“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 already 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.
He walked toward me, and the diner disappeared. I couldn’t hear the waitresses cackling with Roxie’s mom, I couldn’t hear the orders being called out. I was vaguely aware of “I Can’t Get Next to You” playing on the jukebox, and my brain granted me exactly one second of mental clarity to acknowledge that the song was perfect for this moment before slipping back into appreciation for a slow-walking Oscar.