Page 2 of Melting the Grump
That explains the capable hands and practical mindset. But not why I'm suddenly so aware of how he's looking at me like he's reassessing something fundamental about who I am.
"The timeline seems tight," he says, flipping through my proposal. "Three weeks to pull all this together?"
"I work well under pressure." I hold his gaze, strangely unwilling to look away.
"I bet you do," he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear, and something in his tone makes heat bloom across my cheeks.
The council asks more practical questions about parking, cleanup, and contingency plans for rain, which I answer confidently. Throughout it all, Scott's gaze returns to me repeatedly, his initial skepticism evolving into something more complex that I can't quite read but can definitely feel.
When the meeting concludes, most council members offer enthusiastic support. Scott, however, remains guarded.
"We'll vote at tomorrow's session," Meredith announces. "But I think it's fair to say there's strong interest."
As the room disperses, I gather my materials, trying not to feel deflated by the one holdout. I'm startled when Scott appears at my side, close enough that I catch the layered scent of sawdust, cedar, and something distinctly masculine.
"You came prepared," he says, voice lower now that we're not performing for the council.
I look up at him, he must be well over six feet. "Did you expect otherwise?"
"Honestly? Yes." A corner of his mouth quirks up, transforming his face in a way that makes my pulse skip. "Most people who want to change things around here don't bother learning why things are done the way they are first."
"Well, I'm not most people." I tuck my folder under my arm, oddly breathless.
"I'm getting that impression." His eyes linger on mine a beat too long, and I notice a fleck of darker blue near his pupil. "Still doesn't mean I'm voting yes."
I laugh, surprising both of us. "That would be too easy, wouldn't it?"
His almost-smile widens a fraction, creating a dimple I hadn't noticed before. "Nothing worth doing ever is, Ms. Robinson."
"Abigail," I correct him, the formality suddenly feeling wrong.
"Abigail," he repeats, and somehow my name in his mouth sounds different, like he's tasting it. "Good luck tomorrow."
He turns and strides away, leaving me with an unsettled feeling that has nothing to do with my proposal and everything to do with the way my name lingered in the air between us.
Outside, Acorn Circle has transformed in the hour I've been inside. Dusk drapes the square in shades of lavender and indigo, and the lanterns cast pools of amber light across the cobblestones. My feet carry me toward The Enchanted Bean Coffeehouse, drawn by the golden glow emanating from its windows. Wind rustles the trees overhead, sending a shower of crimson leaves spiraling down around me like confetti.
The bell above the door chimes softly as I step inside. Immediately, the scents of fresh coffee, cinnamon, and baked goods envelop me. The café glows with copper accents and string lights draped along exposed wooden beams. Mismatched armchairs and small tables create cozy nooks where patrons huddle over steaming mugs.
"There she is, our newest event planner!" Jade, the barista with purple-tipped hair, calls out. "Your usual?"
I nod, still surprised she remembers after just a few visits. "You heard about the meeting already?"
She taps her ear with a grin. "Small town superpower. News travels faster than texts." Her hands move deftly, creating my drink. "Meredith called her sister who works here. Said you knocked it out of the park."
"Almost. One tough customer." I settle against the counter, watching as she sprinkles cinnamon atop my latte.
"Let me guess… Scott Martin?" She grins, sliding the mug toward me. "Town's resident grump with a heart of gold?"
"The heart of gold part remains to be seen," I mutter, inhaling the comforting aroma before taking a sip.
Two older women at the next table exchange knowing glances over teacups painted with autumn leaves.
"Scott's bark is worse than his bite," says one, not bothering to pretend she wasn't eavesdropping. "He rebuilt my porch last spring, refused to take full payment because he knew I was on a fixed income."
Her companion nods sagely. "You two were really going at it in there. Reminded me of how my Harold and I used to argue. Married forty-two years before he passed."
I nearly choke on my latte. "We weren't—it wasn't like that."
