Chapter 12
T he next morning, I hide in my bedroom for two reasons.
One, I am still shook by how much I wanted to kiss Aiden last night (like, could barely sleep for imagining it a little too vividly shook), and two, I am even now scouring the Harvest Hollow Hot Sheet to learn more about Aiden’s ex-girlfriend.
Of course, the Hot Sheet headline is that Aiden and I were at the drive-in together. Which is enough gossip. If we had started making out, I can’t even imagine the tumult that would ensue. There would probably be a meeting about us at town hall today.
There is also (surprising) news that one Miss Charlotte Parker was seen in the company of a young man no one recognized. I make a mental note to ask Charlotte about this later, before I continue reading the story about me and Aiden.
This blogger has learned that a spider was discovered in Aiden Parker’s truck. Note to Mr. Parker: Donald Briggs is employed by the Harvest Hollow Drive-in to provide a seasonal ambience during the shows. Please do not interfere with his work.
How the heck did Mrs. Lawrence know about the spider? And why is this considered gossip? This town needs more to do.
There’s not much else to say because we didn’t kiss . Just a brief summary of Billy and Amber sharing our truck. A shout-out to Argos for being a good boy. And another story about a Honda Civic that didn’t park straight. I move on to the archives.
I’m combing through them when I notice updates pinging on my laptop from the employment networking site I’ve been using.
It’s Saturday, and email after email is coming in from my former coworkers.
As I read them, I feel worse and worse. Because all of them basically say the same thing. Wish I could help, but I can’t.
Only one person, a friend named Kennedy, says, “You didn’t hear this from me, but Steve’s been saying bad things about you. He’s essentially warned all the other companies to steer clear.”
What?! He can’t do that! That’s illegal, isn’t it?
Only I already know that what is legal isn’t necessarily the same as what happens in the real world.
People talk. And anyone looking to hire me is going to reach out to Steve and ask him what happened.
Now I realize too late that I should have stayed and fought harder to keep my job.
I let my anger and hurt get the better of me that day.
I text Kennedy. I know she’d rather talk via text then email through the networking site. A few text exchanges later and she’s informed me that Geoff has been spreading the word that I stole his idea and tried to use it as my own, and Steve is confirming it.
I audibly groan. Of course he is.
For what it’s worth, I tell Kennedy the truth.
That sucks , she replies.
I thank her for her honesty. Of course, there is part of me that wants to get on the first train back to the city, find Geoff, and tell him to shut up.
I am also tempted to text Steve and try to explain the truth again.
But I’m certain neither thing will matter.
Perception is reality. Everyone knows that.
Which means, even though Geoff stole my ideas and not the other way around, everyone thinks I’m the thief. Ugh. So unfair.
What am I going to do now? The event-planning business in New York is a tight-knit group. You might think in such a big city there would be plenty of opportunities, but everyone knows everyone. If I’ve been canceled, it’s gonna be super difficult to find a job. A good one, at least.
Another email comes in. This one to my personal email account.
It’s Dad saying he passed the dementia test. Mom did too.
At least there’s some good news this morning.
I’ll ask for their scores later. The distraction reminds me that I was on a mission before I realized my entire career was tanked, and at the moment, since there’s nothing I can do to about it, I choose to continue my search of the Harvest Hollow Hot Sheet for the identity of Aiden’s ex-girlfriend.
For an old blog that is probably still hosted by a site from the 1990s, the Hot Sheet has a surprisingly good filter, and I’m able to find the posts from two years ago relatively easily.
I begin in the summer. Mr. Nelson and Mrs. Early, two English teachers from the high school, both married, left their spouses for each other.
Ooh. I remember that scandal. Mom told me about it. It was très shocking.
There are many other stories leading into the early fall. Mr. Kemper’s son-in-law, a muckety-muck in finance in the city, was arrested for embezzling. Bob at the pharmacy broke his leg when he fell off the ladder when trying to patch his roof. And Mrs. Jackson’s youngest grandchild was born.
And finally, there it is, in early September.
Aiden Parker and Maryann Gates heat up the drive-in.
Maryann Gates? I don’t know that name. The thought is somewhat a relief, though I don’t know why.
Of course, I am expecting a picture like it’s TMZ , but there isn’t one.
That would be far too advanced for Mrs. Lawrence, though I do wonder why she doesn’t employ Donny to snap pics for the blog.
