She could see he’d caught the slight edge to her voice and that it had surprised him. Well, his archaic attitude rubbed her wrong.
“I’m simply saying it’s important to me that you always look your best when we’re out together. If I decide to run for office, and it’s looking that way, your attire and actions will be a direct reflection on me.”
“First, if you do decide to be a candidate, you’ll be running for the state legislature, not for President of the United States.” Though she considered the whole conversation ridiculous, she kept her voice low in deference to his position in the community. “Second, I’m not your steady girlfriend or your wife.”
She didn’t get a chance to say more because Tom Coffey, Chet’s political advisor, appeared. “The photographer I brought along wants to speak with you. I think he’d like to get some shots of you mingling with the churchgoing crowd.”
Tom, a slender man with a receding hairline, shot Hope an apologetic look. “I’m afraid I have to steal him away for a while.”
Hope simply smiled. She remained in line, chatting with an older couple standing next to her. She was nearing the long, rectangular tables holding large Crock-Pots filled with soups when Amity strolled up.
“You don’t mind if I join my friend, do you?” She shot the couple in line behind Hope a blinding smile.
“Certainly not, young lady.” The portly older man appeared enchanted by Amity, who looked angelic in a surprisingly demure white cotton eyelet dress. “We’ll all reach the same place. As long as you don’t take all the chili, I’ll be happy.”
“We’ll make sure to leave plenty,” Hope assured him.
“Unless I’m unable to resist temptation.” Amity gave the man a teasing wink.
He cackled.
Amity smiled, then shifted her attention back to Hope. “Surprised to see me?”
“I am,” Hope said. “What are you doing here?”
“Verna mentioned this little shindig when I ran into her in the market this afternoon.” Amity’s smile flashed. “She sold me a ticket while I was a captive audience in the checkout lane.”
“I bet she got you to toss in a little more for the youth group’s trip to Haiti.”
“She’s a salesperson, your aunt. She’s always got her fingers in some pie.”
Hope opened her mouth, prepared to tell Amity about Aunt Verna’s Mistletoe Inn idea, when John entered the room. Dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved henley, he fit in with the casually attired crowd more than Chet did in his dress shirt, trousers, and Ferragamo loafers.
Amity followed the direction of Hope’s gaze and let out a low whistle. “Ooh la la. He’s a real hottie. Do you know him?”
“That’s John Burke, Verna’s foster son.” Hope fought to keep her voice casual as John’s eyes met hers and he started across the room. “I’ve mentioned him to you. He just moved back to Harmony.”
Since Amity had only recently moved to town, it wasn’t surprising she’d never met John.
When he reached them, Hope performed quick introductions, then decided to be polite. “Will you join us?”
He hesitated. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“You won’t be intruding. Hope and I are best friends.” Amity offered him a brilliant smile. “Since you two are already friends, that means I should know you too.”
John looked amused. “Is that how it works?”
“Absolutely,” Amity said with a decisive nod. “Hope said you just moved back. But she didn’t tell me much else. Are you an accountant too?”
“Hardly.” As John began to explain his work as an artist, Hope was impressed he’d been able to support himself by doing something so unusual.
“I’d love to see your work sometime,” Amity said. “I’m a big fan of Boris Kramer’s art.”
“Really?” John appeared surprised by her knowledge. “My stuff is more along the lines of Karen Cusolito. She and I both do a lot of work with mixed media, but mine is on a much smaller scale. Her sculptures weigh tons and often need to be set by a crane. I’m not quite at that point yet.”
“What is mixed media?” Hope found herself drawn into the conversation despite her desire to keep her distance.
“Just how it sounds,” John said, appearing pleased by her interest. “An artist uses a variety of media—for example, metal and wood—on a project.”
“I’d love to see what you’re working on now,” Hope said without thinking.
He smiled at her. “I’d love to show you.”
Amity asked several more questions before John was hailed by a friend from high school and left to speak with him and his wife.
Amity’s gaze followed him for several seconds, then she turned to Hope. “You’ve been holding out on me, Chickadee.”
Hope stared after the man who might still be her husband and sighed. “You have no idea.”