Page 5 of Summer Showdown
"I need a new wetsuit, not gossip," I reminded him, moving toward the rack of neoprene suits on the far wall. "The zipper's shot on my old one."
"Going to need a nice suit if you're dating a fancy Chicago attorney," Tyler teased, following me. "Maybe a tie. Do you even own a tie?"
"I own three ties, and I'm not dating anyone," I said, examining the price tag on a mid-range wetsuit and wincing. "How much for the display model?"
Tyler studied my face, his humor fading into something more perceptive. "You know, you're allowed to date again. It's been over a year since Hurricane Vanessa blew through town."
I traced the grain in the wooden display fixture, following a knot that spiraled like a whirlpool. "Eighteen months. And I've dated since then."
"Two coffee meetups and one blind date your mom set up don't count as dating," he countered, crossing his arms. "You've been hiding in your workshop more than living lately. Even that reclaimed mahogany bed frame you're building in the garage isn't going to keep you warm at night."
"How much for the display model?" I repeated, my finger still tracing the wood grain.
Tyler sighed. "I'll give you twenty percent off if you help me set up the new paddleboard display next weekend."
"Deal," I agreed, knowing better than to argue. Tyler had been my best friend since we were seven, building tree fortsand getting into trouble together; he could read me too well. "Thanks, man."
"No problem." He moved behind the counter and started writing up the sale. "So... the blonde. You're not even a little interested? An actual adult conversation with someone who doesn't know about the time you threw up in Mrs. Harlow's rosebushes after prom might do you good."
Lark's image came to mind—her direct gaze, slender figure, and those long legs I couldn’t help but notice. "Doesn't matter if I am. She's probably just passing through, and I've got enough going on without Zoe Blake turning my life into entertainment."
"Fair enough," Tyler conceded, though his knowing smirk remained. "Just don't knock it until you've tried it. She might not be another Vanessa."
I felt a familiar weight settle on my shoulders—the same heaviness that had followed me for weeks after finding Vanessa's note on our kitchen table.I need more than small town Montana can offer. More than you can offer.The pitying glances at the grocery store, the sudden silence when I walked into the neighborhood bar two days after she left, the whispered "there he is" when I'd shown up alone to the Harvest Festival that fall—all surfaced like trout breaking the water of a still pond.
The memory of those whispers faded as the shop's bell jingled, cutting off Tyler's next comment as Mayor Snowcroft entered, looking as crisp as ever in his button-down shirt and neatly pressed slacks. Theodore Snowcroft had been Wintervale's mayor for three terms, his silver hair and trim mustache as much a part of the town's identity as the mountains themselves.
"Wade! Just the man I was hoping to find," he announced, his politician's smile in full force. "Tyler mentioned you might be stopping by today."
Tyler raised an eyebrow at me, then tactfully moved to help a customer who'd come in behind the mayor. I tucked the wetsuit under my arm and shook Snowcroft's outstretched hand.
"What can I do for you, Mayor?"
"Perhaps we could speak somewhere a bit more private?" he suggested, nodding toward a corner where a couple of stools stood empty. Whatever this was about, it wasn't a casual hello.
"I assume you've seen this morning's Wintervale Whispers?" he asked, taking a seat and removing his phone from his pocket.
"Just did," I replied, wondering where this was going. "If you're worried about my reputation, don't be. Nobody takes Zoe's blog seriously."
"Actually, that's where you're wrong," Snowcroft said, showing me his screen. "Her readership has tripled in the past year. People from neighboring towns follow it now. And this post about you and Ms. Hayes has the highest engagement of any story this month."
I blinked, taken aback. "Why would anyone care about a made-up romance between me and someone they've never met?"
"People love a good story, especially one with attractive protagonists," he replied matter-of-factly. "And as it happens, this particular story could be beneficial for Wintervale."
"How exactly?" I asked, suspicion creeping in like sawdust under fingernails.
"The Summer Splash Festival is coming up, as you know," he said, leaning forward. "The kayak regatta, artisan market,lakeside concert series—it's our biggest tourism draw of the summer season, and frankly, attendance has been low the past few years. We need something fresh, something to generate buzz."
I saw where this was going and immediately shook my head. "No. Absolutely not."
"Hear me out," he persisted. "You're already involved with the festival through your water safety demonstrations. Ms. Hayes is here for at least two weeks per my understanding, which perfectly coincides with the festival dates. A little romance—even just for show—would create media interest beyond our usual reach."
"You want me to pretend to date a complete stranger to boost tourism?" I asked incredulously.
"That, and I want you to consider how this could also benefit your interests," he countered smoothly. "More tourists means more donations. More donations means expanded programming, perhaps even funding that new indoor aquatic facility you've been hoping for."
His comment hit its mark. The water safety program was scraping by on grants and community donations, with next month's quarterly deadline looming. Having a state-of-the-art indoor facility in Wintervale would mean winter classes, reaching more kids, maybe even expanding to neighboring communities. Without it, we'd continue operating just three months a year, reaching only a fraction of the children who needed these skills.
