Chapter 5 #3
I open my mouth, then close it again, feeling myself deflate. “I am. Of course I am. But I’m sure there’d be a runner-up person who could take over for me. I mean, previous Big Dills must have had stuff come up that prevented them from finishing their… reigns.”
“Sure. But while you’re spending all this time campaigning, how are you getting a new job?”
This… is a good question. A damn good question. And the answer is…
“I don’t know.” I blow out a breath. “Look, I know you think I’m not trying hard enough—”
Milo squawks. “That’s not—”
“—but I have been. It just feels like I’ve been swimming against the tide all the damn time. And I…” My voice clogs with unexpected emotion, and I stop to sip some water.
Milo’s whole face softens. “Griffy—”
“No. Ugh. I don’t want pity. This land… it feels like my responsibility.
I told you that. And… I want to win this, Milo.
For Jim. For me. For every little guy who doesn’t feel like he gets a say in his own damn life because the system is rigged.
And if I can prevail this one time, win this one thing, then…
maybe all the other shit I have to deal with will start to feel possible again. ”
Milo studies me for a long moment with a pucker between his eyebrows that’s going to make him a candidate for Botox before thirty if he keeps this up.
“And you’re sure this has nothing to do with you wanting to win against your hot lumberjack nemesis for personal reasons?
” He leans toward me and lowers his voice.
“Because if you want the man, you could probably lure him out to the treehouse by promising to give back the flannel shirt I happen to know is tucked in your dresser.”
I’m blushing again. Or maybe still. “You’re an asshole,” I say without heat.
Milo grins… then frowns and gnaws his lip. “You know, maybe I should skip the retreat.”
“What for?”
He shrugs. “Because you might have great ideas for the town, Griffin, but you’re not operating at peak friendliness these days. In fact, I’ve seen cacti that are more approachable.”
I dunk my finger in my water and flick droplets at him. “Asshole,” I repeat.
He laughs, and I’m suddenly overcome by affection for the man. This is why he’s my best friend.
“There is no way you’re skipping this retreat,” I tell him. “You danced around your living room when you heard they invited you. This is how you’re going to level up your career.”
I refuse to let my own career crisis derail both of us.
“Here we are,” Vivian says, coming toward us with a tray of dishes.
I stand automatically and take the far edge of the tray so she can lower it without straining.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” She beams as I sit back down, and she sets my plate in front of me.
My stomach immediately growls like I’ve been starving for years and haven’t noticed. The thick-sliced bread is buttery and perfectly golden brown, gooey cheese melts out the side, and it’s served with chips that look homemade.
I immediately dive in and groan. “Oh my god, this is amazing.”
Vivian laughs as she sets a basket of cornbread and the largest bowl of soup I’ve ever seen in front of Milo.
Milo barely seems to notice.
“Vivian,” he says, “could you tell us more about these Brine events you mentioned? What does it all entail?”
“Mmm, let’s see. There’s a scavenger hunt, a road race, a talent show, a craft fair, food trucks, speeches…” She ticks the items off on her fingers.
“And which would you say are the biggest events?” he wonders. “The, ah… prerequisites for letting people know you want to be Big Dill, so to speak.”
Vivian’s gaze ping-pongs between us excitedly. But when she speaks, it’s with a studiously casual tone that mirrors Milo’s.
“Hmmm. I’d say the Wild Gherkin Chase. Definitely. That’s the kickoff event, this Saturday. It’s a scavenger hunt. Highly competitive.”
Milo and I exchange a glance. I can do competitive.
“And then probably Hello, Winsome,” she continues. “It’s a fun way that people get to know their neighbors. You can make a speech, you can do an interpretive dance… anything you want, really.”
I choke on a potato chip. “So it’s a talent show?”
“Sounds fun.” Milo shoots me a look that screams cactus, and I scowl, which probably only proves his point.
Shit. Milo’s right. I really do have to make more of an effort to be friendly.
“It’s a long-standing tradition,” Vivian explains. “When Carmine Esposito talked about removing the metered parking on Whether Street, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. He didn’t win Big Dill, but they did remove the meters.”
I nod. I don’t waste a minute worrying about that event. Prickly I might be, but public speaking is my jam. There’s a reason Alan Nelson had me pitch to all of our toughest clients. I’ll figure something out.
“So, hypothetically, if a person wanted to get involved in these activities,” I wonder, “what would they need to do?”
“Well, for everything except the Wild Gherkin Chase, you’d simply show up. But—” Vivian looks almost theatrically alarmed and presses a hand to her chest. “Oh, wait! Griffin, you’re not thinking of trying for Big Dill, are you?”
I lift my chin. “Maybe. Possibly. Yes.”
“But sweetie, I really don’t think…” She shakes her head forlornly.
“I’d hate for you to be disappointed. You know, when Beckett was ten, he read a story about a boy who whittles, and he spent three whole weeks using his little pocketknife to turn scrap lumber into cereal bowls for himself and his siblings.
