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July
Blaire
I got out of my car at the town square, wincing at the New England humidity already building at 8:30 in the morning. Even with the expected scorcher of a day ahead of me, I was dressed with #bosslady vibes in mind, wearing a black linen pencil skirt, a turquoise sleeveless blouse that I knew brought out the blues in my eyes and a trusty white blazer from my collection. I touched my curled hair to make sure it was laying well, using the window of the car to check out my reflection.
I tried not to overanalyze why today was the day I put the most effort into my appearance over the past month. Today, coincidentally, also happened to be the first time I’d see Cole in person since the Pepper’s incident—as Charlotte and I had taken to referring to it. Our virtual meetings kept our fighting to a minimum, but it was weird having spent so much time working with him, yet not actually seeing him—or smelling him, or getting him riled up because I messed up the perfect organization on his desk, or feeling his arm brush against mine as he walked me to the door.
Cole had refused to come to Holly Ridge for any meetings until today. When I asked if we could meet in-person at the local coffee shop in Holly Ridge for a change of scenery, he muttered something about “having the high ground” and I dropped it, choosing to save my battles for what actually mattered—the festival itself.
I felt my shoulders tighten as I thought about Cole sitting behind his desk, looking like a hot, stern, tight-ass, going over whatever issue he had with my plans and suggestions that week.
Hot, stern, tight-ass? Focus, Greene. I shook myself, needing to get any such thoughts out of my head before Cole arrived on the scene. Sure, I thought maybe he was going to kiss me in the Pepper’s parking lot, and I had noticed his brown eyes had gold flecks in them when we were all up-close and personal for those ten seconds, but then he fled. So, his admittedly well-formed rear end didn’t deserve any more of my thoughts because it obviously belonged to someone incapable of talking about his feelings. Besides, even though I was annoyed by his response to the incident, I knew a personal relationship between us was off-limits.
I had just made my way to the gazebo in the town square when I heard a door shut behind me. I’m not quite sure how I knew from that door slam Cole had been the one to shut it, but I did.
Sure enough, I heard Cole’s deep voice from behind me. “Where are these vendors? I thought you said we were meeting at 8:30?”
I steeled myself for today’s battle and turned to meet his gaze. His furrowed brow was a bit dewy, thanks to that humidity and the long-sleeved button-down he insisted on wearing, despite the 90-degree high the day promised. I absolutely did not think about how that fully covered arm had looked tucking my hair behind my ear, or how he had inhaled when his nose brushed behind my ear, taking in my scent. Instead, I took a deep breath and prepared myself for a very, very long morning.
“I have a different meeting set for every forty-five minutes this morning, starting at 9:00. I suggested we meet at 8:30, I never said that was when the first vendor would be here.”
Cole looked annoyed as his detail-oriented mind replayed our communications around today’s meeting. When he realized I was right and our proposed vendors weren’t actually late, his mouth settled into a firm line that showed he wasn’t going to admit he was wrong.
I decided to take my wins where I could get them.
“So, to review, today we’re meeting with the company that will rent us stalls for the Holiday Market, which we will set up here in the town square, and then the company that can build a small ice rink in one of the parking lots across the street. That’s all you need to be here for. I have a few meetings after that, but none that need to involve you.”
Cole nodded once, pulling out his tablet from his tan messenger bag, presumably to retrieve the detailed reports I had prepared on both vendors, the budget and estimated revenue from both the market and the ice-skating rink, and the schedule for setup and open hours once the festival started. If there was one thing I loved, it was a good report that referenced a flawless spreadsheet.
Cole looked back up at me.
“I’m still concerned about the feasibility of a temporary ice-skating rink and whether that’s a good financial investment—”
“I know you’re concerned about it, Cole. You’ve only brought it up every week for the past month, but I’ve worked with this vendor for other events I’ve planned, so he’s giving us a free evaluation and estimate. You can’t argue with free, can you?”
Cole looked like he was ready to, but we were saved by Benny and Julie, the owners of Merry Markets and Stalls, approaching us from their company van.
It was showtime. I was ready to show Cole how I was going to save Holly Ridge with my extremely competent, well-thought out, and yet festive Christmas festival. Merry Markets, at the raw-numbers level, appeared a bit more expensive than some of the other companies who did the same work, but they also included the decorating of their market stalls in the price, which meant they would look fantastic, and we wouldn’t have to source decorations or local individuals to do it instead.
I greeted Benny and Julie, and showed them the area of the town square where we hoped to set up the market and talked through with them the best way to maximize the area available given the different sizes of stalls they had available. All the while, Cole walked behind us, taking notes on his tablet, only interjecting when prices or costs came up. Soon enough, Benny and Julie had what they needed to send us a formal proposal and promised to have that in both our inboxes within two weeks.
I looked at my watch after they drove away and noticed that we had ten minutes before Rick from Ice, Ice Baby Rinks arrived.
“I’m going to run over to Jitters to get an iced coffee before our next appointment. Can I get you...any...thing?”
Cole had finally decided the heat was too much and unbuttoned his shirt sleeves. Rolling them up, he displayed surprisingly muscled forearms for a number cruncher. I noticed my mouth was a little extra dry when I realized Cole was scoffing at my offer.
“No, thanks. I got coffee before I left Winterberry Glen. No need for any Holly Ridge coffee here.”
I rolled my eyes at his blatant town snobbery.
“May I remind you that Jitters is going to supply the cookies for the cookie decorating events throughout the festival? Don’t you want a chance to ask Susie about the cost of eggs and flour for the cookies?”
This was a jab at an earlier argument we had over the price Susie had quoted me for cookies, during which Cole wondered out loud if we should ask food vendors to detail their wholesale costs to ensure the markup was at a reasonable rate. I had shut that down, reminding him that all the food vendors were local and wanted the town to be saved; they weren’t going to use this as a chance to price gouge. Cole’s brown eyes turned harder at my jab, and he turned around to sit on a bench by the gazebo, not bothering to respond to me. I rolled my eyes again and made my way across the street to Jitters.
“Morning, Susie!” I called as I entered the coffee shop that had bordered the town square for as long as I could remember.
“Can I get a large iced coffee to go?” pulling out my wallet to pay.
