over here. I cleared the corner booth for you; what can I bring you? Cuppa joe? Eggs? Slice of ham? Slice of pie?” Trudy would have given me the entire menu, but by now Roxie had caught up with us and was leading her back behind the counter.

The two of them were knee-deep in an argument about why the sign Featuring Zombie Cakes had been moved from the front window when Chad Bowman appeared, radiant in North Face fleece and perfectly pressed jeans. “Hi, how's it going?”

“Good, really good, just wanted to get here a few minutes early and get some things set up. Are you expecting people to be on time this morning?” I started stacking some notepads and pens on the table, getting a few of my graphs together that I'd pulled from the local census about who and what comprised the town.

“Are you kidding? They're all here already,” he replied, helping me pop up my easel. “Nice charts, by the way.”

“I don't see anyone,” I said, looking over my shoulder and just seeing a crowd full of diner customers.

“Trudy closed down the diner this morning to everyone but chamber of commerce members. Everyone here is a business owner, here to see what the woman from New York is going to tell us about how to generate business for our little town.”

“Wait, what?” I asked, now seeing the diner customers for what they really were. In between coffee sips and breakfast eats, they were already assessing, calculating, wondering what I might have up my sleeve.

I could handle this. I'd faced down boardrooms filled with the toughest sharks the advertising world had to offer. Titans of industry. Masters of the universe.

Turns out they were nothing compared to Myra, the owner of the Klip 'n' Kurl.

I spent the better part of the morning asking and answering questions from a group of townspeople as excited and fired up as I'd ever seen. They all had very specific ideas about what needed to happen in order to make Bailey Falls a destination town. They were open to new ideas, but they wanted to make sure they retained the small-town atmosphere that had been created over the years, that no new weekenders were going to ruin a good thing. But of course money talks, and the possible new streams of revenue that could be brought into the town by some new blood was attractive to all.

I'd printed some of the photos I'd taken the weekend before and displayed them around the diner, giving them a taste of what a Natalie Grayson campaign would look and feel like. I went through possible layouts in regional and national magazines, showed them examples of featured columns I'd orchestrated for other clients in newspapers like the
New York Times,
the
Boston Globe,
the
Philadelphia Inquirer,
and
the
Washington Post
.

I'd brought my iPad and was able to screen a few of the commercials I'd put together to give them an idea of what I was capable of. And when the people of Bailey Falls began to realize that some of them could be featured in a commercial just like the ones I showed them, they began to get excited.

So excited, in fact, that Norma from the florist and Arnold from the pizza place suggested that Bailey Falls host a screening party the night of the premiere.

“Um, what premiere exactly are they talking about?” I whis
pered to Chad, who'd been passing out pencils for the questionnaire I'd just circulated.

“Oh, they're pretty sure that if there's a commercial they'll need to have a premiere party, just to make sure everyone knows how fabulous they are.”

“Usually the screening takes place in my office, and the client Skypes in,” I said, listening as the chatter grew louder and more excited.

“Yeah, no. Eugene from the firehouse just offered up the barn at the end of Main Street. You just planned a barn dance and you didn't even know it.”

I laughed, loving that they'd gotten so carried away. “I take it I'm officially hired, then?”

“You brought charts. They love charts. You're hired.” He nodded, draping an arm around me and tucking me into his side. And as I watched, I could feel a sense of belonging, feeling a part of something even though I'd been here only twice.

If I could capture that feeling, I'd be able to sell this place to even the most cynical.

While I was woolgathering, Chad had waved someone over and was waiting to introduce me.

“Natalie Grayson, this is Archie Bryant, of the Bryant Mountain House.”

“Ms. Grayson, nice to meet you. I'm sorry I missed the beginning of your presentation, but I'd love to talk to you about your plans for bringing additional tourist revenue into the town, and hopefully up to our mountain, as well.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Bryant. I've heard wonderful things about your resort; I can't wait to come for a tour.” I shook his hand, looking up into deep indigo eyes. Paired with wavy auburn hair and a handsome face, Archie Bryant was good-looking in an almost old-fashioned way. “I've done a bit of research al
ready on your hotel. It's been in your family for five generations, right?”

“I'm the fifth,” he replied, an expression of pride crossing his strong, elegant features. “Call my office anytime; I'm happy to arrange a tour for you when you're able to come up.”

“That'd be wonderful,” I agreed, thanking him for coming and wondering again what the hell was in the water that made these men so damn good-looking.

“I hope you can drive some traffic up there,” Chad said as Archie began shaking hands and chatting with some of the other business owners from town. He seemed to know everyone, seemed friendly enough, but there was something a bit reserved about him. Not quite chilly, but certainly on the cool side.

“Oh, have they been slow?”

“Yep, my niece works the phones in their reservations department, and they're having some trouble keeping the rooms filled.”

“Are you kidding? The pictures I've seen are gorgeous!” I'd Googled Bryant Mountain House while doing my initial information gathering on tourist destinations in and around Bailey Falls, and this place was stunning. Perched on a glacial lake and cut into the side of a mountain, it was epic.

And built in a different time, for a different era, when people vacationed differently.

Hmm . . . I wondered if I could bring in my friend Clara to consult . . .

The meeting went on for another hour or so, with me fielding questions about this and that, me asking questions about this and that, getting a feel for the pulse of this town and its DNA. And as things finally wound down and Trudy began ushering everyone out so she could get going on the lunch service, I felt the air change in the room. Every molecule in my body froze, then turned toward the front door.

Oscar had arrived.

I'd wondered if he was going to show up. He was a business owner, he had a stake in how things went in this town, and he was a responsible and upstanding, if somewhat grouchy, member of this community, so it made sense that he should be here.

Plus I'd worn a pencil skirt just for him. And since he'd been inside me only a week before and chanting my name, wasn't it only natural he'd want to show up and see how cute I looked?

People waved when they saw him, others slapped him on the back as they left. His eyes never left mine. It was unlike any other feeling, having those deep gray-blue eyes fixated solely on me. I could tell he appreciated the heels and the way they shaped my calves. The skirt alone earned a tick from that scarred eyebrow. His nostrils flared as I knew they would when he spied the carefully unbuttoned button-down, and I could feel down to my toes how much he was thinking about popping the rest of those buttons and going to town.