A Sweet Possibility (Archer Cove Series Book 2)
Page 20
Once the microphone was fitted, they were ready. Show's about to begin, Anna thought. There was no turning back. No peeing herself. It was time to bring the maize.
Anna's limbs trembled as she walked down the stairs. Members of the town had come out to view the taping, and a few clapped when they saw her. Flossie giggled beside her. "Oooh, you're going to be famous."
"Anna! Oh my. You look amazing!"
Anna turned to see Charis's little sparrow-like figure bobbing excitedly. She may have been in her thirties, but Charis was still Little Miss Christmas. Exhibit one: her candy cane earrings. Anna forced a broad but shaky smile. "Hey. Thanks. You don't think I look like an elf?"
"Oh my goodness no! You look adorable, and your aura is brilliant blue! Oh, and I brought some children with me," Charis said, gripping Anna's wrist between her warm fingers. "I hope you don't mind."
She'd brought...children? Oddly, it didn't surprise Anna. "No, of course not. The more the merrier."
"They're orphans," Charis whispered. (Of course they were.) "Children from the state-run home, poor darlings. The foster care system...I can't even talk about it. They could use a little Christmas cheer. We all could." She tilted her head and nodded solemnly. "I rented a bus. They're all so excited. There are a few counselors, too. To keep them away from sharp objects. And also because one of the little girls starts fires, bless her heart."
Anna sucked a breath as Charis's voice finally came to a halt. "Great," she exhaled. "Well, keep them away from the fireplace, I guess. And the kitchen."
"Oh, don't you worry." She leaned in closer and Anna smelled cinnamon on her breath. "You just go on up there and make us proud! We'll all be watching."
No pressure there.
Anna's attention turned to Devon Gail, the journalist who would be interviewing her. Devon had her arms outstretched and was waiting while someone from wardrobe pinned her gray jacket. Anna admired her dark skin and bright smile with a pang. Devon was gorgeous. Beside her, she was going to look about as attractive as forgotten leftovers.
"Anna," Devon beamed warmly, lowering her arms to clasp Anna's hands. "What a beautiful inn. So pretty and quaint. I'm really looking forward to our chat."
"Me too," Anna said, lying just a little bit.
Devon touched a finger lightly to her short, chic curls and ran a gaze down Anna's figure. "I love that dress. It's precious."
But something in her tone made Anna feel self-conscious. She'd opted for holiday festive. Devon had not. Anna adjusted the fabric around the belt. "Thank you."
A man approached then and explained what was going to happen. They had already taken a number of shots of the property and the town, and they'd done preliminary interviews to get the background. "Anna, Devon's going to ask you some questions about the festival," he explained. "It's going to be real low-key."
"We'll keep it conversational," Devon added. "Nothing to be nervous about. This is a feel-good piece."
Anna's mouth had gone dry, so she nodded and said, "Uh huh."
The crew had set two director chairs in front of the fireplace. Anna waited for Devon to take her seat before climbing into her chair. As she waited for the cue to begin, Anna took a deep breath and tried to relax. This was going to be fantastic publicity for the inn. A local television segment! She could be fully booked before the day was up. As someone adjusted the lights, she reminded herself to smile and enjoy. But then she felt the weight of everything that was resting on the interview: an inn filled with guests at the holidays. Could she be so lucky?
And suddenly, Devon had started. She smiled easily at the camera and leaned forward engagingly. "What do you think of when you think of the perfect holiday season? Ice skating and marshmallows? Sleigh bells in the snow? We're here in the idyllic town of Archer Cove, Connecticut, where one innkeeper is on a mission to create warm winter memories for the townspeople."
Anna's spine went rigid as Devon spun towards her. Relax, she told herself. Remember to breathe. Devon's smile was warm as sunshine as she said, "Anna, you've created the loveliest winter festival. Can you tell us a little bit about it?"
Shoot, her mouth was bone dry, and she could hear her own tongue unsticking itself as she attempted to answer. "The holidays...are a magical time," she began, a little breathlessly. "I've always loved the idea of families gathering together, and the contrast of snow and warmth. I wanted to create a winter like you'd see in a painting -- er, a postcard."
"And of course this brings in visitors, too," Devon added. "That must be good for business."
Anna started at the implication. "Y-yes, but it's not just about that. If people from out of town come to the inn to enjoy the festivities, that's a bonus."
She licked her lips with a dry tongue, desperate to explain herself. This wasn't about money, she was sure of it. This was about staying busy, being active. Being surrounded by people and not left with her own thoughts. But that wasn't the kind of thing one confessed to a journalist in front of television cameras. Hello, I'm Anna Tumblesby, and I'm desperately lonely.
She opted for a change of subject. "We have a whole schedule of activities lined up. I'm terribly excited about the cookie swap. There will be an award for the best cookie, of course --"
Anna's words trailed as the corner of her eye caught a flash of movement. A man had just entered the inn and was walking down the makeshift side aisle of the viewing audience. He paused just on the edge of the shadows, but Anna saw him clearly enough, and froze.
