Page 11 of Small Town Schemes & Summer Kisses
“Two conditions,” she replied, with a stubborn tilt to her chin. “You actually show up.”
“Deal,” he replied.
“Have a seat.” She motioned to the chair in front of her desk.
He watched her for a minute before sinking into a chair on the opposite side of the desk, sipping from his coffee cup.
“You okay over there?” he asked.
“What makes you ask?”
“Because you’re holding your highlighter like a weapon.”
She blinked, looked down at the neon-yellow marker clutched in her hand, and slowly set it aside.
“It’s this gala,” she admitted. “There’s a lot riding on it.”
“You don’t say.”
Scowling, she tapped her fingers on her desk. “The town needs a win, Beckett.”
He put the cup down and leaned back in the seat, arms crossed, and eyes softened. “You need a win.”
She didn’t answer, but her fingers brushed the edge of the binder like she needed an anchor.
“So.” He cleared his throat. “What’s first?”
Caroline perked up, flipping the page with renewed purpose.
“Branding. Messaging. A cohesive online presence. A revised town motto that doesn’t rhyme with ‘clambake’ or ‘landquake’.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I am absolutely not.”
He chuckled and shook his head.
“Alright, Hollis. Let’s get to work.”
Five hours later, the binder was half the size it had been thanks to a ruthless purge, and Beck had contributed twelve sarcastic sticky notes and one potential tagline, which made her snort coffee out her nose.
“Bluebell Bay: We’ve Got Good Vibes and Adequate Parking.You think that’s the slogan we need, Beck?”
He flashed her a mischievous smile. “Tell me that won’t bring in millennials.”
“You’re deranged.”
“You’re welcome.”
She had slipped off her heels, and they rested carelessly beneath the desk. He enjoyed seeing Caroline like this. Her hair loose around her shoulders, a pen gently tapping her cheek, and her cheeks flushed a soft pink from their spirited debate about fonts. She was the perfect blend of passion, elegance, and chaos wrapped in a blazer.
He was getting way deeper than he had planned.
As she flexed her toes, it stirred something in him he hadn’t felt in a long time.Something deeply inconvenient.Beck, in a split second, found himself unreasonably distracted with the delicate arch of her foot, the polished red nails, and the way her foot moved as if keeping tempo with her ambition. He shifted, uncomfortable with the sudden tension in the room and what it stirred in him.
“Get to the good stuff,” he said, turning his attention to the binder instead of the ridiculous and distracting effect of her toes.
“Focus,” she quipped, as if reading his mind.
