by Jody Holford
He gave her another quick kiss. “My thoughts exactly.”
Chapter Four
A year earlier, Molly had spent a long afternoon trailing her now ex-boyfriend around the Lancaster Auto Mall. It was a mind-numbing activity—one she knew the outcome of before they spent hours checking out the interiors and exteriors of overpriced vehicles she’d never buy. That memory, along with purchasing a couple of gently used cars before splurging on her Jeep, was the extent of Molly’s experience with cars.
So, as she stood outside the large, barnlike building that was to be the Classic Car Crawl display room on Friday evening, she was completely blown away. Standing along the sidelines with what felt like half of Britton Bay, she watched car after car, types she’d never seen, roll into the structure.
There were two outbuildings on the multiacre fairgrounds. This one, the older of the two, had double doors on either end, opened to allow the exhaust from the vehicles to escape. The drivers were to drive through the doorway and park in an assigned spot. Sam had reached out to the high school, who’d recommended kids for volunteers. Each car owner had at least one student who would basically be their host for the weekend in Britton Bay. This included knowing their assigned spots, helping to keep the owner on the schedule Sam had created, and giving them a thank-you card and small gift at the closing ceremonies on Sunday. Like the cars, this event was a fine-tuned machine.
Sam had a microphone and was chatting about the car in front of them, a 1952, baby-blue Chevrolet Bel Air. Molly started to list the awards each vehicle had won, but decided that not only were such accounts too tedious, they weren’t what would really capture the Bulletin readers’ attention. Using one of the two newspaper cameras, she took a photo, as she’d done with the twelve cars preceding this one.
Molly was enjoying listening to Sam’s voice tell the audience about the vehicle and the owner. He had a strong, quiet cadence that was made for storytelling. It wasn’t until the next car, however, the one idling as it waited to pull forward, that she’d realized he had a preference.
When the next in line pulled forward—a shiny, navy-blue one with a thick, white pinstripe down the hood—she heard the change in his tone.
“And this, ladies and gentlemen,” Sam said, a smile tilting the corners of his lips, “this here is a 1965 Shelby Cobra. The sleek lines and curves, along with the 306-horsepower engine, were made for speed. Our driver, there, Brad Templeton, has tested the theory and is the first-place winner of several classic car races across the states. This one is a thing of beauty.”
Molly grinned in Sam’s direction. He caught her eye, and the look of pure joy on his face sent butterflies somersaulting around in her chest. He was adorable. She’d definitely be teasing him later about whether or not he’d drooled on the microphone as he introduced this one. The driver, Brad, waved to the lines of people on both sides as he revved the engine.
After watching a few more cars load in, Molly decided to chat with some of the drivers who’d parked in the building and were milling about their vehicles as the rest loaded. People walked past in either direction, moving in pairs and small groups as they laughed and talked. Molly didn’t spot anyone else with a press badge, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t show. For now, she had the advance scoop. By tomorrow, a few of the outside media sources would swoop in and get their sound bites.
Heading along one side of the long barn, Molly smiled and waved to a few people she recognized. It still surprised her how many of the townspeople she didn’t know. Britton Bay seemed so small—especially when everyone knew everyone’s business, including hers and Sam’s—but really, there were over five thousand people in this area, and she couldn’t know them all.
As she neared the back of the barn, Brad, the driver of the Cobra—what a weird name for a car, she thought—was leaning against one of the open doors. He was chatting with another man who Molly was pretty sure drove one of the first convertibles that had parked. The pale purple one. The inside of the barn was a rainbow of vehicles.
She approached the two men. Brad, who looked to be younger than a lot of the other guys, smiled at her, and his eyes wandered to her press lanyard.
“Hi, there,” he said. He smoothed a hand over his dark beard. Little wisps of gray poked through, just like at his temples.
“Hi,” Molly said. Before she could introduce herself, the other man, who was the kind of bald that made a person wonder why they didn’t just shave off the last few tufts, stuck his hand out.
“Hi, there. Wondered if there was any press in this tiny place. I’m Herman Besbrewer. 1963 Ford Galaxie.”
Brad stuck out his hand. “Brad Templeton. 1965 Shelby Cobra.”
Molly bit the inside of her cheek, shook both hands, and then said, “Molly Owens. 2005 Jeep TJ. Also, editor for the Britton Bay Bulletin.”
Both men laughed, so Molly felt comfortable with the joke she’d made. Her Jeep might not be a classic, but she loved it, though perhaps not as much as these men loved their cars. She wasn’t planning to name it or anything.
“Do you two mind if I ask you a few questions for our local newspaper?”
Herman nodded his head as Brad pulled out a vape stick. Molly worked not to scrunch up her nose at the sight. It always surprised her how an action, a harsh word, or a particular habit could change the level of someone’s attractiveness. While a moment ago she’d thought him handsome in a cowboy sort of way, now she planned to make her questions quick. She jotted down both of their names and vehicles, double-checking the spelling.
“Have either of you ever been to a Classic Car Crawl event before?”
