Melting the Grump (Curvy Girls of Whitetail Falls #2)
Chapter 1 – Abigail
I tighten my grip on my presentation folder, its edges damp from my nervous fingers, as I take my first steps into Acorn Circle.
The historic heart of Whitetail Falls sprawls before me in all its autumn glory, a picturesque town square where cobblestones radiate from an ancient oak tree like spokes on a wheel.
The late afternoon sun slants through branches half-dressed in crimson and gold, casting dappled shadows that dance across my path with each breeze.
A ruby-colored leaf spirals down, landing on my folder as if offering encouragement. I'm still smiling at it when a woman approaches, her silver-streaked auburn hair catching the light.
"Abigail Robinson?" She extends a hand, her smile warm beneath observant eyes. "I'm Meredith, we spoke on the phone. Council's waiting inside the Thornwood Center."
I tuck the leaf into my pocket like a talisman. "Thank you."
I smooth down my burgundy sweater dress, chosen specifically to complement the season and my curves, and follow her across the square. Fallen leaves crunch pleasantly beneath my ankle boots as we walk.
This is my moment. After three weeks of living in Whitetail Falls, I'm still the newcomer, the city girl who bought the old Willowbrook cottage and started renovating it without asking anyone's advice on the "proper way" things are done here.
Event planning was my career in Portland, but here, it could be my bridge to belonging.
The Thornwood Community Center rises before us, all weathered brick and tall windows glowing amber from within. Inside, the scent of lemon polish and old wood wraps around me. Six council members sit waiting, their expressions ranging from curious to, in one case, downright skeptical…
That would be him. The tall, broad-shouldered man with the perpetual furrow between his eyebrows.
His flannel shirt stretches across a chest built from regular physical labor, and his brown hair has a slightly mussed look.
The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, revealing forearms corded with muscle.
I've seen him around town—impossible not to notice him, really—but we've never been introduced. Something about his presence fills the room differently than the others, like he's operating on a frequency that makes my skin prickle with awareness.
"Everyone," Meredith announces, her hand settling briefly on my shoulder, "this is Abigail Robinson with her proposal for expanding this year's Fall Festival."
I step forward, centering myself with a slow breath.
"Thank you for meeting with me. I know I'm new to Whitetail Falls, but I've fallen in love with this town…
its character, its traditions, and most of all, its potential.
I believe the Fall Festival could become a signature event that draws visitors from all over the region. "
Mr. Skeptical crosses his arms, his startlingly blue eyes narrowing slightly. His gaze, unlike the others, doesn't yield an inch.
I forge ahead, opening my presentation folder.
"I'm proposing we transform Acorn Circle into an enchanted autumn wonderland.
Picture this: lanterns floating above the cobblestones, creating pools of golden light.
Pumpkin arches framing the walkways, carved with intricate designs.
Local musicians performing on a small stage by the oak tree.
Artisan cider stalls and harvest-themed food from local restaurants. "
As I speak, my hands move, painting the vision in the air between us. I pass around mockups I've created, feeling a flutter of satisfaction at the appreciative murmurs.
"The centerpiece would be a maze of hay bales and corn stalks for children, with a treasure hunt that leads them to local businesses. It creates foot traffic for our shops while giving families an unforgettable experience."
"This all sounds lovely," says an older gentleman, his bow tie slightly askew, "but rather ambitious for our little town."
"That's precisely why it will work," I counter. "Whitetail Falls has authentic charm that can't be manufactured. We're just enhancing what's already magical about this place."
A soft round of agreement circles the room… until Mr. Skeptical finally speaks.
"And who exactly is paying for this enchantment?" His voice is deep, with a slight rasp that sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. It's the kind of voice that resonates somewhere behind my ribs.
I meet his gaze directly. "I've prepared a complete budget breakdown.
The floating lantern display uses affordable materials, and I've already secured donations from three businesses on Foxglove Lane.
The remaining costs would be covered by vendor fees and a small allocation from the existing festival budget. "
He leans forward, elbows on knees, and I catch a hint of pine and cedar. "Those floating lanterns—fire hazard. The hay bale maze? Insurance nightmare. And 'vendor fees' assumes we'll get enough vendors to show up in the first place."
Something about his dismissive tone ignites a spark in me. I've faced down tougher critics in Portland boardrooms.
"Mr...?"
"Martin. Scott Martin." His name comes with no smile, just a steady gaze that feels like a challenge.
"Mr. Martin. I've consulted with the fire marshal about the lanterns.
They're LED, battery-operated, and secured with fishing line rated for three times their weight.
" I pull out the safety documentation and slide it across the polished table.
"The hay bale maze design includes emergency exits every twenty feet, with fire extinguishers stationed throughout.
