Chapter 5
PRESLEY
“Are you thinking platform-specific content? Or something that’s a little more universal?”
Bronwyn Ainsworth-Keller, Hayes’s director of marketing—and my new boss—purses her lips to the side as she thinks.
Sitting back in her chair, she blinks hard, staring back at me in one of the leather guest chairs across from her, her thought process written all over her face.
A little younger than I am, with honey-colored hair and sparkling eyes, Bronwyn is also a little bit of an outsider here in Hickory Hills.
“Both? Is that an acceptable answer?” she replies, her northern accent shining through.
Originally from Boston, having spent the last few years in the South has not diluted her accent, making her stand out in a crowd.
“I realize that some platforms make it easier than others to overlap, and so there’s probably some stuff that we will have restrictions on, or have to make specially for that use, but I would love if we have content that can be used everywhere.
Like, some grab-and-go content. Because I know the folks around here, and if we don’t make it easy, they won’t do it. ”
I chuckle, understanding exactly what she means. “That’s absolutely doable. And that’s not a unique request. There are lots of people who have no interest in social media, so as much as possible, I apply the KISS method—Keep It Super Simple.”
“That’s a much nicer way of saying it than I was taught.”
“I mean, same,” I shrug knowingly. “But I’ve found that since my little guy has started to talk, I need to watch what I say. He likes to repeat things, and always seems to catch the words that don’t need repeating. Like stupid.”
“Oh, goodness.” Bronwyn laughs, covering her mouth like she thinks it’s inappropriate to be amused by such a thing.
“My dad introduced Otis to Peanuts last year, and what does he pick up from that? Blockhead. He walked around for three days after watching It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown just repeating “blockhead” over and over and over again.
That was only replaced after I dropped something and uttered crap under my breath.
I didn’t even think I said it that loud, but his little ears caught it, and we spent about a week with that one on repeat.
That’s when I realized that I needed to start watching my words. ”
“How old is he?”
“Three.”
“That’s a busy age,” she comments.
For a second I think there’s more coming—worry about how I’ll get my work done, or if he’s going to be a distraction. But it doesn’t come. Bronwyn offers nothing more than a simple smile with her observation, making me feel right at home.
“It is, but it’s been a fun adventure. I’m looking forward to being closer to my parents too, since my dad is pretty much Otis’s favorite person on the planet.”
Although he seemed rather enthralled with Jace this weekend…
“Awww.” Her smile spreads across her face, hand moving to her tummy. “I can’t wait.”
Her comment takes me by surprise. Is she saying what I think she’s saying?
“Are you…”
“Oh, no!” she quickly corrects me. “Someday though. But don’t tell my husband I said that, because he’s ready, like, yesterday.”
We both giggle, enjoying the shared moment.
I’ve met her husband, Noel Keller, who runs the local landscaping company with his twin, Nash, husband to Willa Hayes, only once, but I know she’s not exaggerating.
He spent fifteen minutes playing with Otis when he came over to help my father with a tree in their backyard. The man absolutely has baby fever.
“Back to work, though—I did mock up these quickly,” I say, bringing our focus back where it’s supposed to be. “Since you specially mentioned The Booby Trap as an area of focus, I took the big mouth design from their stickers and elaborated a bit.”
Flipping through my tablet, I show Bronwyn the slides I made to post online. She gasps, her excitement palpable.
“Yes! This is perfect. We have a bunch of footage from Reel Madness as well. Do you think we could put together a video?”
What kind of question is that?
“Absolutely.” I nod. “And that benefited Hayes Cares, right? So, we could link it into—”
“Hey, Bronwyn, Owen and I had this idea…”
Jace barges into Bronwyn’s office, not bothering to knock, much less stop his train of thought to see if she—or anyone else in her office—might be in the middle of something.
That is, until he sees me sitting here. That stops him dead in his tracks.
Good.
He drags his gaze up and down me, assessing me like I’m the prize hog at the county fair and yet somehow come up short. Very short, judging by the look on his face. The one that tells me he’d rather be looking at a roach infestation than me.
To be fair, I’d rather clean hair out of the drain than look at him.
If we could just tell my body that, however, so that my heart doesn’t skip the next time he walks into the room.
And my eyes don’t look at his hands, wondering what it would be like to have them on me.