It would really help. And God knows, Donny would be up for it.
Maybe she thinks that would reveal her identity. The thought makes me snort-laugh.
There might not be a picture on the blog, but now that I’ve got a name, I go to work.
Internet search engines are a nosy person’s jam.
I crack my knuckles, blow on them, and begin.
Minutes later, I’m staring at a picture of one Maryann Gates.
She lives two towns over and is a second-grade teacher.
She has dark hair and brown eyes and is pretty with a bright smile.
She looks so nice and wholesome. What happened to make her and Aiden break up?
I’m deep into her Instagram account, where she has a lot of pictures of herself with a cat and children and baked goods, when I glance at the time.
Crap. It’s nearly nine. I’m supposed to meet Aiden at the float in ten minutes.
And bring the giant papier-maché donuts Charlotte and I made late yesterday afternoon.
I close the laptop and hop out of bed. Twenty minutes later, I am striding into the work barn with a giant donut hanging over each shoulder. Argos comes running toward me, clearly ready for whatever I’ve got going on. I don’t see Aiden.
I make my way over to the float and prop both donuts up along the side of the flatbed. Okay, the donuts might be a little too big, but we wanted them to be obvious. Now they’re kinda take-up-half-the-float obvious. I shrug. So be it.
“ What are those?” comes Aiden’s incredulous voice from behind me.
I swivel to see him standing near the barn door. Argos races toward him. Aiden leans down to pet the dog.
“They’re the donuts,” I inform him. “Can’t you tell?”
“They’re as big as wagon wheels,” Aiden points out.
He’s not wrong. “We wanted them to be a focal point,” I explain.
“I think they’re going to be seen from space.” His mouth curves up in that semblance of a grin that does something to me every single time.
“You’re late,” I say and honestly, I’ve been waiting to say that to him, because I’m usually the one who’s late. Plus, I want him to stop making fun of my funny-looking donuts.
He folds his arms across his chest and gives me a smug look. “No, I’m not. You weren’t here at nine, so I went to check on the greenhouse real quick.”
Damn. I should’ve known he wasn’t late. The man is never late. I’ve decided it must be a farmer thing.
“There’s a greenhouse?” I mention this because one, it’s news to me, and two, changing the subject is a solid strategy to deflect attention away from being late.
“Yeah.” He nods. “I put one up a few years back. It’s big enough for the trees to grow inside. I use it for testing during winter.”
Testing? Apple trees? My brows shoot up. “Can I see it?”
“No,” he says far too quickly, and then his voice softens. “Not right now.”
I file that away in the same spot in my memory where I’m keeping the fact that he was digging a hole behind the barn and wouldn’t talk about it. Maybe not Dateline material yet, but there is definitely something he doesn’t want me to know about.
“Fine.” I sigh. “Then help me with the donuts?” I give him a hopeful smile.
Aiden strolls over and lifts one of the giant light-brown orbs. “Wow. You really made a big paper donut.”
“I made two big paper donuts,” I reply. “You didn’t think I would?”
Aiden shakes his head. “Did you have to do stuff like this for your job in the city?”
I grin at him. “I can’t say I’ve ever made a giant donut before, but there’s a first time for everything. I did make a pirate ship for our homecoming parade my junior year.”
“Oh yeah, Miss School Spirit,” Aiden says. “That sounds right.”
“Yeah,” I echo before realizing now’s my chance to ask him something I’ve been wondering about. “Why didn’t you ever join any clubs in school?”
He purses his lips to the side. “I was in Science Club,” he points out.
“Oh yeah. How many people were in that club?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Umm.” He scratches the top of his head. “There were... three of us.”
“Wow. Worse than I thought.”
“It was me and the Donovan twins.”
“Michael and Henry?” I say.
“Yep. I remember they planned the holiday party senior year and did a raffle to give away a gift basket.”
I try not to laugh. “They held a raffle for three people?”
“No,” Aiden replies. “Only one. They didn’t put their names in because they planned it.
They didn’t think that would be fair. The only name to pull was mine.
” I can’t help but picture three little science nerds pulling one piece of paper out of a glass beaker or something and acting surprised by the winner.
I laugh. “Science Club sounds fun,” I say, but it’s time for another question. “Hey, whatever happened with your science project that company wanted to buy?”