She was barely aware of a stretch of silence, and then Devon cleared her throat. "So there will be a cookie contest, then?" She prompted. "That sounds like a lot of fun! How does that work, exactly?"
But Anna's attention was still on the man who'd just entered. "Yes," she began slowly, allowing her eye to move from Devon to the visitor. "There will be marshmallows."
Shoot. Was that really him? Did he actually have the unmitigated gall? Anna's mind unraveled as Devon shuffled some papers in her lap and gave a dry laugh. "I understand you and your sister have a special term for the inn during this festive time. Do you want to share what that is?"
They'd done a pre-interview with Flossie? She'd never mentioned that. "Oh," Anna forced a burst of laughter. "We call it the Holly Jolly Bull Penis. It's just a private joke."
With a swift whoosh, the air left the room. Devon's eyes widened, and she looked back down at her lap. Anna glanced out over the faces in the audience and the realization slowly hit. "Sorry," she murmured, teasing the fur trim on her dress again. "Did I say -- ? Bullpen. Holly Jolly Bullpen. Because, um, it's about a baseball reference? And just, you know, warm up. Warming up. There's the fireplace."
Well, there she went, headfirst off the cliff. It was a long, slow fall from here. Anna clenched her eyes shut and gripped her dress. "Um, would you mind if I...could I get a glass of drink? Not a drink. Alcohol, I mean." She exhaled. "Just water. My mouth is dry."
Devon blinked and her smile tightened. "We're live."
"Oh." Anna's cheeks burned. "Right. I forgot about that."
"It happens to the best of us." The reporter crossed one slender leg over the other and leaned closer to Anna. "You know, you must love the holidays to invest so much of yourself in this festival. Can you tell me about your favorite holiday tradition?"
"I don't...know."
Anna stared at the camera lens. Wires were coiled like snakes around the floor -- what if someone tripped? Would she be sued for that? And Devon wanted to know what she loved so much about the holidays, and why wouldn't Anna's mouth work? Blast.
Beside her, Devon laughed good-naturedly and shuffled her papers again. "So, it could be anything. Like a favorite food, or a toy you received --"
"The holidays are kind of a hard time for me," Anna said quietly. Her voice sounded strained and thin to her ears. "I didn't plan this festival because I wanted money. I planned it because I don't want to be alone. Because if I'm busy, then I can forget."
She was staring at her fists as she
spoke, clenching and unclenching them on her lap. As she finished speaking, she brought her gaze up to meet Devon's, and she saw that she'd said the wrong thing. Again. "I'm sorry, Devon," Anna muttered. "I don't do well with perky small talk. I just said "bull penis" in front of the orphans. And on live television." There was a burst of giggles in the audience, but Anna continued. "Look, it's going to be a nice festival. We kick off in two weeks with hot chocolate and cookies at the inn. Everyone's welcome. Maybe you love the holidays, or maybe you find them sad and stressful and they remind you of the passage of time and make you want to lose your feelings in a container of that orange popcorn that people like to send around this time of year. You know what I mean? That cheese popcorn that's covered with orange dust. It comes in the tin. Either way, you're welcome to attend the festival. We'd love to have you."
She paused, and her ears were filled with only the sound of her own thundering heart and a crackle as a log slipped in the fireplace. That camera was still pointed at her. Anna pressed her lips together and turned to Devon. "Anyway, the cookie making competition isn't limited to cookies. I hope participants will feel free to make brownies and other things, too. Oh, and the Jingle Bell dance requires a sign up! But it's posted online on our website." She smiled. "If you're coming from out of town, there's plenty of time."
She folded her hands in her lap to signal that the interview had ended -- and on a decent note, all things considered. Devon's lovely face had gone blank and her jaw slack, but she recovered after a beat and glanced at the producer. "Well, a few minutes early. But we're okay, right Tom?"
Anna didn't wait for the answer before rising and shuffling off the set toward the man who had entered. Behind her she heard Devon say, "I guess we'll all just take a break?"
Let them all scramble, Anna didn't care. The segment was mostly ruined, though maybe they'd give her a chance to do a quick follow-up, assuming she could manage to pull herself together in the next few minutes. But composure seemed less and less likely as she approached the man at the side of the room and his features came into focus. That thick, dark blond hair. Those sharply blue eyes, intense and gentle at the same time. He had a beard, but she'd still recognize him anywhere. Her heart arrested. "Ben."
* * *
AVAILABLE DECEMBER 2015
About the Author
Natalie Charles has worked as an attorney, a playground supervisor, and a makeup sales clerk, but not in that order. The happy sufferer of a lifelong addiction to mystery novels, Natalie has, sadly, never out-sleuthed a detective. She is a RT Reviewer's Choice Award winner and has been a finalist for the Daphne du Maurier Award for Mystery/Suspense. She lives in Connecticut with her hero husband and two bookish children.
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