Or have my brain flooded with images of how natural he looked holding my son—and Otis holding on just as tight.
“Hi, Jace,” Bronwyn greets, her politeness outshining her surprise. But only slightly.
“Hi.”
His automatic response is curt, forced, his gaze still glued to me.
I do my best to look unbothered, maybe even annoyed with his presence—which I am; this is my meeting—and not like I can feel the heat of his eyes on me.
Or that I wonder what that little bit of scruff on his face would feel like against mine.
“Like I was saying,” he continues, peeling his attention away from me and turning it squarely on Bronwyn. Although he smiles for her. Very nicely, I might add. “Owen and I had this idea. And I think it might be perfect for the whole social media push that you’re doing.”
Jace had a social media campaign idea? With Owen? Owen Meyer?
I scoff internally, wondering what on earth those two chaos gremlins could possibly come up with.
They were like Frick and Frack back in high school.
While I’m sure it’s not fair to believe that their grown-up versions are exactly the same, I have a hard time imagining that these two don’t revert to their basic, immature levels when together. They are boys after all.
“Well, lay it on us,” Bronwyn says, then gestures to me. “Our new social media manager is sitting right here.”
Jace looks back at me, holding back the sneer I imagine is crossing his mind right now. Or maybe that’s just my mind.
“Right…”
Crashing down into the other guest chair, he makes himself comfortable, like he owns the place, crossing his legs with one ankle resting on top of the opposite knee.
At least he’s not manspreading…
“So, Owen has this friendship, shall we call it, with this motorcycle club.”
“Owen is in a motorcycle gang?” I choke out, unable to hold back.
“No.” Jace glares at me. “He’s a lieutenant in the Georgia State Patrol. Which is how he knows the leader of the motorcycle club. Anyway, we were thinking it might be cool to host them here in Hickory Hills and do a self-defense event.”
“With the bikers?” I clarify.
“No, with Ewoks.” Jace rolls his eyes, not bothering to hide his indignation.
He looks like he’s half a second away from asking if I really need to be here.
“Yes, with the members of the club. We’re thinking it would help break down some stereotypes and barriers and all that.
Plus, we can make it a fundraiser for EmpowHER. ”
EmpowHER, the local woman’s refuge in Knox County. The place where Jace, Owen, and I did many of our community service hours to meet the graduation requirement. Actually, thinking back on it, that might have been where Jace did all his hours.
He isn’t wrong—partnering with a local organization such as EmpowHER is great PR for Hayes. It’s a wonderful, feel-good type story that people go crazy for. Bikers…well, that part is a little hit or miss, but depending on the group, we can frame it in a way that will make it work.
“I like it,” Bronwyn says. There’s a but coming though; I can tell in her voice. “So, I’m not saying no, but…it’s not quite the serial I want to focus on.”
“We could make it a series. I’m at EmpowHER once a month doing a class, so we could incorporate that, leading up to the event. Make it part of Rhythm and Brews even.”
He wants to do this as part of Rhythm and Brews? Holy Cow…that’s going to be an undertaking.
The beer and bluegrass festival, held every Labor Day weekend, is the pride of this town.
Despite all the other events held throughout the year—and there are plenty; what kind of small town would it be otherwise?
—Rhythm and Brews is without a doubt the shining crown jewel in the cap.
Thousands of people descend on this community every year, helping to raise money for the local high school.
It’s a massive event—on multiple levels—not the least of which is the many gallons of beer served every year.
Adding a self-defense class to that is…borderline insane. Then again, I don’t have to coordinate it, so what do I care?
Oh, wait… I’ll have to document it and hype it up. So yes, I care very, very much.
“Is that really the smartest idea? I know I’ve only attended one Rhythm and Brews, but I can’t imagine it’s gotten any smaller in the years since I lived here, and that just seems like an insane undertaking—”
“It’s a great idea,” Jace cuts me off.
Okay then…
“We still need something that we can make into a series. Something that highlights Hayes Personal Safety and all the programs you run. Something people can stumble onto and watch over and over. Something they share with their friends, or send to their moms. That’s what I’m really after here,” Bronwyn interjects.
“And basic self-defense isn’t it?” Jace counters.
“Are you coming up with a new and interesting way to be like ‘here’s how you throw a right hook’? Because we can already find that on the Internet.”