A Man of Influence by Melinda Curtis Page B

generation.” And he’d much rather be with her than the mayor. “We’re in the same place in our lives. You know what singles want.”
    â€œWe’re not the same.” She tugged her hand free. “You’re having a midlife crisis.”
    â€œWe can debate that while you give me a tour.” He grinned. Sparring with Tracy and Leona made him happier than he’d been in a long time. At the Lampoon and at home, arguments had been more heated and with higher stakes.
    Tracy wasn’t giving in that easily. She put the back of her hand on her forehead. “So young. It’s tragic. Early midlife crisis. It skews your perspective.”
    His perspective was fine. But his job would be easier with an inside track. And she was perfect. There was one angle he hadn’t tried with her yet. “The more I know this place—more than a dog and pony show can tell me—the better chance I have of bringing people to visit your brother’s winery. You want to protect his interests, don’t you?”
    Her blue eyes widened. “Dirty pool.” She shook the rail, gripping it with fingers that might have wanted to grip his neck. It didn’t take her long to make a decision. “Okay, I’ll sell my soul to the devil and show you around. But only if I can read your column before you publish it.”
    He’d bet she didn’t realize her speech had smoothed out again. Regardless, advanced reads weren’t on the negotiating table. She was just like some of Bostwick Lampoon ’s sponsors. At least the advertisers he’d lined up for The Happy Bachelor Takes a Different Path weren’t that controlling. For the first time in over a decade, he had creative freedom. He shook his head.
    â€œThen the deal’s off.” Tracy crossed her arms and settled her hip against the rail for a third round of drawing lines in the sand.
    She made him smile and that wasn’t inconsequential in these negotiations. He gave her a once over. Everything about her looked soft—faded blue jeans, yellow cotton T-shirt, a tan jacket with a suede collar. But she wasn’t soft or pliant. She was strong and gutsy. “What are you doing working in a bakery?” She was parked in the middle of a retirement town miles from anywhere.
    She bumped her hip against the rail repeatedly as if she was hitting her head against a wall. “Not many ad agencies...hire the speech impaired.”
    â€œOh, woe is you. That’s no excuse.” He looked her up and down once more. “You’re not disabled. It’d be unfair to pit you against someone with a real speech impediment.”
    Her arms waved about. Her feet shifted. Her mouth opened and closed and opened again, but nothing came out.
    â€œMaybe you haven’t noticed,” Chad said evenly. “You’ve been talking to me on this bridge more fluently than I heard you speak this morning.” He reached over and tapped her temple near her hidden scar. “You think too much and about the wrong things, except when you don’t think and then the words tumble out.”
    She tried to walk past him toward downtown.
    â€œHold on. We’re still negotiating.”
    She stopped.
    And then he realized why. He’d caught her arm and pulled her close.
    * * *
    C HAD HAD INCREDIBLY expressive brown eyes.
    In them, Tracy noted a surprised earnestness.
    He stared at his hand on her arm as if he couldn’t quite believe he’d taken hold of it.
    She couldn’t quite believe it either. Or the earnestness. He didn’t care about Tracy or Harmony Valley. And he was wrong about her not being disabled, wrong about her speaking easier with him. She’d been struggling the entire time he stood nearby. And now they stood face-to-face, inches away from being kissably close.
    Tracy licked her lips and inadvertently stared at his, over-thinking, just as he’d accused her.
    Luckily, her cell phone