“This is my fifteenth one,” Herman said. He gazed over to his vehicle and smiled. “You build an extended family at these events. When too much time goes by in between, it feels like you’re at a reunion.” She could feel the family and friend vibe. These people, men and women alike, were in their element, and they were ready for a good time.
A small smirk played behind Brad’s beard. “I haven’t been around that long. I inherited the Cobra from my dad after he passed away two years ago. But I’ve attended several events. This is the second time I’ve been to one of these. This’ll be the year I take best newcomer, though. Unless someone has already greased Jet’s palm.” He inhaled deeply on his metal stick and blew out the vapor.
“You just don’t let things go, do you?” Herman said, laughter in his tone.
“Not when I’m getting ripped of titles,” Brad said. There wasn’t any laughter in his words.
He didn’t appear angry, but he wasn’t joking. Molly tilted her head, gave him a minute to gather his feelings, then asked, “Are the awards and trophies a big part of this for you guys?”
She’d need to make a note of the cars that were recognized. Sam would have a list.
Herman shoved his hands in his pockets, stepping out of the way of Brad’s puff of vapor. “For me, like I said, it’s the family and friend aspect. I like getting out here and meeting up with people who understand how much I love my car. Some of my best memories are from the times I’ve spent in Harriet.”
Molly grinned, remembering what Brian had said about naming his car. “That’s your car?”
Herman nodded, smiling unabashedly. Molly turned to Brad. “Yours have a name?”
He nodded, his eyes scanning the crowd milling around the cars. “Of course. Winnie. Short for Winner.”
One-track mind, she thought.
“Does it affect your desire to come back and participate in the show when you don’t get the accolades you feel you deserve?”
His eyes lasered in on hers, startling Molly with their intensity. “I’m here because my car deserves to be shown. To be shared. You don’t keep that kind of beauty to yourself. My daddy did that, and it was a waste. But a lot of these things, they’re popularity contests more than accurate judgments of how fine a machine is.”
Brad rolled his shoulders and tucked his vape stick back in his pocket. “You’re right. I’m just tense from the long drive, I guess.” He flashed Molly a genuine smile, making her realize the others had been forced. “Driving usually relaxes me, but I got lost on the way. They don’t exactly have Bluetooth and GPS in these babies. To answer your question, the trophies don’t matter much, but the recognition? Yeah, it’s important. As much as these people are like family, I don’t really wanna be the middle child who always gets looked over.”
Molly didn’t know what to say to that. It was such a strange way to look at an event she’d thought was just for fun. Clearly, it mattered on a whole other level to some of the players.
Several more people began to mill about, and when Molly peeked into the barn, she saw they’d finished loading it.
“They really are beautiful,” Molly said. Both Brad and Herman turned their bodies to look.
Herman nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. A satisfied smile spread over his face. “Damn right they are.”
There were twenty-four classic vehicles, all different colors or shades. Some convertibles, some hardtops. All shiny and gleaming from front to back. Sam was winding his way up the middle, and she figured she should interview a few of the other drivers.
“Thank you for your time, gentlemen,” she said.
“Anytime,” Herman said. He smiled and walked toward Jethro, who Molly saw was standing by one of the convertibles, laughing with another man.
Brad shoved his hands in his pockets, and Sam neared. “They’ll all tell you the accolades don’t matter, but everyone wants their fifteen minutes, you know?”
She turned her head, looked at Brad. “What’s your end goal? Where do you see yourself and your vehicle landing?”
He smiled, like he admired her ability to read into him. “I want my own show on television. One of those reality deals. Taking classics apart and putting ’em back together. Maybe even a traveling one where I find hidden gems that have been hiding away in some backwoods county. I’ve talked to Jet about it. He said I’m young yet, but I’m approaching forty. Once you get to be their age, everything seems young.”
He smiled when he said it, but he sobered immediately. “The more awards I win, the better it looks on my CV. This is one of the bigger, more elite events. But it’s not enough just to be part of it. You need to stand out. Jet and Stoley have become complacent. It’s more of a good ol’ boys club than a proper festival. Jet never does what he says he will. Told me he’d give me his seal of approval if I got myself a meeting with some television execs.”
Interest piqued, she glanced over and saw that Sam was shaking hands with someone. Turning back to Brad, she didn’t waste time and asked, “Did you get a meeting?”
Brad inhaled from his vape stick, and Molly schooled her features so she didn’t appear impatient.
“I did. Jet’s idea of helping me out was telling them I was a newbie but had potential.”
Which likely killed his deal if the bitter tone told a story. She didn’t get to ask a follow-up question, but it wasn’t the story she wanted to tell anyway.
Sam approached, his smile shining like a beam of sunlight. “Hey,” he said. He didn’t lean down to kiss her because she had her press badge on, but he stood close to her side.
“Hi. You look like you might burst with excitement,” she said.
Sam grinned at her, then turned to Brad. “Sam Alderich. I own Sam’s Service Station and organized the event. I’m really glad you’re part of it. Love your car, man.”
Brad preened at the praise. Molly nearly laughed. Her man—as Calli would say—was adorable. And clearly in his element.
