Page 77 of The Oscar Escape
Heart-stopping, brain-scrambling, drive-you-half-mad romantic love.
Aria couldn’t stop a smile from blooming. That was exactly how she’d felt about Oscar.
“It’s the kind of love you captured in the song you played for us on the piano,” Niles added.
She reared back. “It is?”
“Oh yes, I heard it loud and clear—the yearning to discover one’s true love match and the joy of finding that love.”
Love match.
The breath caught in Aria’s throat. Those words carried immense weight to her and her friends. Madelyn Malone had spoken those very words to them as children.
Your matches have been made.
“And lobsters,” Del barked. “That’s why it’s called Love and Lobsters Festival. Nobody does lobster chowder better. Nobody catches lobsters the way we do—using the old ways. Tradition matters here. We can’t trust just anyone to—”
“To care for this place like you do?” Aria finished and eyed her critic.
Del looked out the window.
The judge dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “You’re confident that you can successfully promote the festival?”
“I am,” Aria answered.
“Could we use the song you played for us, Mrs. Elliott?” Roberta asked.
That was a terrific idea.
“Yes, absolutely.”
“It’s no small feat what you’re proposing,” the judge pressed.
Oscar rested his hand on her shoulder. “If Aria commits to something, she gives it one hundred and ten percent.”
She looked up and locked on to his gaze—so grateful that he understood she had to do this.
“And she won’t be doing it alone.” He unzipped his bag and removed his camera. He held it for the committee to see. “I’m a photographer and a documentarian. I can transform Aria’s vision into a video. I have the equipment. I’m familiar with what’s trending. I know what the media wants. It can be done. And I’m in.”
Aria beamed. “You’re sure?”
“I’m all in,” he answered, his voice raspy with emotion.
But she wasn’t done. Hopefully, he’d remain on board after what she was about to say.
She eyed the judge. “I do have one condition.”
Judge Harpswell perked up. “Are we negotiating?”
She maintained a cool demeanor. “Every businesswoman worth her salt negotiates. You wouldn’t want my help if I didn’t.”
He studied her. “Name the conditions.”
“Agree to reduce my sentence, and . . .” She looked at Oscar. “Andwe’llmake sure your festival is a success.”
The judge sat back in his chair. “You think you can sell a thousand tickets in a matter of days?”
“Yes.”
