Page 8 of Burning Hearts
Beau was apparently trying to see what I was made of: filing his nails on me.
“And to the Signal House faithful,” he said, sliding to the other side, “we see your sparkle. Just remember, here in Riverfield candlelight effects are simulated. We save real flames for barbecue and town gossip.”
The crowd loved him for it. I focused on the job: charm the town, win the prize.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Ellis Langford with a headset, running comms. Calm voice, quick hands.
Not my business.
I set my eyes back on Beau.
“Cade,” Beau practically sang, “are you prepared for the heat of internet comments?”
“I brought oven mitts,” I said. “And a fire extinguisher.”
Beau fanned himself theatrically and said, “Internet, he’s prepared.”
Wyatt elbowed me again.
“Back straight, Briggs,” he said. “Everyone at the station is watching the stream.”
I leaned forward to mention the boys at the station but was interrupted.
“What about confetti?” a college kid yelled from behind the church ladies.
“We keep it pointed away from sprinkler heads,” I said.
Beau grinned and pointed at me with game-show host flair.
“Cade reads the pamphlets!” Beau said. “Okay everyone, vote your hearts. Consider all options. Be nice in the comments. And count the tokens.”
Phones shot up. The chalk squeaked as Beau’s producer updated tallies, and I tried not to think about the presence of cameras. I knew where to stand and what to do with my hands. Smile with two teeth, tops. In uniform or out of it, same rule: make it safer than you found it.
“Final thought?” Beau said, shoving the mic directly under my chin, catching me off guard.
“They make the sparkle,” I said, gesturing toward the cluster of Signal House staff with clipboards. “We keep the exits clear.”
It played well, more laughter. Somebody shouted #TeamBrew and somebody else shouted #TeamSignal while another person in the back yelled out for Wick & Wax. Beau waved like a traffic cop between three wrecks.
We broke, and I helped the production staff coil a cable. We stacked two extra folding chairs into the alley, and Wyatt elbowed me again.
“You do realize Beau is flirting with you on camera,” he said.
“Wyatt, it’s a morning show outside a café,” I replied. “Everybody’s flirting with everybody.”
He shook his head. “You’re impossible, Cade.”
“I’m practical.”
Truth was, Beau made me laugh, and I didn’t know why. The man operated at a frequency I usually avoided. He was loud, glittering, and deeply online—and he always seemed to know when to make fun and when to make it matter.
With Beau’s 750,000 social media followers, he could bring lots of attention to me and my co-investors at Brickyard Brewery. We needed that million dollars from the Langford Prize, not to mention the three-year, free lease. Beau’s platform could only help.
My phone buzzed.
The group thread Beau had started last night—Tokens & Hairspray—lit up.
Ellis:Loved the “exits” line. Sparkle builds audiences quickly.
