It had to be proof of how poorly my brain worked around Violet that even when I’d had the intro, all the background details about who and why and what for, once she walked into my store I forgot it all. She didn’t see me. I was in back, lurking where I liked it behind the scenes. She roamed around admiring and enjoying, and then wouldn’t you know she sat right down in my rocking chair.
Apparently I’d built it for her. She looked perfect in it, so delightfully content. With a smile playing softly on her lips and her eyes closed, her hands roamed the wooden arms the way she’d roamed mine the night before last. I’d gotten a nice long look in before Harriett had announced me.
Then things had tumbled downhill fast, with the dots connecting and me realizing that she of the luscious curves and delicious sighs was none other than a reality show slimeball here scoping out Watson as a possible shooting location. I knew it. Or I should have known it. Part of me—the better part of me—had recognized her straight away for what she was, exactly the type you couldn’t trust. It was the other part of me that had grabbed her like a Neanderthal.
“Wait, don’t leave so soon!” Harriet called after them. Violet was heading out the door with the man who’d tried to give me his card so he could set me up with head shots. I’d rather take a shot to the head.
“Can we interest you in seeing some of the artist’s workspaces? We have a lot to offer here that I think your viewers would like.” Aw man, so Harriet wanted them to film here. She’d sounded neutral when she’d told me about the visit, but clearly that had been her way of trying to ease me into it. She had no idea what she was wishing for. She’d only had limited exposure to the kinds of people who would descend like a plague of locusts upon the small, naïve town of Watson.
“That’s a great idea, Harriet!” Marty the mayor chimed in. Of course he was in on the deal. I’d never liked that guy. I’d bet my truck he had his eye on a state senate seat. He’d set up shop in DC and never look back. “How about Benny?” he asked Harriett. “Could he give them a tour tomorrow?”
Benny was our resident glass blower. He also operated a ski lift over at Mad Mountain. But anyone truly plugged into the town’s goings-on knew his father had taken a turn for the worse and Benny had gone to visit.
“Out of town.” Harriet shook her head. “But you liked that rocking chair, didn’t you? Heath, maybe you can show them your workshop? Are you free tomorrow afternoon?”
I scowled at the suggestion. Of course I was free, but I wasn’t going to play along and be a selling point. Though, come to think of it, if they came out to my workshop I could be an active deterrent. I could warn them off, describe all the reasons they shouldn’t film here, tell them about all the townspeople who’d fight them. Hell, I’d make up a haunted graveyard if it would get them out of here.
“Wait, I think tomorrow afternoon I have them at Applewood,” Marty remembered.
Damn it, they’d like Applewood. The cidery had taken its time creating a cool tasting room with a 1940s throwback vibe and, most importantly, they made kick-ass hard ciders. I remembered Violet had ordered one the night she’d come into the bar. She looked like she hadn’t tasted anything that good in years. She probably hadn’t. She probably lived on a diet of green tea and kelp, the L.A. way. Not that she looked too skinny or scrawny. She looked just right, with perfect curves and enough ass a man could sink his fingers right in.
“How about that?” Whoops, Harriet had asked me something.
“What was that?” I’d been too busy thinking about Violet’s ass to catch the question.
“Tomorrow afternoon, a tour of your workshop?”
“I thought they were going to Applewood?”
“We can split them up. Sam can go there. Violet can come by your place.”
Sure, she could come. Maybe twice. I wondered if her mind was heading in the same direction. A flush stole across her cheeks, and she refused to meet my eyes. Yup, seemed like the same thoughts were distracting her as well.
“You should see some of Heath’s other pieces,” Marty chimed in. “People from all over are buying his work.”
I grit my teeth. Was I the only one who saw what a disaster it would be to film a reality show in Watson? I needed to step up and stop this madness.
“Sure, why don’t you come by around two?”
“Great!” Harriet exclaimed.
“Perfect!” Marty agreed.
Violet squinted at me, unsure.
“I won’t bite.” I grinned at her.
This could be fun, scaring her off. She’d come by my workshop tomorrow, and I’d make sure to send her running for the hills.
§
I didn’t hear her come in. I was deep in my work, somehow managing to forget even the prospect of a damn reality show, the lowest form of human entertainment, filmed right here in Watson. By the time I looked up, Violet was standing there watching me.
She’d already gotten herself comfortable. No parka on, she stood there in a sweater that looked way too thin and soft for Vermont. In this state, sweaters functioned as a barrier between skin and the elements. Violet’s sweater draped and decorated, enhancing her figure, caressing her swells and curves, tapering in at her narrow waist.
I cleared my throat and put down my smelting torch. Flipping up the lid on my helmet, I glared at her.
“Why don’t you make yourself at home?” Sarcastic and gruff, I launched my campaign: Say No to the Show!
Her eyes widened in indignation. “You invited me. So here I am.”
“I didn’t invite you. They invited you.”
“I think your exact words were, ‘I won’t bite.’”
“And you believed me?” I moved a step closer. She took a step back, her defiance faltering a bit. I’d like to bite her. But I had business to attend to. Maybe afterward, though.
“You know filming a show here would be a disaster.” I got right to the point.
“No, I do not know that.” Her eyes flashed with defiance, such a deep blue they almost veered into purple. Violet eyes. But that wasn’t the point.
“This is a small, simple town. People like it that way.” I took off my helmet and removed my gloves. If I had boxing gloves, I’d put them on instead. They’d help me win a fight. And keep me from reaching a hand out to entwine it in her hair, shiny and smooth, and I knew it would be silky like it had felt Saturday night. I still hadn’t figured out exactly what smelled so good, her hair, her skin. Maybe it was just her. Standing there, a few feet away, I could catch a whisper of her scent.
“Maybe you like it that way,” Violet protested. “But others are interested. The kind
of show we’d do would put this town on the map.”
“The best thing about the town is it’s off the map. Why would you want to put it on the map?”
“Why are you so difficult?”
“I’m the difficult one?” She was the one causing trouble, barging into my workshop in impractical heels and form-fitting jeans. I bet her ass looked amazing in them. I had half a mind to haul her right up over the workbench and give her a spanking. First I’d start over the jeans, my hand coming down hard on her fully clothed bottom. She’d be startled, of course. But I bet she’d get turned on quick, fast enough she’d want it when I pushed down her jeans and found her bare ass with the palm of my hand.
I turned around, facing away from her for a moment. I needed to think, and not those kinds of thoughts. She was the enemy. If telling her to leave wasn’t working, I had to try a new tactic.
“What kind of a show do you think you could film up here?” I asked, heading over to a half-completed project. There were a few tools I’d left strewn around. I could focus on straightening them up while I talked. That would be safer than standing around looking right at her.
“I’m not sure, but there’s a lot of appeal to small town USA. We could focus on some of the local businesses. And the people.”
“Didn’t you say you work for the Fame! Network?”
“Yes.”
“Then why aren’t you doing shows about famous people?” They’d love my rockstar brother, Ash. I bet her network had played a role in hounding him. Paparazzi leapt out of bushes and rappelled down the sides of buildings to catch his private moments. Scum of the earth.
“The network wants something new.”
“Do you know how boring Watson is?” I turned to face her, folding my arms across my chest. I wore an old short-sleeved T-shirt, and I saw her gaze flit over to my biceps. She liked what she saw. Problem was, so did I when I looked at her.
“You know what big news is in the town of Watson?” I tried again. Eyes up here, I wanted to tell her. It didn’t help to see her pink tongue dart out and lick her bottom lip. “Big news is a blizzard that keeps everyone indoors.”