Part 9 (2/2)
She has no money and she's sleeping all day. ”She's fine,” Samantha lied.
”Well, if there's anything I can do...”
Just don't ask her to marry you. ”Thank you,” Samantha said.
”I hear the Chamber is talking about a festival,” the mayor said. ”This is news to me.”
He was smiling but Samantha knew a scolding when she heard one. She looked over to where p.i.s.sy now sat at her desk, still in smirk mode. ”Well, we just voted on it today.”
He shook his head. ”I wish I could've been there. I'm afraid I had business in Wenatchee. Is it something for summer perhaps?”
Once more it hit Samantha how crazy it was to try and slap this together in such a short time. ”Um, no, a little sooner than that.”
”Oh?” he probed.
She could feel her cheeks warming. ”More like Valentine's Day.”
The good mayor's smile did a Ches.h.i.+re Cat fade. ”Valentine's Day,” he repeated.
”Actually, Sweet Dreams is going to sponsor it.”
”Figures,” p.i.s.sy muttered over at her desk.
”Samantha, this really isn't very practical,” the mayor said.
”We're going to start small,” Samantha a.s.sured him.
”With so little time you'll have to start microscopic.”
”I think we can do it,” she said.
Now the mayor was frowning. ”If this comes off half-baked, it won't look good for our town.”
”It won't, I guarantee it,” Samantha insisted. He was standing there like a two-legged rain cloud ready to dump on her festival, so she hurried on. ”Why don't you let Ed and me take you out to dinner at Zelda's tonight and tell you more about it? You'll find that this is something we can all get behind.” Great. There went more money flying off over Sleeping Lady Mountain. The mayor loved to eat. And drink. Dinner would cost a fortune.
Del nodded thoughtfully. ”All right. And why don't you bring your mother? It would do her good to get out.”
Just what her mother always wanted, dinner with Del Stone, swinging bachelor. Del had been divorced for years. With no wife on the scene he'd done his best to turn himself into an urbane ladies' man, and it was looking like Mom was the new lady of choice.
”I'll see if she's feeling up to it,” Samantha said.
Mayor Stone nodded again. ”I'll see you tonight. Shall we say around seven?”
Samantha nodded, too. She hoped Ed would be free. Del rarely got excited about any idea that hadn't come out of his own balding head. It would take some convincing to get him in their corner-but getting him there was bound to move the permit process along.
He checked his watch. ”Well, then, see you tonight. And don't forget to bring your mother.”
As she watched him return to his office, she wondered if that was a condition for receiving Del's blessing. Probably.
Now the clock on the wall said one minute until closing time. Samantha frowned at the half-finished form on the counter in front of her. Between them, p.i.s.sy and Del had managed to prevent her from getting her form turned in. And p.i.s.sy's smirk had grown.
Samantha folded the form, put it in her purse and smirked right back. ”I guess I'll see you tomorrow.” And for the rest of today she'd be seeing red. Why did people have to keep complicating her life?
She marched out of city hall, her pace fueled by frustration. This called for a large dose of...coffee.
She had just gotten a double-shot mocha latte at Bavarian Brews and was envisioning herself back at city hall first thing in the morning, stapling her completed form to p.i.s.sy's forehead, when at the end of the order line she spotted-did he live here?-Blake Preston, business gobbler and festival saboteur. The steam coming from her to-go cup was nothing compared to what she could feel coming out of her ears.
At the sight of her, his jaw set in determination. ”Samantha.”
Oh, no. I do not want to talk to you. She averted her gaze and skirted the edge of the tables, occupied by retail clerks taking an afternoon coffee break and high school students fresh out of school for the day.
”Samantha, wait,” he called.
She pretended deafness and scooted past a table where two older women were enjoying coffee and scones. He cut her off.
”I really don't have time to talk to you,” she snapped, and headed the other way around the table.
”I just want five minutes,” he said.
”I'd give you five minutes,” one of the women said, patting hair that had been dyed a color found nowhere in nature.
Samantha picked up her pace. Or tried to. Unfortunately, she tripped over a large purse lying by the woman's chair. Instead of making a rushed but dignified exit from the coffee shop, she did a clown-style lurch, slos.h.i.+ng her latte from the cup onto her gloves, her coat and the floor. She landed with a squeak in the lap of a burly high school boy.
”Whoa,” he said in pleased surprise, and his friends snickered.
This was like being in a movie where everyone froze so all eyes could be on her.
There was no ”like” about it. All eyes were on her. Her face flamed. ”Sorry,” she muttered, and scrambled to her feet.
”Anytime,” the kid said.
Abandoning all attempts at dignity, she made a dash for the door.
Blake followed her out and caught her by the arm. It was hard to ignore the jolt she felt at the contact.
”Samantha, wait,” he said.
She waited. And removed his hand from her arm. Irritation with both herself and him filled her with a strong desire to kick him. Grown-up that she was trying to be, she resisted it. ”If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were stalking me.”
He frowned. ”Very funny.”
”These days I have to find humor where I can.”
”Look, I know you think I should have said more at the meeting today.”
”You could have,” she said coldly.
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