Page 37 of Stacked
“We were in the back of the parade,” Morgan said before she also shook his broad, smooth, tanned hand. “Do you remember me? I’m Morgan.”
“Of course, I remember you.” He nodded at her SUV. “Looks like the float really turned out.”
“Yours looks great too,” I replied and then surprised myself with how much I meant that compliment. He’d worked hard, and it showed.
“Thanks. We’ll see what the judges say, although I am proud of it. The students put a lot of last-minute details into the statue.”
“That’s what matters,” I said. “It’s not enough for the floats to be interesting from afar. They really want them to be a sight to behold when you’re standing up close.”
“A shame these are only on display one day a year. I’ll hate to have to tear it to pieces tomorrow, considering all the effort we put into it.”
“That’s what Instagram is for.” Morgan took her phone from her pocket and gestured to us. “Can you all get together for a quick photo? I just realized we haven’t taken that many today.”
Robert moved closer to me and raised his arm as if to put his hand on my shoulder before hesitating and dropping it again. Instead, we stood together awkwardly as Morgan snapped a few photos. All I could smell was his cologne, a raw, wooden scent with a hint of sage that seemed to mix with his natural manliness.
I liked it.
He simply smelled so natural, so much like something I’d smelled my whole life, a scent that offered me instant comfort and connection, a coming home I’d never known. And that made him dangerous. Very dangerous. Robert was my direct competition, after all, the person who represented a thousand tiny little threats, all of which drew closer every day, as if I was a small goldfish and he was about to attack. I couldn’t be attracted to him.No, no matter what, I cannot do that.
As soon as Morgan finished taking the photo, I jumped away from his presence as if he’d stung me. Robert gave me a quizzical, puzzled look that tightened his forehead. His mouth opened as if he planned to ask me a question, but a loud horn bleating from the judging dais stopped him before he could ask.
It was time for the winners to be announced, for the moment we’d been waiting for to arrive.
At the signal, Morgan, Robert, and I crossed the lot and joined the rest of the people waiting to hear who would win that year’s coveted prize. I estimated about three hundred people had stuck around for the moment, along with a crew from the local news, a writer I recognized fromNew Burlington Living, and Keenan, a DJ from WOAL, Cincinnati’s soft rock and “today’s hits” radio station. Keenan was clearly there to serve as the celebrity emcee for the event. I doubted he would have ever stepped foot in New Burlington otherwise.
“What a wonderful day for a parade,” Keenan remarked from the edge of the stage. His white polo shirt with an embroidered station insignia stretched over his wide belly, and he held a wireless microphone in his left hand as if he were so comfortable with it that it was simply an extension of his body. “I don’t think we could have asked for better weather.”
The crowd murmured in agreement, and I took in the excited faces of so many of my neighbors. Robert gave me a small nod goodbye and rejoined his group of students closer to the front of the group. I watched him thread through it, taking in his broad shoulders, tapered waist, and sculpted calves below his gray trouser shorts.
God, he really is a hunk of a man, and that is so unfair.
I squeezed my eyes shut and wished that thought away too. I didn’t have time for that, I didn’t have room for him to keep coming up in my life. I had to stay singularly focused. I was here to win, here to have an impact on the future of the store. I was here for more than some guy I’d met a few times in town who once had been my classmate.
That was it. Period.
Keenan made a few more compulsory remarks and gestured to the small group of judges tasked with choosing this year’s winner—Mayor Longworth, Reverend Pointer, Frank Simpson from the county commission, and Julie Cross, a local mystery writer whose turn onThe New York TimesBest Seller list made her something of a local celebrity in our small town. Julie had done me a solid a few years ago, hosting a mystery night at the bookstore even though nothing she wrote fit our normal clientele. Despite promoting it for weeks, we hadn’t had a large turnout, and the memory of that disaster came back to me as Keenan went through the requirements for entry, the criteria for judging, and the list of winning prizes.Would Julie hold that night against me?I curled my toes in my sneakers and willed myself to stay rooted to the ground.
Don’t think about that right now, don’t dwell on the past...
Besides, Morgan was right. We didn’t know exactly what the judges would think of all the floats in the contest. They might be looking for something I didn’t anticipate, or they might be focused on some little detail I had missed. To me, it looked like a clear-cut two-horse race, but hell, they could decide to award a different float the first place, bypassing Robert and me altogether.
We simply didn’t know.
Still, as Keenan announced how hard it had been to make the decision, I wondered a few times if I’d fall over onto the grass. I was hanging on too tight, putting too much pressure on the moment, but I didn’t know how to stop it. I wanted this so much, and when he took a dramatic pause before making the announcement, I thought my chest might burst.
“All the floats in this year’s parade were outstanding.” Keenan’s voice boomed over the crowd. “I know I’m going to remember how great they were, and this parade is on my short list of places to take the family next year if you’re not planning to have me back as emcee.”
A few people laughed.
“When it comes to floats that stand out, there are a few that simply attracted our panel of judges in a special way, and I’m happy to present each of these submissions with an award.”
Morgan moved closer to me and threaded her arm through mine, hooking our elbows. She took a deep breath that mimicked mine. “Here we go,” she whispered.
“Here we go,” I replied, but I didn’t say it as much to her as I did to myself.
Keenan took the envelope from the judges and opened it. “This year’s third-place winner is...Frank’s Christmas Tree Farm!”
I exhaled as applause pulsed through the group, and the representatives from the farm climbed the dais stairs to accept their third-place ribbon and a small envelope I guessed contained one of the gift cards. They looked happy, and I was thrilled for them, glad their obvious efforts ended with them getting deserved recognition. I was also glad for myself. The Green Frog was still in the running for first place.
