A Man Of Influence. Melinda Curtis

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СКАЧАТЬ pumped the travel writer’s hand as if he drew water from a well. “Why don’t you sit down and let Tracy bring you some coffee and a scone?”

      Tracy held her ground because Mr. Travel Writer didn’t seem like the black coffee type. If she had to guess, she’d go with a shot of espresso with a splash of half and half. Besides, the hunky travel writer hadn’t accepted Mayor Larry’s offer.

      “The town council meeting will start in five minutes,” Agnes said, proving she’d received the mayor’s message after all. “Phil, you’re on the agenda today.”

      Phil, the town barber and the Lambridge twins’ grandfather, glanced up from the checkerboard. He was the one person in the room who hadn’t been staring at their visitor, most likely because the guy had crisply cut hair and no need of a visit to Phil’s barber chair. “But my game—”

      “Can wait.” Mayor Larry grabbed Phil’s spindly arm and helped him up.

      Agnes, Mildred and Rose mobilized. The fire-drill search for a hotel was in full swing.

      “It’s not even Tuesday,” Phil wailed, referring to the town council’s regular meeting day as he allowed Larry to lead him out the door.

      And just like that, the morning rush was over.

      From his playpen, Gregory gave one of his happy-to-be-alive shouts. Eunice leaned over and quacked at the baby, eliciting giggles from Jessica’s son.

      Chocolate croissant eaten, Old Man Takata moved into Phil’s spot with a rattle of his walker.

      Before Takata could settle in Phil’s seat, Felix executed a three-hop move and grinned. “King me.”

      “Seriously?” Takata grimaced.

      The bakery quieted enough that Tracy could hear the creak of the oven door as Jess worked in the kitchen. Her speech therapist would have encouraged her to start a conversation with the newcomer, who still stood across from her at the counter and who looked nothing like a travel writer, not that she’d ever met one before. But all Tracy could think about was how normal she looked at the moment and how that image would shatter if she opened her mouth, how the warmth in his eyes would turn pitying and how low her spirits would then sink.

      She said nothing, but her head began to nod as if trying to fill the silence with movement.

      “I swear, I showered this morning.” The travel writer tugged the placate of his polo as if airing out his shirt. “I’ve never emptied a room before.”

      “It wasn’t you,” Tracy fibbed. Good. Very good. She could appear intelligent. If she could just get a handle on the nervous head nodding.

      “That’s what my last girlfriend said.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “It’s not you. It’s me.”

      Was he flirting with her?

      Tracy used to love to flirt. She used to be the Queen of the One-Liners, the Princess of Comebacks, the Junior Miss of Verbal Jousting. Now she was just a head-nodding simpleton. “Latte? Sssss-cone?”

      His smile softened like chocolate on a warm spring day. He probably thought he was so gorgeous he made her tongue-tied.

      Little did he know, Tracy’s tongue was permanently in knots.

      * * *

      “YES TO BOTH latte and scone.” Chad introduced himself and smiled at the pretty, petite blond behind the counter. He’d spent the past month relearning the feel of lips curving upward over his teeth, the deep sound of his own laughter, the subtleties of a nuanced joke.

      He’d slept in, eaten junk food and driven up the western coast from California to Canada and back again with a laptop, a small suitcase and the box he’d taken with him from the office in his trunk. He’d enjoyed the culture, sophistication and women the cities of Portland and Seattle had to offer. It wasn’t until he’d returned to an empty penthouse in San Francisco that he’d remembered the story lead sheet and thought about what was next for him.

      The choices he faced...

      He could freelance or write for someone else. He could work in editorial for another publication. Or he could start his own travel magazine—one tailored to other happy bachelors. Take his relearned smile and remembered laugh and be so successful Barney and the Lampoon and the father he’d buried would regret letting him go.

      And didn’t that bring a smile to his face?

      According to his research, Harmony Valley had nearly been a ghost town until a winery begun by dot-com millionaires had breathed life into it. A winery founded by wealthy bachelors in the middle of nowhere? Now, there was a story. The “why” behind it intrigued Chad. What did this small town have which made it special to three single men? The buzz was the town may be barely breathing, but it abounded with quirky traditions it was loath to give up.

      So here he was in Harmony Valley for the Harvest Festival, hoping he wasn’t too late and could beat the Lampoon to the story. He’d landed on a new name for his column and had the Happy Bachelor Takes a Different Path website all set up with content loaded from his experiences in Portland and Seattle. All he needed to do was press publish. But first, he needed a strong lead article. Something that set this phase of his travel life apart from the previous thirteen years.

      Yep, here he was in Harmony Valley, the smallest small town he’d ever seen, looking for a unique experience for bachelors. Only problem was: he didn’t write about small towns. He wrote about hip and happening urban locations that hip and happening urban bachelors wanted to visit.

      This was...

      Shades of his elderly parents.

      Harmony Valley might just as well have been a retirement community. He’d seen a few people walking around—all white-haired, wrinkled or balding. He’d driven a circuit of the downtown blocks a time or two—there were only a few each way. There were more empty buildings than businesses. And this was the only bakery.

      He glanced around. Where was the local sheriff? Where were the local trades? Where were the moms coming in to get a morning dose of caffeine after dropping off their kids at school? Where were the singles setting up shop for an hour or two to get work done and perhaps meet someone?

      They were all conspicuously absent.

      Still, Chad soaked in the ambience that was Martin’s Bakery. In a way, it had the hidden-treasure vibe his Lampoon readers appreciated. A window seat with a deep cushion and pillows, a collection of tables and mis-matched wooden chairs that looked as if they’d been here for a century. The yellowed photos of bakery workers hanging on the wall seemed to prove that point. Dark brown beadboard trim was capped with a chair railing on the side wall. Three bakery cases made an L shape in the space. A large chalkboard hung on the wall behind the register. The daily special: pumpkin scones. And the coffee... Chad breathed in deeply. The coffee smelled rich and fresh, as if it had just been ground for him.

      So maybe the people weren’t hip. Gray and white hair, walkers and canes, polyester pants and orthopedic sneakers. At least they looked healthy. And maybe they weren’t happening in the where-it’s-at sense. The two old men reset their checkerboard instead of an online game. But they had a certain spunk. He just wasn’t sure what Harmony Valley offered made for a good first column to launch his online travel СКАЧАТЬ