Page 32 of The Fine Art of Faking It
Our goal is a noble one: to make our community as happy, and therefore as secure and peaceful, as humanly possible. To accomplish such ends, we dedicate our energies to joining single citizens in love matches carefully orchestrated to the benefit of both parties and Blue Moon.
You have been chosen to join our ranks to uphold this magnificent, magnanimous cause. It is an honor you won’t soon forget.
With Warm Regards,
Bruce Oakleigh
Beautification Committee President
14
Snack time was one of the highlights of Eden’s days as an inn keeper. While some inns touted fancy tea time, Blue Moon stood for no such arrogance. Every day at 4 p.m. guests were treated to cookies and pastries and alcohol. It was a happy hour with baked goods. And it was quite popular.
Eden hurried onto the sun porch where a roaring fire warmed the room. Her tray was overflowing with pecan tassies, apple tarts, and cheesecake cookie cups. She smiled when she noticed that half of her guests were already here, laughing and mingling. The smile froze on her face when she noticed Davis in the corner pouring wine.Hiswine. With her dogs staring adoringly up at him. Chewy put his head on Davis’s foot under the table.Traitors.
She’d been avoiding him since overhearing Eva on the phone with the Beautification Committee. Eden didn’t see where it was any of his business that he was the other half of her intended match. This was a situation she could handle on her own.
“Now, this one is our Riesling,” Davis said, handing Billie Sue a plastic cup with a healthy slosh of white wine in it. “You’ll be able to pick up on the tree fruit notes and maybe a hint of mango. It pairs best with savory dishes like a pork roast. Ah, Eden, perfect timing! I hope you don’t mind if I offer your guests a private tasting?”
“How lovely,” she said wrestling the sarcasm out of her tone. It wasn’t her guests’ fault that they were being served free wine by a penis-packing closet jerk.
Davis, blissfully unaware of her murderous thoughts, leaned across the table and snatched one of the cheesecake cookies from her tray. “Here, Billie Sue. Try it now.”
Billie Sue nibbled at the cookie and took a dainty sip of the wine. Her green eyes rolled back in her head, painted eyebrows arching toward her hair line. “Oh. My. God. Sebastian! Come try this,” she bellowed over her shoulder.
Eden tried to telegraph her rage through her eyeballs to Davis, but he was too busy entertaining her guests. They were all bellied up to his makeshift bar, asking questions and sampling.
“What a nice young man,” Mrs. Hasselbeck, a sub-five-foot tall grandmother of seventeen, sighed as she shuffled by with her walker. “They sure don’t make ‘em like that anymore.”
Eden bit back a sigh. Nothing in the world could make her argue with a guest. Not even when the guest was profoundly and painfully wrong. “No, I guess they don’t,” she agreed.
“My granddaughter’s boyfriend has a neck piercing and calls her his ‘old lady’.” Mrs. Hasselbeck leaned in conspiratorially. “I hit him with my scooter at Easter. Pretended it got stuck in gear.”
Eden couldn’t hold back her laugh. “I’m sure he deserved it.”
“He’s a douchewagon, as the kids are saying these days. Not like that handsome Davis. Smart, charming, funny. And easy on the eyes.” Mrs. Hasselbeck took her glasses off and cleaned them on the hem of her sweater where donkeys paraded across her chest. “He just needs a good woman to help him pick better clothing.”
Davis was still rocking a horrific collection of thrift store finds until he was cleared to drive. Today his turtleneck could be described as a horrific mix of grey, green, and beige and was untucked over a pair of low-rise, orange corduroy trousers that sat snuggly on his hips. They made a whisper sound every time he took a step.
“Maybe he’ll be lucky enough to find one someday,” Eden said. Why did everyone have to love him so damn much? Hewasn’tthe perfect gentleman that everyone thought him to be. And it annoyed her to no end that no one else could see it.
“Eden, I swear you are a hospitality genius.” The sleekly dressed Nia was hitting the east coast for a road trip with her twin sister. The two had a goal of hitting all fifty states together and spent a portion of their year in the car, bickering and seeing the sights that the U.S. had to offer. “Setting up a tasting with our very own wine expert? Girl, you’re a genius-level marketer!”
“Oh. Um. Thank you,” Eden said, deciding now was not the time to announce that she’d never served Gates wine under her roof before. Or to draw attention to the fact that Davis had undermined her to push his own business.
“I love how this town is so damn neighborly,” Nia’s sister Tierra said, holding a dainty apple tart between glittering purple finger nails. She wore her hair in a short cap that framed her face and was dressed in a flowing caftan. “It’s like you’re all friends, and you want everyone to do well.”
“Sounds like communism,” Nia laughed.
“Actually, around here we call itcommune-ism,” Eden said, still glowering at Davis.
The sisters appreciated her humor.
“So, can we talk about Mr. Hottie Wine Man for a minute?” Tierra asked, shooting a glance at Davis as he grinned down at the 82-year-old Mrs. Hasselbeck.
“What about him?” Eden asked warily.
“If he’s single and you’re single, why haven’t you two locked yourself in a bathroom with finger paints and a black light yet?” Nia demanded.
