“WHHR. You’re on the air,” Crew said, as unobtrusively letting the discussion continue as much as possible.
“I have a suggestion for how to motivate people. If I could, Crew?” the next caller said.
“Please,” he said, encouragingly.
“What we need is to get Carter Hughes to Harvest Ranch. He’s an amazing motivational speaker, and if anyone can help us figure out how to make this work, he can.”
At the sound of Carter’s name, Lucy cinched down her headphones, though she had no trouble hearing Mirabelle Mason. Lucy recognized her friend’s voice immediately, but it didn’t hurt that Mirabelle was almost as big a fan of Carter’s as she was.
“I know who Carter Hughes is,” Crew was saying. “Lucy talks about him all the time.” He chuckled. “I think she’s got a crush on him.”
She stabbed Crew with a fiery glare. Catching the look, Carly pushed him for Lucy, who gave her a grateful chin nod.
Lucy talked about Carter all the time not because she had a crush on him—though he was absolutely, perfectly gorgeous—but because he’d completely changed her mode of thinking.
Back when her father had fallen ill her freshman year of college, he’d intended a temporary shuttering of the drive-in. Lucy had dropped out of school to care for him, but he’d steadily grown weaker until he passed away a year later. Buried in grief, Lucy hadn’t had the emotional strength to reopen the theater. Just being on the grounds reminded her of all she’d lost—first her mother when she was five, and then her father thirteen years later. How could she run the place when the smell of buttered popcorn brought her to her knees and the whir of the film projector sent her spiraling into herself?
And yet, her father had been able to do it. Even in the crushing sorrow of losing the love of his life, he’d found a way to keep the drive-in open. When Lucy had asked him how he’d done it, he’d simply said, “She gave me the world. I can’t let that go.”
The world happened to be a square of Harvest Ranch land sandwiched between the fairgrounds and Tortoise Cove with two forty-foot screens, three-hundred window speakers double hung on junction boxes, and a sturdy cinderblock concession stand. The screens and speakers weren’t the world, but what they brought in was—everything from cornfields in Iowa to battles in outer space. Lucy’s mom’s dream had become her father’s as well. Lucy never saw him working the theater without a smile and a grateful heart.
Several years after his passing, when the tide of her exponential grief of losing him had abated, Lucy felt the pull to share in her parents’ dream. At first, she’d tucked that dream into the back of her heart. What did she know about turning around a failing business? Now, she pulled the dream out daily as she followed Carter Hughes’s podcasts and studied his books. His philosophies had changed her thinking. Someday needed to be today.
When her friend didn’t comment on whether or not Lucy had a celebrity crush on Carter—Thank you, Mirabelle, Lucy thought—Crew continued. “I understand he’s a charismatic speaker, but isn’t his forte business?” Crew said, always one to stir the pot.
“Well, yes, but everyone needs motivation—especially town cleanups. And the best part? His website shows he’s got a speaking engagement in DC the week before. If he’s already planning to be in the area and the timing works out . . .” She let the suggestion fade off, but Lucy’s mind grabbed hold.
The next caller chimed in with the question of a venue if they were somehow able to snag Carter Hughes as a speaker.
“The drive-in, of course,” Crew answered. “Since we’ll be there for the cleanup anyway.” He shot a shrewd look at Lucy. “As long as the cleanup committee agrees.” Oh, so now he was asking her permission?
Lucy clicked her microphone on. “The drive-in would be great.” There was the tiny problem of her not having one clue of how the sound system was faring, considering it probably hadn’t been upgraded since the 1970s. Good thing she happened to have some experience with sound technology. She could fix that. Securing Carter Hughes as a speaker didn’t sound as doable. Having an excuse to reach out to him didn’t sound awful, though. A tingle ran through her.
Maybe Crew was right that she had the slightest crush on him. He wore expensively tailored suits and brilliant silk ties that set off his dark brown hair and matching eyes nicely. He had an amazing voice—something she would notice thanks to her own training—and an easy and charming manner. But that was a professional persona. She’d be nuts to fall in love with a man she’d never met.
