Page 13 of Clued in to Love
She started to take the roses from him, a touch of irritation she couldn’t control creeping into her tone. “What are you doing here?”
He looked at her like she’d just punched him in the stomach. “I came to cheer you on.” The bouquet fell to his side.
“Look, thanks, that’s sweet, but I don’t have time right now. Darby’s backing out on me. She was supposed to give a speech about the origin of the event and pay tribute to Jim. I slotted fifteen minutes for her. I’ve been running around trying to find someone to fill in.” The alarm on her watch blared again. She tapped it to silence the beeping. “And now I have ten minutes before I’m supposed to be on stage welcoming everyone.”
“Okay, calm down. Take a breath.” Ben inhaled through his nose like a yoga instructor.
She scowled. She wasn’t one of his clients and didn’t need a pep talk about “raising her vibration” and not sinking into stress right now.
“Why don’t you do it?” Ben suggested brightly.
“Me?” Hilary made a face. Cheerful melodies resonated through the winter landscape as people clapped with the band. She was running out of time.
“Yeah, you’ve been up until two or three in the morning for the last month prepping for this. I guarantee you there’s no one more qualified on the planet to talk about the history of the scavenger hunt.” Ben had shifted into coach mode. Pep talks were part of his DNA. He spent the bulk of his days cheering on his personal training clients. Hilary used to appreciate his endless enthusiasm. Lately, it annoyed her. She wished that he would let her feel sad about the twins. Instead, whenever missing the kids came up, he gave her his “you’ve got this” schtick he used to motivate his clients to jog an extra mile or lift ten more pounds.
“It’s supposed to be a tribute to Jim, though,” Hilary protested.
“Exactly.” Ben’s tone was upbeat, the ultimate cheerleader, sounding like he was rallying one of his personal training clients through one last brutal rep. “You’re a professional. Go up there and do your thing.”
She snuck another look at her watch. She was out of alternatives. Ben was right. Public speaking came naturally to her. It was a necessity as president of the Chamber of Commerce. It was more that she didn’t want to overstep. After all, she was only in this role because Jim had died.
“You’re right,” she admitted, hating that she couldn’t think of an alternative plan. Preparing for every possible outcome was usually her superpower. Not tonight. “I should go.”
“Wait, your flowers.” Ben lifted the bouquet and leaned in to kiss her.
Hilary turned at the exact moment. His kiss landed on her cheek. “Sorry, I really have to get up there.” She grabbed them and hurried away without another word or backward glance.
EIGHT
MARISSA
Marissa bounced from one foot to the other, trying to keep warm. It was cold. Really cold. Even with her fur-lined boots and parka, she had to half-dance to keep the blood flowing. Admittedly, it could have been nervous energy, too. After her run-in with William Graff, she had studied the official rules for Passport to the Holidays in detail. Teams could range in size from two to six members. Participants could enter their teams, or single players could be paired up. There was just one problem: Marissa was late to the game. Registration for new teams had already closed by the time she’d heard about the scavenger hunt and cash prize at the Graff party. She had two choices—join an existing team or sign up as a single player and be paired with someone at random.
Olivia, Marissa’s younger cousin, had invited her to join the team of high schoolers she was putting together. Marissa loved Olivia like a sister, but crashing a high school party seemed pretty pathetic. So, she had put her name in to be partnered with a stranger, hence the fact that she couldn’t contain her nervous energy as she scanned the festive park, wondering who she would be paired up with.
Please let it be someone good, Marissa begged silently, squeezing her way closer to the stage.
Her thoughts drifted to William. In the last few days since their unfortunate meeting, he would pop into her head at random moments, like an annoying holiday song playing on repeat.
She shook off the image of his dazzling grin and hideous Christmas sweater and spotted Olivia and her friends near the front the crowd. They were singing along to carols led by the high school choir. Olivia was a senior in high school and Marissa’s favorite cousin. She was wise beyond her years and presented like someone much more mature. Marissa might have been jealous of her if Olivia weren’t so genuinely sweet and earnest. At eighteen, Olivia already had college and long-term career plans, the kind of plans that made Marissa confident her cousin was destined for great things.
She and her teammates appeared to have coordinated their sequined ugly Christmas sweaters. Olivia’s was gold and green with dozens of miniature shiny ornaments sewn on the front. Marissa grinned, remembering her senior year, being on the cusp of adulthood without any responsibility or stress. At the time, Marissa never would have imagined that she’d be living off boxed mac and cheese and determined to do whatever it took to win Passport to the Holidays and the sledful of cash to save her fledgling business and not give up on her own dream.
Speaking of cash, the carols had stopped as a woman took the stage. Marissa inched nearer. The woman introduced herself as the president of the Chamber of Commerce and spoke about the man who had started the event a decade ago. Marissa noticed the woman tugged at her braids and wouldn’t stop fiddling with the microphone as she spoke. She seemed nervous, but then again, Marissa couldn’t blame her; she hated public speaking.
When the head of the Chamber invited his widow forward and greeted her with a large bouquet of roses, Marissa’s eyes misted. Yes, she wanted to win the money, but listening to the story of how Passport to the Holidays came to be and how many people had been involved in turning it into the experience it was today was a reminder of how lucky she was to live in this community.
Even more motivation to make Yes, Cheese a success.
The mayor spoke next. He oozed asshole politician vibes as he yanked the mic from the president of the Chamber. “Hello, hello, Bend. How are we doing tonight? I’m your friendly hometown mayor of over twenty-five years, running for re-election next year, so don’t forget to sign up for campaign reminders. It’s never too early to start thinking about how you intend to cast your vote.”
A woman nearby groaned.
“As Hilary explained, your city government has been working overtime to bring you Passport to the Holidays. We’ve got cold hard cash for one lucky team.” He stumbled a bit and caught himself.
Was he drunk?
Marissa wished he would wrap it up, but instead, he rattled on about his tenure as mayor. “Bend is your premier winter playground. Who’s here to play, people? Let me hear you.”