“You want to take her for a spin? We’ll be doing some driving later, right?” Brad asked, returning Sam’s shake.
Molly watched Sam’s jaw drop. It took him a minute to find his words. “I…that…I really want to.”
Brad clapped him on the shoulder and laughed. He pulled the vape pen out of his pocket again. “I’ll find you a bit later. Nice to meet you, man. Molly, a pleasure.”
When he turned, Sam stepped closer, glanced down at her lanyard, and hesitated. She ignored his concern and stepped into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. His hands came to her hips, and he leaned down to accept the kiss she offered. When she pulled back, they were still nose to nose.
“You look like a kid who woke up in Santa’s workshop.”
Even his laugh was tinged with excitement. “That’s how I feel. It’s going great. I was worried last night,” he admitted.
“I know. You tossed and turned for most of it.”
His forehead touched hers. “Sorry.”
Tightening her arms around him, she pressed closer. “Please don’t be. I’m so glad today is going well. I should interview some of the others.”
He nodded, but neither of them dropped their arms. Sam lowered his head and gave her a sweet kiss that intensified the already blooming happiness inside her chest. When he pulled back, she blinked several times. He had a way of making her forget where she was.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, one hand rubbing up her back and sifting into her hair.
“Me too. But we’d both better get back to work,” she said. Molly was all too aware of Sam’s ability to draw her focus. He did so without even trying.
“Meet up with you later?” Stepping back, he ran a hand down her arm, taking her fingers in his and pressing a kiss to her palm.
“You got it. I’ll either be interviewing drivers or seeing how many of Bella’s mini donuts I can eat without making myself sick.”
His laughter floated behind him even when he’d wandered back into the fray of drivers and observers. Molly smiled and decided donuts first, interviews second. As she drifted through the crowd, she wondered if tomorrow would be busier. Sam had put a lot of hard work into this weekend, and from what she’d seen so far, it was likely to go off without a hitch.
Chapter Five
Molly had been to several Britton Bay celebrations—there’d been a wedding a couple of months ago, the end-of-summer festival, and a number of outdoor markets and activities since she’d arrived. She’d never seen a crowd like the one dancing inside the heritage-style barn on the fairground property. She’d thought the night before couldn’t be beat.
The drivers had done some showing off with their vehicles, inside and out. To Molly, it was a bit too much of the same, but she enjoyed watching Sam drive Brad’s car. It was a highlight for her, and she planned on framing the picture she’d taken of him behind the wheel.
The day had been successful as well. While Molly had wondered if it would be all about the cars, it was more of an all-ages event. Families showed up from other counties, people toured the car barn, drivers talked about their cars, chatted about the businesses many of them owned. It was a cross between the biggest social event she’d seen here and a cross-county networking session.
A platform stage against the far wall had been set up for a four-man band. The lead singer was blasting out an Old Dominion song like his voice was made for the lyrics. Molly sang along, leaning against the wall, taking it all in, and then realized, when the chorus hit, that in less than six months, Britton Bay had turned her country.
Fortunately, years of her dad’s rock playlists blaring through the car speakers as they traveled from one place to the next ensured she’d never be a full convert.
Sarah, who was newer in town than Molly, joined her at the back of the room. “I can’t
believe how busy it is,” she hollered over the music.
Molly nodded in agreement, leaning in. “I think the entire town is here, in addition to folks from a few other counties.”
The ones who weren’t dancing to the music were outside selling or sharing their products or enjoying the action. There were four bouncy houses for kids, face painting, games, a small midway, and an assortment of food options, including Bella’s and Calli’s. Things were wrapping up shortly, but people were still having a great time.
Sam had been running himself ragged for a full two days. The evening before had been all about the cars, and today was all about the socializing. Since Jill was still sick and Elizabeth was away, Molly took notes for stories and snapped photos. She was pleasantly surprised Friday evening and earlier today to see Clay walking around taking pictures.
“Sam and Chris were grabbing a bite to eat when I closed up my table. Sam was doing rounds with all the vendors, checking in,” Sarah said.
Of course he was. He was going to crash tomorrow evening. Sarah pushed a hand through her light brown, pixie-cut hair. Once upon a time, Molly had thought of cutting her dark auburn tresses short, but she didn’t have the bonus features Sarah did that helped her pull it off—angular cheekbones, dark lashes, and bright green, happy eyes.
“I figured Chris would be working the crowd,” Molly said. The music stopped, and the crowed clapped and cheered. A security firm was working the event, but to her knowledge, Chris was never truly off duty.
Molly’s ears were ringing. “Why don’t we go outside?”
They walked side by side, through the crowd, waving and saying hello to people.
“You know everyone. I’ve been here almost three months, and I know you, Chris, and Sam.” Sarah laughed.
Molly smiled. “You know more than that. And you’ll get to know people better on Tuesday. I’ve invited a bunch of the women I know. Katherine—that’s Sam’s mom, Calli from the diner, Bella, who you know, Sam’s cousin Jill, and one of my co-workers, Hannah. She’s seventeen and is going to try and get her mom to come. It’ll be a full house.”