“Speaking of the cleanup committee, today’s meeting should probably be cancelled due to the weather.” She would feel awful if someone drove into town and had an accident because she hadn’t waited an extra day or two.
Crew grinned at her. “Sounds to me like we had the committee meeting here, today.” He turned to Carly, and his grin softened into an entirely different kind of smile. The guy was completely smitten, even if he would never admit it. “I happen to have the assistant cleanup committee chair—”
Carly leaned into the microphone, her arm grazing Crew’s chest. “Chair-elect,” she corrected.
“Noted.” He mimicked tipping his invisible hat to Lucy. “Next year’s cleanup committee chair-elect—”
The reminder that Carly would be in charge next year eased Lucy’s stress considerably.
“Carly Quinn just so happens to be in the studio today,” he continued. “Carly—” He rolled his chair away from the microphone a smidge so she could share the space. “Care to make it interesting and argue the other side?” He gave her a wicked grin.
“For the sake of playing devil’s advocate?” She threw him a saucy look to match her teasing tone. “Or because you’re bored and want some excitement?” Carly didn’t seem to have an ounce of nerves with public speaking.
“Drama sells,” he encouraged.
She gave him a disdainful smirk. “Sorry to disappoint you, Crew. I’m on board with the ideas thrown out so far. If we can get Carter Hughes to kick off the community cleanup, I say we do it, and I can’t think of a better place to do that than at the Starlight Drive-In Theater. I’m keeping my fingers crossed we’ll be catching a couple of movies under the stars this summer.”
Satisfied that Crew might move on to other topics—or get back to the music and adverts, because while drama sold, commercials sold more—Lucy left the desk to get to her own work waiting in her office. Carly and Crew’s banter in the background faded away as she woke her computer. She should dive into work, but she pulled up the spreadsheet tracking for the cleanup committee first. A quick glance at their meager advertising and supply budget reaffirmed what she already knew—there wasn’t much to squeeze together—but what could it hurt to reach out to Mr. Hughes? The worst he could do was say no. And wasn’t his catchphrase “make your own destiny”?
She opened his website and found his contact information, already composing an email in her head, tingles of excitement running through her body.
3
Hawthorne, MA
It had been a long, boring day—the best Zachary Hughes could hope for in his line of work. He’d vacuumed the chapel, polished the pews, deadheaded the geraniums, straightened the caskets in the sales room, and washed and polished the limos, hearse, and call car. Basically, he was a glorified housekeeper rather than an educated and fully licensed mortician. Not that he was complaining. Too much. It was odd to be in a profession where you both dreaded and needed the work, but such was the family business he’d been born into.
Now that the actual 8–5 workday was over, things were looking up. Zach breathed in the early spring Massachusetts air, pleased the harshest part of winter was over even if a chill lingered. Feeling lucky to score a parking spot at the curb one short block past his destination, he picked his toolbox up from the floorboard behind the driver’s seat and started down the sidewalk. What he hadn’t expected was to see his brother Carter walking the same direction. Zach increased his stride and caught up with Carter. “Where are you
headed?”
Not looking surprised, Carter tipped his chin toward the café and bakery just around the corner. “Mom sent me to pick up rolls for dinner.”
Zach nodded. Though he vaguely remembered his mom making tasty rolls when they were younger, she rarely took the time to bake anymore, even for their weekly family dinner nights.
“You?” Carter raised an eyebrow at the toolbox Zach held at his side.
Careful not to let the rough plastic of the gouged and battered box snag his suit pants, Zach lifted it slightly. “This?”
Carter nodded.
“Claire has some kind of emergency.” Even Zach was left with all sorts of questions. She hadn’t been specific, though he had his guesses. They were acquaintances, but not all that close, so it had to be about the bookcase and hidden door he’d built for her a few months ago.
“And she asked you?” Carter’s older-brother teasing was light.
“I notice she didn’t ask you.”
Carter scoffed. “She’s smart—”
“Obviously,” Zach cut in.
Looking out toward the park, Carter smirked at Zach’s comment, but his expression blanked quickly. He turned toward the businesses on his other side and increased his pace. Curious, Zach chanced a look, only to see that Carter was avoiding two women on the other side of the street.
