Page 64 of Clearly Charmed

Oh, he was evil, because he knew the last person I wanted him talking to again was Mo.

Chapter Twenty

Deeply Connected

I didn’t answer right away. He crossed his toned arms over his chest. Tapped those damn boots against the asphalt. Streaks of chocolate covered his cheeks, the top of his hands, and spread across his jeans like a bad Jackson Pollock painting.

He didn’t have to step up and help us in the tent. He could have continued his interviews. Taken notes about the town and the tourists. How they reacted to the festival. Instead, he’d chosen to volunteer with us, and I hated that meant something to me when I should be trying to box him out. Keep him from our lives.

‘Fine. I’ll go with you as long as you agree that your journalist hat is off for the day. No questions for me. No grilling the locals.’

His grin widened and he stuck out his hand. ‘Deal.’

I shook it and hated the way that bungee between us stretched and writhed. Like he felt it too, he rubbed his thumb against my palm and I quickly pulled my hand away.

‘Where do you want to start?’ I asked.

‘The SAR tent.’

‘That’s odd. Why?’

‘I have to see what Lia’s crew thinks of her pink jumpsuit.’

His full-chested laughter was too much, and I groaned and took off through the growing crowd.

‘This isn’t the way toward the tent.’

‘We are not going there. If Lia knew what you were up to, well, have you ever witnessed a bull see red?’

Another boisterous laugh filled the air as I moved in the direction of where the local growers showed off their collection of unique wildflowers: calypso orchids, elephant’s head, silvery lupine. We wandered in and out of the next several tents. In one, local artists showcased their interpretations of a Colorado sunset, lavishing canvases in crimson, tangerine and mulberry hues. Some artists painted the bluffs, dotted in wild bluebells and lilacs during the summertime. Others captured the quiet peace of the mountaintops after a heavy snow. Several steps away, sculptors displayed pieces fashioned out of clay and steel, many of them depicting the birds native to Colorado like the American robin, the Cooper’s hawk and the great horned owl.

We darted in and out of several more tents, and I pretended not to notice the parade of local dogs and feral cats following us. How every time we stopped and observed some handmade treasure, a new animal joined the pack. If Bryce noticed, he thankfully did not say a word.

The streets were packed tighter than the slopes on the first day of ski season. We elbowed our way around strollers, large hordes of families and tourists who’d spent way too much money on oversized cowboy hats in the Western-wear store.

At the end of the block, Bryce stopped short in front of the food stalls. ‘What is a deep-fried Oreo?’

‘Oh, come on. It’s traditional fair food.’

‘Never had one. Think I should try?’

‘The answer is yes.’ I nudged him toward the stall.

As I stood on the corner, more dogs made their way to me. I petted heads, and scrubbed ears, happy that all I felt was warm fur and a bit of slobber.

Bryce inched closer to ordering as the pharmacist, Fred Ellery, and his wife, Nora, clocked me from a few yards away.

‘Looks like you came prepared for the children’s tent.’ Nora scanned me from head to toe, her thin lips pursing. ‘We should have thought of coveralls, Fred. It would have made our lives easier.’

The poor man’s gray eyebrows pinched together as he stared at the chaotic splashes of chocolate across my arms and legs like he still had trauma from his assignment last year. ‘That’s true, dear. Glad I’m only committed to winning the pie-eating contest for the sixth year in a row!’ He rubbed his belly in anticipation.

‘The coveralls were Aster’s idea. She’s always thinking ahead.’

Nora leaned in, her short black curls bouncing against her cheeks. ‘Have you seen that journalist around here?’

I tipped my chin to where Bryce stood.

A stricken look crossed her face. ‘I think you should be aware that he’s been asking us a lot of particular questions.’