“You can’t tell the other actors or the crew about Mattie B’s,” Mac said sternly.
“Why?”
“This is a local bar,” Brady admitted. “And we’ve worked hard to keep it that way. We let you in on the secret because we like you.”
Oddly, that made me feel really nice.
“Thanks, bro,” I said, sincerely.
“No problem, bro,” he replied.
I heard Joan mutter “Jesus” under her breath.
“What do you mean, you worked hard to keep it a local bar?” I wondered.
“We tanked the online reviews,” Mercer offered.
A shocked laugh burst out of me. “You did what?”
“We review bombed Mattie B’s. Strategically and intentionally, over months,” Mac added. “Hell, years. All the leafers stay over at Magnolia now.”
I looked around the table at the five very serious faces regarding me. This was crazy.
“Wait, what’s a leafer?” I asked.
“Tourists,” Candace explained. “The ones who come to see our fall foliage and visit the farms.”
“You’ve seen them,” Mac said, a slightly derisive edge to her words. “They don’t use the crosswalks, and they don’t drink the local beers on tap.”
“They ask you to take their picture in front of every damn thing,” Joan added. “They litter on the hiking trails.”
“And they call our town ‘quaint’ or ‘old-fashioned’ or ‘picturesque,’” Brady said, with air quotes. “They wear a puffy vest no matter the weather.”
“You wear a puffy vest all the time,” Mac accused.
Brady shot her a betrayed look. “Yes, but only when the temperature drops. I dress weather appropriate, Macchiato.”
She rolled her eyes at her boyfriend and his dramatics.
“Is it just the fall people? The ones who visit in the autumn,” I asked, trying to understand the term. I’d heard of leaf peepers before, but this didn’t seem like the same thing.
“No,” Candace replied. “It’s a year-round identifier. We call them all leafers, even if they’re spring tourists.”
My eyes widened, and I placed a hand on my chest. “Am I a leafer?”
I got three yesses, one maybe, and one adamant no—thank you, Brady.
“But I’m here for work. Isn’t that better?” I asked.
One yes, one no, and three people said, “Same difference,” in unison.
“I don’t want to be a leafer,” I argued.
Joan snorted, and I shot her a glare. That only made her laugh outright.
“Ian, it’s okay. Not all leafers are bad,” Candace said calmly. “They just have a reputation for treating servers like crap and not appreciating the land they come to ooh and aah over. But there are plenty of nice leafers. Have you met Becca? She’s Will Clark’s fiancée and she was a leafer, too, before she moved here. And we all love her.” Candace smiled like that made everything all better.
“We need the tourists,” Mac said before shrugging. “So it’s a weird love-hate relationship. Without them, this tiny town would dry up and blow away. And yes, some of the folks who visit the farm are real sweet. We’ve seen lots of families visit regularly for years, watched their kids grow up, even. They’re not all bad. Don’t take offense, Ian. You’re one of the good ones.”
