Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
JC nodded sardonically. “Can you believe it? Me? I am a great guy. It makes no sense. But food makes sense and once they were finished hating my accent, they realized zee new menu was better than zee old. No one is complaining today. We have a full house every day, every night.”
Even now the diner was bumping. Every table was spoken for, indoors and on the outside patio too…with good reason. The food was amazing and the atmosphere was a perfect blend of sophistication and small-town charm. The diner had been written up in travel guides, along with Rise and Grind and Henderson’s Bakery.
Elmwood took pride in its revitalized identity. Wood Hollow had no identity outside of logging and no pride whatsoever. Maybe Hank’s trip to Vermont had started as a quick fix way to make a few dollars and help his dad, but I knew Hank cared…probably more than he’d wanted to.
Buzz buzz
I pulled my cell out as I strode to the exit, answering on the second ring without checking caller ID. It had to be Hank. I’d texted him a dozen times since I’d heard what went down. No reply so far.
“Hey, how are you?”
“Great! Oh, man, I’ve got sweet news for you, Hotshot,” my agent gushed. “Are you sitting?”
I combed my fingers through my hair. “No, um…can I call you back, McD?”
“This will only take a minute and you want to hear this. Are you ready? Denver upped your salary. Philly is in the race too, and their numbers are even bigger. We’re talking into the stratosphere.” McD named a number that didn’t seem real…or possible.
“That’s… Look, I can’t talk right now. I—”
“And that’s not all. The endorsement offers are coming in faster than I can keep up. We’ve got men’s razors, workout gear, beer, soda, soap, shampoo. Those are just the ones I can remember. I know you’re new to the ad game, but you gotta do it while you can. Some of these campaigns are worth millions of dollars. Ask Vinnie and Riley if you don’t believe me. We’ll get you the best ones. My inbox is overflowing with options and—”
“I have another one for you,” I blurted.
“Another what?”
“It’s a local thing.” I paced to the corner and gazed out at the bistro tables with umbrellas in front of Rise and Grind, an idea churning in my head. I didn’t think, I just…spoke. It probably sounded like gibberish, but I didn’t stop until I’d shared this kernel of an idea.
“Whoa. That’s nice, but you’re a star, man. You can’t put your name on shit like that. You gotta aim higher and—”
“Nonnegotiable. I’m doing it. Put it in my contract.”
“Wait up, Denny. I—”
I hung up and hurried down the street to rescue my Bronco from the parking lot at the ice rink.
I drove to Wood Hollow, looking for Hank, but his receptionist told me he’d left for the day. It took another twenty minutes to get back to his house in Elmwood.
I knocked on his door. No answer. I skirted the house and went to the barn. The horses were there, but no sign of Hank. I returned to the house and sat on the top step of his deck, studying the landscape—the field of emerald and gold, the endless blue sky, and the red barn in the distance—then texted him again.
Where are you?
“Here I am.”
I frowned when Hank plopped onto the deck beside me, his shirt hopelessly wrinkled, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his Stetson pulled low over his eyes. I set a hand on his knee.
“Hey, I heard about what happened.”
Hank shrugged. “Yeah. It sucks. Feels like failure.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Hmph.” He opened his palms and sighed. “It’s true what they say about me. I don’t have pure intentions. Never did. I signed up for six months and even if I don’t complete the job as promised, I’ll be compensated for my time and it’ll be more money than any one person in Wood Hollow will make in ten years. Can you blame them for hating me? ’Cause I sure as fuck can’t.”
“You’re not doing anything wrong. You’re running a business. It’s okay to have your own goals, you know. And I want to help. I’ll do the commercial. I talked to my agent an hour ago and told him I’m doing it.”
Hank quirked a tired smile. “That’s nice of you, but I don’t think that’s going to be enough now.”
“It’s public support and it’s worth a shot,” I insisted. “I bet a few other hockey players will jump in too. Support is what you need, and you have it. You never know, it might start a hiring boom. Then you can go home early, open your practice, do what you love…and be happy.”
He rolled his lips between his teeth thoughtfully, his jaw clenched. I got the feeling I’d tripped the wrong wire. This wasn’t the reaction I’d expected.