“Yoo-hoo, Carter!”
Zach cringed. She’d seen them notice her.
“Carter Hughes!” Mrs. Davis called again. “Carter, wait!” She waved a plump arm as if stopping an airplane from lifting off.
There was no way to pretend they hadn’t heard. Carter and Zach stopped as the woman and her younger companion jogged across the street. With her hands grasping the other woman’s arm, Mrs. Davis dragged her to a stop in front of them.
“Shauna, this is Carter Hughes. The Carter Hughes I was telling you about.” She paused to pant a couple of times before continuing. “Remember? The one I sent you a link for?”
Here we go again. Zach held in the thought with a stiff, disinterested smile. Another admirer for his celebrity brother. The brother who’d left the family business to become an internationally acclaimed motivational speaker. Zach had to give him credit for being brave enough to choose his own career path and make it successful.
Carter smiled indulgently, patronizingly—his marketing smile, though the rest of the world wouldn’t know him well enough to tell the difference. He offered his hand to shake. “A pleasure to meet you, Shauna.”
“Shauna is my niece. From New York City.” Mrs. Davis’s emphasis said they should be impressed, but Zach wasn’t sure why.
The young woman blushed furiously, hardly able to raise her eyes from Carter’s well-shined Oxfords.
“Didn’t I tell you he was gorgeous?” Mrs. Davis whispered nowhere near quietly enough for Carter and Zach not to overhear. “And he’s single.”
Zach ought to feel sorry for his brother. He didn’t have to deal with people trying to set him up with random family members. But he was rather enjoying the show. Carter shifted uncomfortably, looking longingly into the window to his left. Something seemed to have caught his eye in the old-fashioned apothecary. A desperate wish for a magical herb to whisk him away? Carter squinted briefly and then looked away from the window, his shoulders slumped. He managed a “welcome to Hawthorne,” though it only sounded half sincere. “I, uh—” He looked pointedly at his watch. “—need to—”
“Of course.” Mrs. Davis took her niece’s elbow and started steering her around the men.
Just as they were passing, Shauna stopped short. “Would you mind if we took a selfie with you?” Her large eyes showed a perfect trust that Carter would say yes.
“Of course.” Carter held out an arm for each of the women to tuck in next to him. “And don’t forget to tag me if you post on social media.”
“Oh, I will,” Shauna rushed with excitement. She pulled her phone out of her bag and, after waking it, handed it to Zach. “Would you mind?”
If Zach had a nickel for every time he’d been asked, he’d be on a beach somewhere instead of here with his brother, but he was used to being relegated to the lowly role of photographer. He took a couple of shots without checking to see if his brother’s eyes were actually open and then handed the phone back to Shauna. She took it, and after a few bumbling attempts at conversing with Carter, the poor young woman gave up and went in the opposite way of the bakery and bookstore.
The niece had been pretty with a warming smile and laugh, and had Mrs. Davis introduced them, Zach might have tried to strike up a conversation. But he’d been with his brother—and the man cast a shadow larger than a Sequoia. He’d never be noticed with Carter around.
The two walked to the bookshop’s red door facing the corner. Carter held up a finger. “No snacking before dinner, or Mom will have your head.”
Zach shrugged. Sweets weren’t generally his thing—he craved a good movie popcorn more often than not—but Keira’s bakery delicacies had the town entranced. “What’s her latest creation?”
“No idea.” Carter shot him a warning look.
“See you in an hour.” It was a guesstimate, of course. When a friend called with a carpentry favor, it could mean anything from two minutes to two days.
“Zach!” His longtime friend and the shop’s owner appeared at his side before the door to Red Leaves Books even had a chance to close behind him. “Thanks for coming.” Claire Covington reached out to pet the gray tabby sitting on top of a row of books in the window.
