Page 8 of Summer Showdown
"Congratulations," I offered automatically.
"Thank you." The mayor's smile was warm, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "The Evergreen Inn holds a special place in our hearts. Edna's connection to the property goes back generations—she's actually the niece of Cyrus Barrington, who originally built this place."
Rory nodded, a fond smile crossing her face. "We're honored to host their wedding. The festival finale and their ceremony on the same day will make it extra special."
"I should check on that stained glass repair," Rory said after a moment. "Cass wanted to show me some options for the third floor window." She whistled softly, and Bramble rose from his spot at my feet, padding after her into the inn.
***
Mayor Snowcroft settled into the wicker chair opposite mine, adjusting the crease in his trousers. "I won't take much of your time, Ms. Hayes. I just wanted to speak with you about something rather... unusual."
The lingering unease from James's email mixed with fresh wariness. Had news of my professional scandal somehowreached Wintervale? Was I about to be asked to leave the Evergreen Inn to avoid tarnishing its reputation?
"Have you, by chance, seen this morning's blog post?" he asked, pulling out his phone.
My stomach dropped. That blogger from yesterday—Zoe—had apparently ignored my explicit request not to publish my photo. I should have known.
"I haven't," I said, keeping my voice neutral despite the flare of irritation. "But I suspect I know what it contains."
The mayor handed me his phone, open to a page with "Wintervale Whispers" emblazoned across the top in hot pink script. Below the header was the photo I'd feared—me standing on the shore, looking toward the tanned, bare-chested lifeguard on the dock. The angle and timing made it appear as though we were sharing a private moment rather than the brief, impersonal glance it had actually been.
The headline made my eyes widen: "Summer Romance Heats Up Wintervale: Local Hero and Chicago Attorney Share Smoldering Glances."
"I don't know that gentleman personally," I said quickly, handing the phone back. "And I certainly didn't give permission for my photo to be taken. I apologize if this has caused any... awkwardness."
The mayor chuckled, waving off my concern. "Quite the opposite, my dear. This post has been the most viewed in Wintervale Whispers' history. People are clicking through to our Summer Splash Festival site in record numbers."
I blinked, caught off-guard by his enthusiasm. "I... don't understand."
"Tourism, Ms. Hayes." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Our little town depends on it, especially during thesummer months. The festival is our biggest draw of the season, but attendance has declined in recent years. We need something fresh, something to generate buzz."
Understanding dawned slowly, incredulity rising with it. "You can't possibly be suggesting..."
"A harmless little charade," he confirmed, smiling broadly. "Just through the festival. You and Wade Foster, Wintervale's most eligible bachelor, enjoying our town's attractions together. Nothing inappropriate—attending the artisan market, perhaps paddling in the sunset boat parade, appearing at the brewery tasting. The kind of activities that generate charming photos and bring visitors to our businesses."
I stared at him, momentarily speechless. Of all the scenarios I'd imagined for my time in Montana, becoming part of a manufactured romance to boost local tourism hadn't even made the list.
"This is absurd," I finally managed. "I'm here for peace and quiet, not to become the subject of town gossip."
"Free tickets to all events," he countered smoothly. "And Wade is one of our finest residents. High school shop teacher during the school year, lifeguard and swim instructor in the summer. He's quite popular with everyone in town."
Despite myself, I was curious. "And he's agreed to this ridiculous scheme?"
"In principle, yes," the mayor replied. "He's willing, provided you are."
High school shop teacher. I couldn't help but be impressed by anyone who willingly spent their days surrounded by hormonal teenagers wielding power tools. I remembered my own high school years—the defiance, the emotional volatility, the absolute certainty that I knew everything. Based on thefeedback I'd received from junior associates at the firm, not much had changed in my temperament since then. It took a special kind of patience to guide young people through those turbulent years.
I turned to look out at the garden, buying time to think. My instinct was to refuse outright. The last thing I needed was more public attention, even in a town as small as Wintervale.
And yet... there was something oddly appealing about the mayor's proposal. A distraction from my real problems. A narrative I could control, unlike the one unfolding at my firm.
The potential benefits crystallized in my mind like a well-structured legal argument. If images of me enjoying a summer fling circulated back to Chicago, it would undermine any impression that I was hiding away in shame. It might even give me leverage—I wasn't huddled in a corner licking my wounds; I was confidently living my life. The contrast between Andrew's accusations and photos of me looking carefree might raise doubts about his version of events. People rarely associate guilt with happiness.
"I'd need to speak with Mr. Foster directly before agreeing to anything," I said finally.
The mayor's face brightened. "Of course! In fact, he asked me to pass along his contact information to you." He handed me a business card with a phone number scrawled on the back. "Wade said you're welcome to text him anytime to discuss the arrangement."
I accepted the card, noting the neat, precise handwriting. "I'll think about it."
