31. Charlie
THIRTY-ONE
CHARLIE
The day of the Wine Festival Gala dawned bright and sunny. I woke up next to Sebastian and rolled over to slide my hand across his chest. I loved the feel of his skin against mine, the soft rasp of his chest hair under my palm. We’d spent all our evenings tangled together, working, making love, talking about the Monticello and our presentation.
I chalked up all those nagging doubts to nerves. We were doing this, and it would be great.
New Elwood was flush with wine-loving tourists. Twice this week, when I was at the Magnolia Café, I heard people bemoaning the state of their accommodations. They were cramped, or inconvenient, or located in other towns that were a long drive to our local wineries.
Sebastian was right about the town needing an upgrade. We needed at least another hotel, probably more if we wanted to keep encouraging tourists to visit. I exchanged glances with Sophie as we eavesdropped on the visitors’ complaints, and I was proud to have come up with a workable solution.
I just hoped the councilors agreed with me.
I hadn’t brought up the house. I was waiting for the right moment. With the gala coming up and so much work to do in such a short amount of time, I figured I’d have a better chance of success if I brought it up once the theater plans were presented and, hopefully, approved. Then, riding high on our first win together, I could offer to buy the house from him.
It was the best I could do. I hadn’t been able to save the theater completely, but maybe I could save my home. It would take me years—probably decades—to restore the house, especially on my salary, but what was the point of time, anyway? Why not spend it pouring love and attention into something that was meaningful to me? I could save the stained glass window. I could build a library, somewhere cozy and sun-drenched with one of those amazing fireplaces in it. The house would be everything my dad had always said it could be. My gift to him, to my mom, to myself.
“You ready for tonight?” Sebastian asked, voice rough with sleep. He pulled me closer and let his fingers drift over my arm and side in long, smooth strokes.
“I think so.”
“Nervous?”
“A little.”
He squeezed me to his chest. “They’re going to love it.”
I smiled and nuzzled into his shoulder. He smelled delicious, and I dozed for another hour while he let his fingers trail over my skin. I’d never had someone support me like this—not since my parents had passed. It felt good to be on a team, to be able to work together toward a common goal.
I just hoped this extended to my proposal to buy the house.
But that was a problem for later, once we knew the results of the council vote. For now, I had to prepare for the gala.
My gown made me feel like an old Hollywood movie star attending a grand, star-studded premier. The emerald-green fabric set off my skin and hair, and my strappy gold heels and gold clutch glistened. As Sebastian opened the Maserati door for me in the parking lot half a block away from the Monticello, I slipped my hand into his and let him help me out of the low bucket seats.
“I have to admit,” I told him as he closed the passenger door, “that’s a nice ride.”
He shot me that cocky grin, and I was sure I’d never felt this giddy about anyone, ever. Not even Billy Thompson in Theater One. Sebastian was clean-shaven with slicked-back hair and dressed in a perfectly tailored tux. He was the picture of a handsome, charming, wealthy property mogul. But I knew the truth.
He was so much more.
We glided toward the Monticello, and my gaze drew up the bright marquee and the smiling crowd milling beneath it. The outside of the building had been freshened up with a coat of paint, and with the lights twinkling in the evening twilight, it felt like stepping into a slice of history.
I was in love. I knew it from the way my heart beat a little harder when Sebastian slid his fingers in mine. And how my breath caught as we crossed the threshold into the newly decorated lobby. I was in love with him, with this building, with this town.
The chandelier twinkled above the fashionable guests, councilmembers, and vest-wearing caterers. The ticket booth shone in its quaint perfection while the wine bar at the back of the room bustled. And to our left, a three-piece band played soft jazz on the stage where we would shortly perform our greatest act: propose the new Monticello.
Sebastian must have caught my inhale, because he squeezed my hand and glanced down at me. “We got this,” he said, and I smiled at the sound of “we.”
“Look at you two getting along!” Councilwoman Dolores Sheffield came over, looking fabulous in her black velvet gown. She wore her hair back in a sleek low bun, showing off her chandelier earrings, and pressed a kiss to both of my cheeks. “We’re so excited to hear what you’ve come up with. Regis has been very tight-lipped about it all, but we can all tell you’ve got something up your sleeves.”
“Not long now, and you’ll find out,” Sebastian replied with a smile.
I accepted a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and let the bubbles dance on my tongue. We made small talk with local businesspeople, wine merchants, and councilmembers. I watched Sebastian charm everyone he came into contact with and felt a little zip of happiness every time his gaze slid over to me.
This would work. We would get up there, make our pitch, the council would vote, and we’d save the Monticello. No, we wouldn’t save it. We’d make it better.
Mayor Greene walked over, paunch hanging over his belt as he balanced a tiny plate full of hors d’oeuvres and a glass of champagne in one hand. “Ready?” he asked.
“As we’ll ever be,” I told him.
“The emcee’s about to head up there, so gird yourselves,” he said, flicking his gaze between Sebastian and me. “Five minutes, and you’re up.”
I nodded, heading over to the table holding all the tech gear to make sure our presentation was loaded up. Then I stood smiling, trying to hide my nerves while the emcee welcomed everyone to the event.
Finally, I was called to the stage. I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders, and walked up the three steps onto the platform. I made my way behind a clear plexiglass podium, my eyes skimming over the audience as cameras flashed.
“Good evening,” I began. “I’d like to tell you a little about a very special place. The place we’re currently standing in right now and its rich history. And then I’ll invite Sebastian Anderson up here to tell you about our plan to make it even better and richer in its next chapter.”
Murmurs swept through the assembled crowd, and I found Sebastian’s gaze near the steps. His smile was soft, his eyes tender. We were in this together, and now everyone knew. The hell of it was, I wanted everyone to know.
I waited for the noise to die down, then clicked my handheld remote to start the slideshow presentation we’d put so many hours into perfecting. An old, grainy photo of the Monticello under construction flashed onto the screen, and I began weaving a tale of history, memories, and community.
By the time Sebastian joined me on stage and launched into our vision for the future, my head was full of buzzing bees. But I listened to Sebastian’s deep, soothing voice and snuck glances out at the upturned faces in the audience. I knew that we’d done all we could to give this beautiful theater a new lease on life.