“Are you the one meddling around town with this Hollywood nonsense?” A man as old as the hills with very few teeth came tottering over to me. His back formed the shape of a C and he didn’t quite reach my height.
“Hello, sir. I’m Violet.” I extended my hand. He bapped it away with annoyance.
“Let me tell you a thing or two, missy. We don’t want your kind around here.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” I took my hand back. I hadn’t been expecting his rebuff. I’d been warned that not everyone would welcome the idea of a show filmed in Watson, but so far Heath was the only one who’d voiced any real dissent. A few others had scratched their heads and wondered about whether it made good sense, but mostly we’d been met with excitement and enthusiasm. Like that little hussy of a kindergarten teacher over there in the corner throwing her head back with laughter over something Heath had said. Bitch.
“In my day, we knew to keep well enough alone. We didn’t have any of these Kim Karsmashians and Brittney Spears—”
“Hello there, Fred. How’re you tonight?” Mayor Marty winked at me, wrapped an arm around old Fred’s shoulders and tried to guide him toward the bar. But Fred wasn’t having it.
“I’m going to say my piece!” The elderly man raised his voice. “This little girl’s causing trouble! And if you’re all too stupid to see it, I’m not going to just stand around!”
“Hey, Fred.” Heath showed up by my side. He extended his hand to the old man, and this time the man stopped and shook it.
“Good to see you, Heath,” he said.
“Good to see you, too. How’s your fence holding up?”
“All right, thanks to you.”
“Glad to hear it. Now, Fred, I heard what you had to say about this idea of a show here in Watson. And I agree with you. But what I’m thinking is we should settle it in a town meeting. That way we can all speak our minds. And Violet here can enjoy her Friday night.”
Old Fred still eyed me with suspicion, but he didn’t say anything else.
“Meanwhile, let me buy you a beer.” And with that, Heath took Fred off to the bar.
“He rescued you.” Sam appeared by my side, swooping down like a hawk after a fat and vulnerable mouse.
“Not really,” I protested, though that was exactly how it had felt. He’d done it so smoothly, without offending anyone or causing a scene. And had he mended that old man’s fence? That was nice. I tried to picture Vincent, my male model casual L.A. fling mending a fence. He wouldn’t mind posing for photos next to a fence. He’d even take his shirt off and pretend to be working on it if the shoot required. But actual mending? No.
Come to think of it, I hadn’t heard from Vincent at all the whole week. And even more interestingly, it hadn’t occurred to me until just now. Out of sight, out of mind. I guessed he felt the same way.
“Sorry about that.” Mayor Marty came back over to us, all apologetic. “There’s a few holdouts. It’ll take some doing to win them over. But a town hall forum is a good idea. People’ll like that.”
“Sure, of course,” I agreed, wondering what a town hall forum entailed. It sounded like the kind of thing presidential candidates staged to make it seem like they were having an authentic interaction with everyday folk. But who knew if we even wanted to win over these townspeople? Sam and I were still on the fence about whether there was enough story here for a show.
“You all right?” Strong man to the rescue, Tom the handsome fire warden came on over and looked at me with concern.
“Sure,” I answered, smiling, but really I was thinking he was a little late. Heath had been the one to step in and save the day.
“Tell me, how’s your Friday so far?” He settled in by my side. Talking and flirting with this man candy was second nature to me. He was easy—easy on the eyes, easy to talk to, and he’d be easy to say goodbye to at the end of the night. Much easier and safer than talking with Heath. Plus, it got Sam off the scent. I didn’t want him thinking there was anything going on between me and Heath. I didn’t trust Sam more than I could throw him, but he didn’t weigh much so I could probably throw him a couple feet at least.
Someone started playing some music and people started hooting and dancing, Friday night in Watson. A couple of guys asked firefighter Tom to play pool, and he excused himself with a “duty calls.”
Not long after, a much more glaring, brooding man towered by my side. We stood together by the wall, each sipping our drink, the air between us crackling with electricity.
“I see you’ve met our town stud,” Heath finally said.
“Do you mean Tom? Yes, he’s quite handsome.” I liked seeing Heath unsettled.
He grumbled. “He’ll light your fire and put it out. Full service.”
“I noticed you seem close with the town cheerleader.” I tilted my glass over to little Miss Kindergarten now flirting her ass off by the pool table.
Heath smiled down at me. “Jealous?”
“Of her? Please.”
“No, you wouldn’t be jealous.” He shook his head. “I’m not your type. You told me that.”
“You’re not,” I insisted. “You have a beard.”
“This thing?” He rubbed his jaw and laughed. “You should have seen me a month ago.”
“Your beard used to be bigger?”
“Someone told me it was the size of a watermelon.”
My eyes grew wide. “Was it?”
“Pretty much.”
“Why’d you cut it?”
“My gram asked me to.”
His gram? That was sweet. I took a sip of my cider, no snappy comeback at the ready.
He looked down at me. “Why do you seem surprised?”
I shrugged. “I guess I didn’t picture you with a gram.”
“How do you think I came to be?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you grew like a mighty oak in the woods.”
“Mighty, huh?” He winked at me. “You have no idea.”
I blushed. I bet he was mighty. I’d felt the length of him the other day, his hard shaft pressing against me through his jeans.
“But I think I’ll grow my beard again,” he continued. “Because I know you don’t like beards.”
“Good idea,” I agreed. “And I know I’m not your type, either,” I reminded him. He’d told me himself.
“That’s right. You’re not.”
“But you haven’t told me why.” I tilted my head and looked up at him. Big mistake. He looked so devilishly handsome, a smile pulling at those lips of his. Why weren’t they on me right now?