Once he really wants something, he doesn’t quit.
So if Beckett has his heart set on this… ”
I’m pretty sure I read the same book Beckett read, and it’s annoying to think we have this in common.
“Oh my god!” Milo exclaims. “Griff, that’s just like the story your moms tell about the time you insisted on making your own ink out of crushed-up berries because you read about it in a book. They said you were pink for weeks—”
“But hypothetically,” I insist, ignoring him.
“Welllll…” Vivian draws out the word and purses her lips.
“I suppose hypothetically, you’d want to write down your contact information on a piece of paper like this one.
” She pulls her order pad and pen from her pocket and sets them on the table by my hand.
“Then you’d give it to the correct member of the committee.
” She points to the mega-table. “Ada Wickham, who runs the Pickle Jar. The lady in head-to-toe pink. And if you were to charm her and compliment her earrings, she’d probably make an exception and get you registered for the Chase.
” Vivian bites her lip. “But I cannot stress enough, honey, that you really should not under any circumstances consider going up against Beckett—”
I’m already reaching for her pen and notepad. I’m not sure my handwriting’s even legible. Then I stand and stride over to the big table to level the playing field.
The planning committee meeting is breaking up as I approach, so I make a beeline for the lady in pink.
As I get close, I realize the woman is a whole foot shorter than me…
unless you count her hair, which is arranged in a large, red bouffant.
She’s wearing earrings that I guess are meant to be cucumber pickles, but…
pink, so they look like something else entirely.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” I say. “I’m Griffin Mercer.”
The woman narrows her eyes, and they disappear into a sea of wrinkles. Her bright red lips thin.
“Who,” she demands, “are you calling ‘ma’am,’ whippet?”
My eyes widen. “Oh, god. I’m so sorry. I—”
She bursts out laughing, and it sets her earrings swinging. “Ah, gets ’em every time. What can I do for you, Griffin Mercer?”
“Uh. Well.” I lick my suddenly dry lips. “I’m new to Winsome, but Vivian was telling me about the Brine, and I… I’m really eager to participate. Could you help me get registered for the scavenger hunt?”
“Well, well.” She darts a look at Vivian, quirks a smile, then looks me up and down. “So you’re the man who owns Jim Grange’s treehouse now.”
The way she says it is different from the way other people do. Not unfriendly, but no-nonsense. She’s not offering condolences like Jim was actually my uncle, like maybe she knows better.
“That’s me.”
“Hmm. And what exactly did Vivian say that got you so excited to take part in these events?” She quirks one bright red eyebrow.
The rest of the meeting’s broken up, and a couple of people touch Ada’s shoulder as they leave, but she doesn’t so much as turn her head.
Meanwhile, I shift my weight from foot to foot, unsure how to reply. “I, uh… well, I’m new in town, like I said, and I thought—”
Fuck. I really did use to be good at public speaking, I’m almost sure of it.
“I heard you and Beckett Axford got into it the other day,” she interrupts. “That true?”
“I… suppose,” I admit, my voice a bit strained.
Ada leans closer. “Is it true you were naked, and he kissed you with tongue, right there in front of god and everybody?”
“What?” My face goes from warm to wildfire, the prickling heat racing up my neck like a fuse toward a stick of dynamite. “No!”
“Figured someone had embellished that one. Beckett’s not one to put on a show.” Ada laughs again, and it sounds surprisingly young. Musical, almost. “So tell me, Griffin. Are you entering these events because you’re hoping to curry favor with the town council when it comes to your land dispute?”
I open my mouth, then close it again. Fuck, the gossip around here is insane. Do they know my shoe size and the contents of my vibrator basket too?
“Perfect!” she declares, though I haven’t actually said anything. “I’ll make sure your name’s on the list for the Wild Gherkin Chase. Be at Chapel Island Park at eight thirty Saturday morning.”
“Really?” I let out a relieved breath. “Thank you—”
“No need to thank me. I have a feeling this is going to be highly entertaining.” She collects a large red purse from the arm of her chair and tucks it under her arm. “Besides, any friend of JG Flummery’s a friend of mine.”
I frown. “Who’s—?”
“Come on by the Pickle Jar one night next week,” she instructs.
“Bathsheba will want to meet you. Let’s say Monday—no, wait, Monday’s my manicure.
And the farmer’s market’s Wednesday. Better make it Tuesday evening to start,” she says.
As she heads for the door, she calls over her shoulder, “And bring Bathsheba donuts from Fox Creamery because we need to talk strategy, and she thinks better with donuts.”
“Uh… okay.” I nod. “Donuts. Strategy. Got it.”
I have no idea what kind of strategy is involved in a scavenger hunt, but then again, I’ve never chased a Wild Gherkin before either.
I’m damn well going to learn, though.
Beckett Axford has no idea what’s coming for him.