Cream of the Crop (Hudson Valley, #2)(20)
“And you are definitely Chad Bowman. You’re as gorgeous as Roxie described.”
“Back at you—she gave me the lowdown on you as well. As soon as you strutted through the door, I knew it was you,” he said, pulling out a stool for me.
“I don’t strut.” I gracefully lowered myself onto the seat. Adjusting, I winked. “Okay, maybe a little. I prefer to think of it as sashaying.”
“Either or, you’re killing me with the shoes,” he said, gesturing to my heels. “How many accidents did you cause walking in here this morning?”
I thought back to the two blocks I walked after parking the Jeep. A couple of dropped jaws from some teenage guys, one shy wave from the little old man at the barbershop I sauntered past, and a whistle from the gentleman who was walking out of the butcher, right before he dropped his pork loin. Nothing crass like I’d get in the city, no hoots or hollers—but definitely some nice, respectable ogling. “A few near misses, but no fender benders.”
“I can imagine.” He ordered up two coffees and I pulled out my things to get started.
I studied him while he interacted with the server, talking to her, not at her. Something that I made a mental note of. He was handsome in that “is he real?” sort of way that all high school crushes are made from. I imagined him and Roxie back in the day, her fawning all over this godlike creature, and him causing heart failure everywhere he went.
The diner was packed with a steady breakfast crowd; everything from singles to couples, moms and babies, and a pair of grumpy old men who sidled up to the counter looking so old that the town was probably built on their backs.
Ideas had started swirling late last night when I was flipping through local commercials. You learn a lot from the ads that small towns create. From the small fifteen seconds of Karla’s Klip ’n’ Kurl to the robust ads that the Bryant Mountain House put out to court the weekender, this town had a little bit for everyone. The plan was coming together.
“So tell me, what do you think of our little Bailey Falls?” Chad said, blowing on his hot coffee before taking a sip.
“It’s darling, but you know that,” I started, eyeing up the pie case. There was a slice of awesome that would go just right with my diner coffee. “I don’t mean that in a condescending way, either. It’s truly a little spot of perfect, nestled in the mountains. The scenery on the train ride up is worth any price of admission.”
Chad beamed, much like Roxie did when she got all moony and pie-eyed talking about the town. Having been away from it for so long, she’d been convinced that she’d hate it when she’d returned for the summer. Get in and get out was her goal, but it hooked her and didn’t let go. It wouldn’t be for everyone in long doses—but in short?
More of the puzzle pieces were falling into place.
“I’m glad you see the potential. The town is a huge part of our lives. My husband, Logan, comes from a small town, so when I brought him home for the first time he absolutely fell in love with Bailey Falls, and we immediately started making plans to move our business here.
“We brought you in to show everyone why this is a great weekend destination or summer hot spot. I see it. The town sees it. But you saying that you see it is really very validating.”
My heart pitter-pattered, the way it always did when I was excited about a project. “Things are percolating, but I need to see more of what I’m working with first,” I said, waving over the waitress. “We’ll take two slices of whatever your best dessert is, please.”
With a quick nod, she examined the full glass case. Choosing two slices, she plated them and hustled over. “Hummingbird Cake. Roxie’s specialty.”
“They feature Zombie Cakes here, too? I’m surprised Callahan’s didn’t try to put a lock-down on sharing the family love with the competitor,” I mused. Roxie’s mom must have had a fit when her daughter started plying her wares around town and not just within the confines of Callahan’s Diner.
I didn’t just moan around the fork. I eye-rolled, legs-clenched, and obscenely licked every last stitch of frosting from the fork. Poor, adorable Chad Bowman looked like I just asked him to motorboat my lady bits in front of his husband.
“Good goddamn, that woman can bake a f*cking cake,” I moaned around another mouthful.
Chad shifted in his seat, smothering a laugh. “Yes, yes she can.”
I finished the cake without further embarrassing poor Chad, who couldn’t stop staring at my mouth after seeing me defile the fork. I made a mental note to have Roxie start shipping me Hummingbird Cakes once a week in the city.
We chatted a bit longer about the hopes for the town. He explained that the town council was trusting him with this venture to take Bailey Falls in a new direction in terms of advertising, and that he’d do damn near anything to make sure it worked.
“You’re in good hands, Chad. I’ve landed more accounts for Manhattan Creative this year, or the last three years, than any other account executive. My initial approach is simple: get to know Bailey Falls in and out. Top to bottom and everything in between. I want to know what makes this town tick, and why it should be the destination for city dwellers, retirees, and families. This place seems to have it all, and we just need to make sure that everyone knows it.”
Chad thought for a moment, then smiled big at me. “Normally I’d just shake your hand and tell you to get to work, but because of the Roxie connection, I feel like I want to hug you.”