Maybe This Time(7)

“He’s seventeen. And no, he works with his dad. He does independent study.”

“How do you know all this?”

A piece of lettuce clung to the plate she was holding, and she shook it until it fell into the trash. “I read through the entire contract last night when my dad told me he’d actually won. And then I spent hours on the internet compiling every bit of information I could find from past participants.”

Of course she had. Micah would want to know every detail of everything to help her process this news. Which was probably why her dad hadn’t said anything until he actually knew if it was happening or not.

“And what did you conclude?” I asked, still not able to tell if she was fully on board with the whole plan.

“I think it might actually work. Jett has turned other businesses around.”

“And you’re okay?” I asked, studying her. “You seemed upset earlier.”

“I’m good. I was just stressed because Jett and my dad were arguing.”

“I don’t get it. If your dad applied for this, how come he is fighting the changes?”

“I think he thought Jett would show up and be like, ‘Wow, you’re already amazing, here’s my name and a million dollars.’ ”

“Really?”

“Well, no, not exactly, but something like that.” She turned to face me. “I thought you’d be more excited about this.”

“Sorry, you’re right, I am. I wasn’t sure if you were, so I was hesitant. But this is cool. I hope it works out for your family.”

She waved a dish at me. “No, not excited for us, but thank you. I mean, excited for you.”

I frowned. “Why would I be excited for me?”

“Do you know how many connections Jett Hart must have?” she said, her brown eyes sparkling. “He’s worked in Hollywood; he’s lived in London and New York. New York, Sophie! This guy could be an in for you.”

My mind spun. Jett Hart would definitely have connections to the food industry, but to the fashion industry? Hmm. Maybe he’d cooked for some big-name designers or fashion-magazine editors. Maybe he could score me an internship or, at the very least, a contact. “I hadn’t thought of that. You might be right.”

“You’re welcome,” she said.

I grabbed the spool of ribbon and scissors as my mind replayed the events of the evening. “Do you think Andrew is going to tell his dad what I said about him?”

Micah shook her head. “I doubt it. He might be a spoiled pretty boy, but he doesn’t seem like the type to go running to daddy.”

“Spill,” I said. Micah had been researching for hours the night before, so she’d obviously discovered some things about Andrew too. If I had to put up with this guy for a year, I wanted to know exactly who I was dealing with.

Micah put another plate in the tray and straightened up. “Not much to tell. He and his dad have lived in seven different places in the last seven years.”

“Is that the excuse he uses for his personality?”

The door pushed open and Jett Hart and Mr. Williams stepped through, cutting our gossip session short.

“Sophie!” Mr. Williams said, pulling some mixing bowls out of a box on the island. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too.”

Jett Hart went over to the fridge and began collecting ingredients. I watched him skeptically. Was Micah right? Could he be the key to both the Williams family’s future and mine? My heart doubled its speed as my brain tried to think of something clever and memorable to say to him. Jett, holding an armful of food, headed straight for me. I froze, my mouth halfway open.

He paused at the counter, which was strewn with the gift bag materials. “What is this?” he demanded.

“Favors?” I responded unhelpfully.

A carton of whipping cream tucked under his left arm began slipping. “Well, move it,” he growled.

I jumped into action, sliding the completed bags down the counter to make room. Micah came to my side and helped me transfer them into the boxes on the floor.

“I don’t have all day,” Jett barked, using his foot to shove my box out of the way.

The tension on Micah’s face and the thought of my future kept a rude response from spilling out of my mouth. I had a year. An entire year to win him over.





Events were often spent putting out mini fires. Tonight, that meant helping Mrs. White deal with the sauce she’d spilled all over her blouse and making sure that Mr. Langston didn’t eat the confetti he sprinkled onto his food because he thought it was some sort of topping.

But my favorite part of the Valentine’s Dinner was happening right now.

Caroline stood at the front of the room with a microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen!” she began. “Before dessert is served, it’s time for the eligible bachelor auction. Get your Willow Falls bucks ready. You can purchase a date to share your dessert with, or perhaps to dance with, tonight.”

I helped some of the older men form a line next to Caroline, then stepped back to watch the auction start. It didn’t take me long to realize there were going to be more eligible men than women. Some women were bidding on more than one man, which I found both fun and funny. But when the last man, Mr. John Farnsworth, went to the front, I knew he’d be a hard sell. John was notoriously grumpy, and the women in the audience were already talking with their new dates, men they’d probably known for over a decade. This was a tradition, though, and this town was crazy about their traditions.