Chapter Six

Jamie made it through his two morning meetings – one a group status, the other, a work session on new business prospects. As the youngest member of the executive team and the only single male, Jamie was often selected to visit potential new clients, and this time was no different.

It was a compliment, in a way. His boss, a senior partner in the family-owned publishing company, often said that Jamie’s all-American good looks and boyish charm gave them an advantage when trying to sign female authors, the fastest growing sector in the marketplace. Now that self-publishing was becoming easier and more popular every day, new authors were no longer beating down the doors for contracts. His firm was being proactive, trying to maintain a solid footing in the rapidly changing industry. 

By lunch, his administrative assistant had already made the arrangements. First, he’d fly down to South Carolina to meet with a new indie author who was steaming up the best seller lists. Then to Vegas to represent the company as a traditional/indie hybrid choice at one of the bigger writer conventions for two days.

Jamie was glad to go. Maybe the change of scenery would help ease some of this restlessness he couldn’t seem to shake.

No such luck, though. When he returned a week later, he felt more unsettled than ever. Most of it, he attributed to an evening he’d shared with a remarkably bawdy group of romance writers in the Vegas hotel bar and lounge. They were old enough to be his mother (which was slightly disconcerting), but they’d taken him under their collective maternal wings when they’d seen him drinking alone at the bar. And, after loosening him up with copious amounts of alcohol, had coaxed the whole sordid story out of him.

They’d cheerfully taken it upon themselves to show him the error of his ways (rather brutally, in fact). After shooting him increasingly disappointed looks, they told him a man didn’t propose because a woman met a series of criteria, or because they were compatible. No, they insisted, a man proposed to a woman because he couldn’t bear the thought of being without her.

Then, then, after they’d thoroughly eviscerated him, they’d bonded together and set him on the Path of Enlightenment (their words, not his). This so-called path consisted of some rather unnerving truths.

The first was revealed after a lot of very personal questions (which he never would have answered had they not plied him with double-shots of Connemara). The ladies concluded that he was more bothered by Celina’s “betrayal” than he was by actually losing her. It was his ego that had been badly bruised, not his heart. (Apparently, this was a common and wholly male offense.)

The second truth came to light via an intense and serious debate among the women, to which he was more of a spectator than an actual participant. Their subsequent psychoanalysis proved (according to them), that while he and Celina might have been compatible intellectually, they were not meant to be lovers. When he’d asked for clarification, he’d gotten another passionate earful about alpha males and primitive instincts and “the one”.

When he’d laughed at that (not the wisest response amongst the purveyors of happily ever afters), he’d received a whole table’s worth of evil eyes, sadly shaken heads, and clucking tongues, informing him that what happened with Celina was fate’s way of keeping him on the right path. The path that would, they insisted, lead him to the right one.

That was when he’d started telling them about Amy. He didn’t know why he did it. Maybe because she was the first one he’d gone to after leaving Kyle’s that day. Maybe because, for those few hours he’d been with her, he’d felt better. Or maybe because he couldn’t stop thinking about her and what she’d said.

That she liked, liked him.

It was then, as a group, that they jovially declared him to be an idiot of the highest order, and proceeded to give him a lecture on exactly what he needed to do. He’d forgotten most of it, but the gist remained: get over himself, do it quickly, and don’t let Amy slip away.

Was Amy The One? They seemed to think it was a distinct possibility, based on his drunken confessions. Him? He didn’t know. A couple of weeks ago, he might have thought so, but now his confidence was shaky, at best.

He did like Amy. She was sweet and kind, and he had felt instantly at ease around her. She was easy to talk to and fun to be around. When he was with her, his failures didn’t seem to weigh as heavily upon his shoulders. And when he wasn’t with her, he thought about her. A lot.

It was a good start. One he would be a fool not to build upon.

With that in mind, he began drafting a plan, step by step.

Step One was easy enough: incorporating himself gradually in her life. Stopping at Amy’s for coffee became part of his morning routine. Sometimes he saw her, sometimes he didn’t. On those occasions when he did, she’d smile and chat with him if she wasn’t too busy. Amy was nice to everyone, but he liked to think that maybe she smiled at him just a little more, and that her eyes didn’t light up for everyone the way they did for him.

As far as he was concerned, those fifteen minutes were some of the best of his whole day. It got to the point where five minutes after he left, he was already looking forward to the next day.

