Page 8 of Clued in to Love
Marissa fiddled with the zipper on her parka.
What is wrong with me?
“Not bad. You’ve got a decent eye.” The woman moved slightly to get a better look at the food tables, studying Marissa’s work as if she were appraising an expensive piece of jewelry.After a minute, she reached into a red leather clutch and handed Marissa a business card. “My winery is one of the featured stops for the Passport to the Holidays. I might have some work for you.”
“Great.” Marissa took the creamy business card, instantly smudging it with her sticky fingers. She recognized the winery—Smith Rock Wines. It was one of the most exclusive tasting rooms in Bend.
“I’ll be back in a minute, Wills. It sounds like you have business to deal with, and I need a refresher.” The woman breezed past Marissa, clearly sizing up her stained clothes and frazzled hair. “Give me a call, and we can chat. I’d obviously need to see some other samples of your work.”
William stepped over the broken glass. “What do we owe you? My mom is getting ready. This is her party and domain, but I can at least write you a check.”
Marissa cleared her throat and handed him the invoice she had prepared earlier.
“Come with me,” William said. He took her through the other side of the ballroom, past a library that looked like it was straight out ofBeauty and the Beast. They continued down a spacious corridor to a study with its own Christmas tree and a small fire burning in the hearth. The room smelled of mistletoe and smoke.
Do people actually live like this?
Marissa felt like she’d been transported into the pages of a real-life fairy tale. She could easily lose herself in a room like this. She drank in the aroma of the fire and the bookcases lining the walls. Heavy gold and maroon spines stretched up to the ceiling. Were the books real or props?
William walked behind an intimidating mahogany desk and opened the top drawer. He retrieved a check and began filling it out without saying more.
“I overheard you talking about Passport to the Holidays. My cousin just texted me about it,” Marissa said as she made sure he was putting down the right amount. “Are they really giving away that much cash this year?”
He paused and looked up at her. “Yeah, why?”
She cleared her throat. “I hadn’t heard that. Don’t they usually give out engraved wine glasses, T-shirts, and, like, lift tickets to Mt. Bachelor or something?”
“Yeah. This year they’re going all in.” Even in his funky bright red suit, he looked at ease behind the expensive desk. He exuded a natural confidence as he signed the check, studying her. “The new president of the Chamber of Commerce is trying to make it a big thing. That’s a good amount of cash.”
Marissa couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, I know.”
He scowled and stood up. “What does that mean?”
“I’m just surprisedyouthink that’s a lot of cash, given that you livehere.” She swept her hand around the room.
He lowered his head and started to respond when there was a knock at the door. “William, sorry to interrupt. Your mother is looking for you,” a staff member said.
How many people do the Graff family employ?
William walked around to the other side of the desk and held out the check for her. They stood a foot apart, but Marissa could smell his earthy aftershave. It reminded her of the pine-scented forest and fresh snow. He held her gaze for a minute, looking like he wanted to say more.
“Your check, Grazing Table.” He pressed it into her hand. His fingers brushed against hers, just enough to cause a spark zipping up her arm.
Marissa could feel another flush creeping across her face. She wanted to flee but fought the urge.
William gave her a half bow, his lips curling into a maddening half smile. “Maybe I’ll see you around. Next time I’ll be sure to wear my battle gear.” With that, he left.
And then he was gone, leaving her flustered, flushed, and holding onto the check.
She folded it in half, tucked it in her pocket, and made a beeline for the exit.
That was a disaster.
But at least this will keep my bank account from going into the negative.
Marissa was going to deposit the check and then head straight home to figure out how to get a passport. She had a new mission—win the prize money and invest it in Yes, Cheese, so she could expand it into a viable, sustainable business. She knew without a doubt that an influx of capital would allow her to flourish and fully realize her dream. Sharing her love and passion for food brought her immeasurable joy, and she wanted—needed—to share that joy broadly. It might sound silly to someone like William Graff, but cheese was her happy place, and if she could find a way to carve out a little happiness by passing that on, she would consider it a major success.
FIVE