How the cat found that comfortable, Zach wasn’t sure, but he could learn something from it—like the ability to make the most of any situation. With that in mind, he pushed back the day’s disappointments and managed a genuine smile. “Anytime. It gets me away from work and allows me to do what I love.” Inwardly, he winced. He didn’t mean to be ungrateful. Having a solid job in this economy in an established profession was a blessing, even if he’d never warmed to a career as a mortician.
He squirmed at the term. While technically correct, it sounded harsh. Funeral director? Undertaker? Embalmer? The fact that he couldn’t decide on a job description that didn’t creep him out wasn’t exactly a good sign.
To cover the slip-up, he raised the trusty toolbox he wielded like a first aid kit to the rescue—though, just like a first aid kid, the toolbox more than likely wouldn’t be adequate for the job. “Is something wrong with the door?” Of course, the bookstore had several doors, but between the two of them, “the door” could only mean the one he’d built about six months ago.
“It’s not opening correctly.”
At her direction, he jogged up the staircase to the loft section of the store. Despite its comfy overstuffed chairs and enough bookshelves to provide privacy between them, the landing was empty of readers. For some reason, this place was one of Hawthorne’s best-kept secrets. Another, he hoped, was the door he’d built. From this side, it appeared to be part of the built-in bookcases, but with the toe lever and a flick of the key, it opened into the stairwell next to the upstairs apartment Claire shared with her sister Keira. This was, by far, his favorite piece he’d designed and built. If he could build projects like these all day long, he’d leave Hughes & Sons Funeral Home in an instant.
Under the guise of checking the stability of the trim, Zach let his fingers glide around the lip of the side panel. Even stuffed full of thick hardbacks, the shelves showed no evidence of sagging, and no telltale arc marred the wood floor underneath. It was remarkably balanced for having to guess the kind of weight the piece would hold before he built it. “Any trouble with the books shifting or falling off?”
Claire shook her head and handed him the key to unlock it from the wall. “It really is fabulous—so much so, I wish I could show it off to everyone, but that would defeat the purpose of camouflaging it.”
Zach worked at the mechanism until the bookcase finally swung into the loft. The cabinet itself appeared to work as perfectly as the day he’d inst
alled it. He peered into the locking mechanism, using his phone’s flashlight for assistance. “I think your problem is more mechanical. Has Brant looked at it?” Claire’s sister Keira was dating a pyrotechnician who was converting an old auto body shop into a home. If anyone had handyman skills, that guy had mad ones.
“Of course.” She threw a hand up into the air to punctuate the words. “Why didn’t I think of him?”
Another instance of not being the right man for the job. Zach tried not to shake his head even as he pushed the negative thought away. Not having every skill was neither a fault nor a failing. He gave the bookcase a gentle push, and it glided back to the wall, almost weightless. Catching it before it hit the wall, he closed it with a gentle click. Brant may be able to fix the lock—Zach certainly hoped so—but his door was still flawless. “Wish I could have been more help.” Zach gave her an easy smile to show he really didn’t mind.
“It is still my favorite thing about my shop—which is saying a lot.” Claire walked to the iron railing and looked out over the main sales floor. She paused a moment, contentment evident in everything about her. She really did love her job. She began walking again, this time toward the staircase. “Are you coming to Carter’s book signing next month?”
Zach’s jaw clenched, and he exhaled deliberately to relax it. While being asked about Carter every other breath might be annoying, Claire had no idea it was one of Zach’s pet peeves. She was just trying to make conversation.
“I’ll be around, of course. When do I ever anywhere?” He grabbed the end of the handrail and changed directions at the bottom of the stairs. “The question is if Carter will be around. He’s been traveling a lot.” He’d said something about Virginia or West Virginia or somewhere south of here.
At Claire’s sharp intake of breath, he grinned and raised both hands in a calm down gesture to keep her from panicking.
“Just kidding. I’m sure it’s on his schedule.” Zach had passed an easel at the front door when he’d come in. He looked back at it, ignoring the glossy photo of his big brother, and took a closer look at the date. “I’m sure the entire Hughes family will be here.” Unless they could come up with legitimate excuses, his mom would expect every family member to show up—with good attitudes. It was what they did to support each other.
While You Were Speaking: Spring Flings and Engagement Rings Page 3