Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“Where do you source your supplies in LA?” He carefully lifted up a giraffe from the open box and began peeling back the bubble wrap.
“I usually take day trips to places like San Bernardino, Bakersfield, or even Tijuana. But I’m always on the lookout for cool new places to get stuff. Sometimes thrift stores or flea markets have cool and different stuff, but it’s a crapshoot.”
He set the giraffe next to a lion with a bicycle gear mane. “The Thicket actually has a unique junkyard because of all the farm equipment around here. People come from all over to get replacement parts there.” He glanced at me before digging into the box for the next item. “Um… I could take you there on the way back to Ava’s if you want.”
I wasn’t sure how I felt about all these emotions bubbling up and Brooks being so supportive of my art. He didn’t fit into any of the boxes I was dead set on shoving him into which meant he was a wild card. I didn’t do well with wild cards.
“Yeah, that… that would be nice. Thank you.” I stood and shook off the feels. “So, did you and Paul come up with any other ideas for the ad campaign after you left last night?”
“Not really. I’m starting to stress about it. I didn’t realize how demanding this Head Licker position would be when my mom roped me into it.” Brooks gently straightened some of the little metal insects I’d set out on a rock I’d swiped from the Iveys’ farm to use in the display. “It’s okay, though. I don’t want my dad overdoing it.”
Oh how I wished Brooks Johnson in real life had turned out to be the villain Ava had painted him as for all those years. But in reality he was kind and considerate. A good son and a generous helper.
I busied myself with some more sips of my water before I spied the brown paper bag he’d set down with the drinks. “What’s this?”
“Oh, Lou Klein was giving away some of her apple muffins. I grabbed us a couple. She has an orchard out past the old…” He chuckled. “I guess you don’t know where the old Yancy place is. Anyway, Lou makes all kinds of incredible bakery items and sells them at her orchard shop. She’ll have a booth at the fair tomorrow too.”
I took out a muffin and bit into it. It was one of the best things I’d ever tasted, and I couldn’t help the groan that escaped me. “Dear God. This tastes good. Like, family recipe good. Secret ingredient good. Small-town good.”
Brooks stared at me.
“Wha?” I mumbled with my mouth full of another bite.
“That’s it.” His grin grew wide, and he hopped up and grabbed me, spinning me around in a circle with a whoop. “Holy shit, Mal, you did it! That’s the slogan! Partridge Pit is Small-Town Good!”
I forgot myself for a moment and basked in the feel of him. He smelled like coffee and apple bread mixed with clean sweat and faint hints of fresh spring-scented soap. The strong bands of his arms held me tight, and for just a brief moment, I rubbed my nose against his jumping pulse point.
When he set me down and pulled out his phone to text Paul, I busied myself with whatever the hell was on my table while I tried to get my shit together.
Brooks Johnson was not at all the man I’d thought he was, and the man he was turning out to be might as well have been a salvage yard magnetic handler while I was a helpless old junker waiting to be snapped up and crushed.
9
Brooks
Me: SMALL. TOWN. GOOD!!!
Paul: Uh…BIG CITY BAD???
Paul: We talk caveman talk? Make Brooks feel better?
I rolled my eyes down at my phone.
Me: No, idiot. It’s the tagline we’ve been searching for.
Paul: Hmm?
Me: For Partridge Pit! Get this—no celebrity endorsements, just testimonials from real people who really use and love the sauce in their recipes! Think block parties, Fourth of July BBQs, Christmas potlucks.
Me: We don’t need to ELEVATE barbecue, we need to connect with people and remind them Partridge Pit is already an authentic part of their daily lives!
Me: Partridge Pit is Small-Town Good!
Paul: Ohhh.
Paul: Ohhhhhhh.
Paul: Brooks Johnson, you have never been sexier to me than you are right this minute. Fuck. That’s perfect.
Me: Right???
Paul: I’m calling Carlin now to get the graphics folks started with look and feel.
Paul: Pamela is going to pee herself with excitement.
Paul: Kale might cry.
Paul: How’d you come up with it, anyway?
I glanced over at the man currently setting up a display of incredible artwork he’d created out of things no one else valued. He’d already smiled and chatted with a bunch of other folks setting up their booths, and was gabbing with Pastor Mitchell and his family like he’d known them for years when even I had only met them last weekend. When Brianna Mitchell exclaimed over a little pink robot made out of a popcorn tin, with wrenches for arms and golf balls for feet, Mal picked it up and handed it to her, waving off Pastor Mitchell when he reached for his wallet.