" Another document follows. "And I've already got fifteen vendor applications from businesses in neighboring towns.
" I slide the stack toward him with a smile that's sweet but firm. "I anticipated these concerns."
His eyebrows lift slightly, the first crack in his stern facade. "You've been busy."
"I'm thorough," I correct him, a pleasant warmth blooming in my chest. "And passionate about making this festival something special."
"Scott's our local voice of caution," Meredith explains with a knowing smile. "Comes with running a construction company and serving on the safety committee."
That explains the capable hands and practical mindset. But not why I'm suddenly so aware of how he's looking at me like he's reassessing something fundamental about who I am.
"The timeline seems tight," he says, flipping through my proposal. "Three weeks to pull all this together?"
"I work well under pressure." I hold his gaze, strangely unwilling to look away.
"I bet you do," he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear, and something in his tone makes heat bloom across my cheeks.
The council asks more practical questions about parking, cleanup, and contingency plans for rain, which I answer confidently. Throughout it all, Scott's gaze returns to me repeatedly, his initial skepticism evolving into something more complex that I can't quite read but can definitely feel.
When the meeting concludes, most council members offer enthusiastic support. Scott, however, remains guarded.
"We'll vote at tomorrow's session," Meredith announces. "But I think it's fair to say there's strong interest."
As the room disperses, I gather my materials, trying not to feel deflated by the one holdout. I'm startled when Scott appears at my side, close enough that I catch the layered scent of sawdust, cedar, and something distinctly masculine.
"You came prepared," he says, voice lower now that we're not performing for the council.
I look up at him, he must be well over six feet. "Did you expect otherwise?"
"Honestly? Yes." A corner of his mouth quirks up, transforming his face in a way that makes my pulse skip. "Most people who want to change things around here don't bother learning why things are done the way they are first."
"Well, I'm not most people." I tuck my folder under my arm, oddly breathless.
"I'm getting that impression." His eyes linger on mine a beat too long, and I notice a fleck of darker blue near his pupil. "Still doesn't mean I'm voting yes."
I laugh, surprising both of us. "That would be too easy, wouldn't it?"
His almost-smile widens a fraction, creating a dimple I hadn't noticed before. "Nothing worth doing ever is, Ms. Robinson."
"Abigail," I correct him, the formality suddenly feeling wrong.
"Abigail," he repeats, and somehow my name in his mouth sounds different, like he's tasting it. "Good luck tomorrow."
He turns and strides away, leaving me with an unsettled feeling that has nothing to do with my proposal and everything to do with the way my name lingered in the air between us.
Outside, Acorn Circle has transformed in the hour I've been inside.
Dusk drapes the square in shades of lavender and indigo, and the lanterns cast pools of amber light across the cobblestones.
My feet carry me toward The Enchanted Bean Coffeehouse, drawn by the golden glow emanating from its windows.
Wind rustles the trees overhead, sending a shower of crimson leaves spiraling down around me like confetti.
The bell above the door chimes softly as I step inside.
Immediately, the scents of fresh coffee, cinnamon, and baked goods envelop me.
The café glows with copper accents and string lights draped along exposed wooden beams. Mismatched armchairs and small tables create cozy nooks where patrons huddle over steaming mugs.
"There she is, our newest event planner!" Jade, the barista with purple-tipped hair, calls out. "Your usual?"
I nod, still surprised she remembers after just a few visits. "You heard about the meeting already?"
She taps her ear with a grin. "Small town superpower. News travels faster than texts." Her hands move deftly, creating my drink. "Meredith called her sister who works here. Said you knocked it out of the park."
"Almost. One tough customer." I settle against the counter, watching as she sprinkles cinnamon atop my latte.
"Let me guess… Scott Martin?" She grins, sliding the mug toward me. "Town's resident grump with a heart of gold?"
"The heart of gold part remains to be seen," I mutter, inhaling the comforting aroma before taking a sip.
Two older women at the next table exchange knowing glances over teacups painted with autumn leaves.
"Scott's bark is worse than his bite," says one, not bothering to pretend she wasn't eavesdropping. "He rebuilt my porch last spring, refused to take full payment because he knew I was on a fixed income."
Her companion nods sagely. "You two were really going at it in there. Reminded me of how my Harold and I used to argue. Married forty-two years before he passed."
I nearly choke on my latte. "We weren't—it wasn't like that."
"Mmhmm." The first woman winks. "You and Scott argue like an old married couple already. Mark my words."
Heat floods my face, and it's definitely not from the coffee Jade just handed me. I retreat to a corner table, cradling my mug between my palms as I sink into a velvet armchair.
Outside the window, the lanterns of Acorn Circle glimmer like earthbound stars, and despite myself, I wonder what they would look like if my vision comes to life.