When he saw the familiar colorful posters suddenly appearing on telephone poles a couple of weeks later, he moved on to Step Two.

“What are you smiling about this morning?” Amy asked suspiciously as she slid a small plate in front of him. Jamie looked down at the contents of the shallow bowl. Not his usual pastry, but something else.

“What’s this?”

The color rose in her cheeks. “Non-fat Greek yogurt with fresh berries and organic granola.” At his raised eyebrow, she cleared her throat self-consciously. “Well, I was thinking. Some customers might prefer a healthier alternative to pastries. So I did a bit of research and hit the local farmer’s market.”

“Ah,” he said, trying to hide his grin. “A business decision then.”

“Exactly,” she nodded. “A smart one, I hope.”

It was smart, and not just for the other patrons who might enjoy a healthy alternative to the decadent goodies she usually served. The knowledge that she would do so for him filled him with a sense of ... what, exactly? Pleasure? Triumph? Encouragement?

D. All of the above.

“It’s good to have options,” he agreed.

“Yeah.” She reached beneath the counter for a spoon. “So what’s got you in such a good mood this morning?

“You mean besides the new healthy breakfast option at my favorite café?”

“Yeah,” she laughed. “You were smiling before you knew about that.”

“Ah, so I was.” He slid the paper, neatly folded into quarters, across the counter.

“What’s this?”

“Open it.”

He watched her expression. Excitement lit her pretty hazel eyes, mixed in with a healthy dose of curiosity. They scanned the paper, then looked back at him, bemused.

“A flyer for the county fair?”

“Yeah. I haven’t been to one in years. I was thinking maybe I should. Go again, I mean.”

Amy nodded, some of her earlier excitement fading though she retained a pleasant enough smile. “You should. It’s a great time.”

She began to walk away. He let her. He’d seen the question in her eyes, but according to his dedicated staff of personal advisors (three of the romance writers he’d met in Vegas were emailing him daily for updates), a bit of mystery and suspense was a good thing.

“So, what time should I pick you up?” he asked when she’d completed her service loop.

“What?”

“For the fair. Tomorrow. What time?”

“Tomorrow?”

She was so cute. He maintained eye contact while clearly enunciating each word. “Fair. Tomorrow. Saturday.” He pointed his index finger her way. “You.” Yanked his thumb back toward himself. “Me.”

Amy bit her lip, clearly recalling the conversation they’d had after he’d asked her to the movies. “Jamie...”

“I know what you said, Amy, and I’ve been giving it a lot of thought. The truth is, I like being around you. Like your delicious coffee, I find myself wanting more of it.”

She smiled at that, though her eyes remained wary. “What about Celina?”

“I’m not going to lie and say it doesn’t still hurt. But it hurts less when I’m with you. And before you say it’s a rebound thing, I don’t think it is.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because some very wise ladies informed me otherwise, and told me I’d be a fool to let you get away just because I had my head up my ass.” When her eyes widened, he added ruefully, “Their words, not mine.”

Amy smirked. “Sounds like these ladies know you pretty well. I think I’d like to meet them.”

“You will,” he grinned. “They’re romance writers. I told them about your place, and they thought it sounded wonderful. As a matter of fact, I’ve been tasked with cajoling you into a multi-author book signing event. They’re a meddlesome lot, but they can be very, very persuasive.”

At her questioning look, he added, “Long story. I’ll tell you about it if you agree to go to the fair with me. I even promise to eat a corndog.” He gave a mock shudder. “But only after we’ve ridden all the rides.”

She laughed but shook her head. “It sounds wonderful, but I can’t.” She waved her hand around. “Book Shoppe, remember?”

“Can’t you get someone else to close for you? All work and no play makes Amy - ”

“- a responsible small business owner,” she finished with a grin. “But... maybe I could close up a little early,” she said slowly. “I mean, a lot of local businesses do that when the fair’s going on.”

“That they do,” he agreed.

“And business will be slow anyway on Saturday with the battle of the bands going on. Nothing I can’t handle,” Peggy added helpfully, grinning from ear to ear.

“Peggy! How long have you been eavesdropping?”

“Long enough.”

“All right then,” Amy said, laughing. “Looks like I’m outnumbered. County fair it is. Tomorrow. Four o’clock. With you.”