“From the stories I’ve read of yours, you’ll nail it. You have a skill most would kill for. The first time I read one, it reminded me as to why I became a speechwriter. Wanting to connect with people through the power of words. Basically, even though we think the other is evil in their profession”—Josie winked at Harry—“our career choices are quite similar. I was just thinking about a book I read in college about World War II. It contained snippets of interviews that really brought the war to life: the good, the bad, and the ugly.”
“Are you referring to Studs Terkel’s The Good War?”
Josie snapped her fingers. “That’s it. Your stories are just as good, if not better.”
Harry squirmed in her chair.
“You can be so very British sometimes. Just a compliment makes you visibly uncomfortable.”
“It’s one of our traits.”
“Have you always been interested in the lives of ordinary people?” Josie held her mug in both hands.
“Oh yes, but in my past jobs, I wasn’t able to dabble too much. I love to learn interesting facts that are locked away in someone’s head. In any area, locals are the best source to truly get a sense of a place, even if their tales aren’t entirely true. They supply flavor that facts and data can’t begin to add to the human experience.”
“True. I was the same when I wrote speeches. I loved going to a diner in town and shooting the breeze with folks.” Josie spooned some beans onto a piece of toast.
“Did you ever want to be the one to give the speeches?”
“You mean run for office?”
Harry nodded.
“Oh, no.” Josie leaned back in her chair. “I’m the type who prefers being behind the scenes. Not sure I could handle the stress.”
Harry held her cup to her lips and spoke over the brim. “I think you’d be a killer candidate.”
The blue in Harry’s eyes deepened, causing Josie’s heart rate to jump off the charts. “How do I make it a certainty for you to make an appearance in the pub tonight?”
“All you have to do is ask.”
“I think I already did.”
“Did you?” Harry’s smile was teasing. “Then I guess that means I’ll be there.”
The Friday night crowd in the pub hadn’t reached the manic stage yet, which suited Josie. While she had started in the afternoon to prep for the show, Josie still hadn’t hit her groove from the days when she tended bar during her college years in the States. Also, she occasionally helped out in the bar her parents had owned in Boston when her dad was still alive.
Harry and a woman roughly ten years younger than Josie’s new best friend walked into the pub, looking chummy, albeit not touchy-feely. For some incomprehensible reason, Josie took a sudden dislike to the strange woman, but Josie squashed this emotion and plastered on a fake smile. “You made it after all.”
“You asked at breakfast, so here I am.” Harry made a ta-da motion.
Josie laughed. “What’s going on in the news biz?”
The grin on Harry’s face fell, and she sighed, placing one hand on the bar. “Not a lot on the breaking-news front, and the feature story is still giving me trouble.”
Harry’s companion looked askance at the publisher. “I’m picking up on a teensy-weensy flaw in your venture.”
Harry’s eyes darted to the low pub ceiling in a heaven help me way.
Josie laughed uncomfortably, unsure if she should come to Harry’s aid or let Harry put her date into place. Josie reached over the bar, “I’m Josie. You are?”
“Camilla.” The posh woman accepted Josie’s handshake with a firm grip. The type that said back off, bitch.
Josie wanted to laugh in the woman’s face but knew that wouldn’t go over well with her boss, who was also her mother. Eugenie was behind the bar as well, keeping a close eye on Josie’s every move.
Clive sidled up to the woman. “What brings you back to The Golden Fleece? If I’m not mistaken, this is your third visit.”
Camilla slowly turned her face to him, as if wanting the action to have a profound effect. “Looking for my ginger George Clooney.”
Josie controlled her jaw from dropping.
“You found him. Two Stellas for the lovely ladies.” Clive slapped the bar with his palm for emphasis, much to Josie’s annoyance, although it was nice to see Clive actually enjoying a woman’s presence, unlike the ginger-ad ladies, whom her uncle tolerated, but it was clear to Josie he didn’t respect them. “Allow me to lead you to the best seat in the house.” He crooked his arm, and Camilla threaded hers through it, the two of them leaving Harry at the bar.
When Josie thought they were out of hearing range, she asked, “Is one of the Stellas for you?” Her voice made it clear Josie was highly doubtful of the beverage choice.
“I’d rather have a gin and tonic.”
Just like she’d thought. Josie gave herself a mental high five for knowing Harry better than Clive or Camilla. What a pompous name. “Do you have a preference on the gin?”
“I’ll leave it up to you. When did you start working behind the bar?” Harry ran a hand through her short, blonde hair, tousling it just right so it fell sexily over her deep blue eyes.
A pleasing sensation made its way through Josie’s insides, making her legs go limp noodle. Josie shook the feeling off to the best of her ability. This wasn’t the time to have feelings for anyone. Josie, the disgraced speechwriter, was officially a bartender. What could she offer the likes of Harry? “A few hours ago.”
“And already a master knowing my drink preference.”
Josie made a silent prayer that the heat rising in her cheeks wouldn’t give her away. What was it about Harry that made Josie go all schoolgirl crush? “I used to tend bar in the States, and since I’m plum out of a job, Mum strong-armed me into servitude.” Josie laughed nervously, wishing she hadn’t pointed out the obvious yet unable to stop herself from continuing. “It’ll keep me busy for the most part, not allowing my mind a lot of free time to wallow.” Josie selected a local gin for Harry, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. “I sampled this the other day, and I have to say it’s top-notch.” Josie kissed her fingertips with a flourish.
Harry read the label. “Ah, I’m a fan of the Yolanda Distillery.”
“You have impeccable taste, then. Like me.” Josie waggled her brows at Harry. “Does Camilla live in the village?”
“No, thank God. But she tends to visit from London whenever it suits her and doesn’t give me the option of saying no to her staying with me. Recently, she came two weekends in a row.”
“Are you friends from uni or something?” Josie measured out the gin.
Harry eyed Josie with a peculiar look. “It’s funny. You referred to college for your experience, but uni for mine. You really straddle the fence between America and Britain.” With two fingers, Harry acted out walking a fine line.
“C’est Moi! Now I’m French as well.”
Harry laughed, the sound so pleasing to Josie. “I should interview you. I’d love to know more about what it’s like.
“Having dual citizenship?” Josie clarified.
Harry nodded.
“Usually I don’t give it much thought, but lately I’ve been feeling like I don’t firmly belong in either sphere.”
There was sympathy in Harry’s eyes. “To answer your earlier question, we’re not friends. I mean, Camilla is my cousin.”
“Really?” Josie knew her voice sounded much too relieved by the news, and she tried to tamp down the enthusiasm zinging inside. Camilla would not be interested in Harry, meaning less competition, if Josie—wait a minute, why had Harry made it a point to answer the question? Or was it merely part of Harry’s charming manner, always going back to the original topic?
“Yeah. Families.” Harry shrugged one shoulder, not seeming to pick up on Josie’s internal battle of figuring out why she was drawn to Harry when she should be the last person Josie wanted after the Nora debacle. Reporters are not my friend.
&
nbsp; “Tell me about it.” Josie’s eyes sought out Clive. “I’ll drop off the beer, and then I’m hoping we can chat.”
Harry’s eyes shone with curiosity. “I’ll be right here.” She planted her feet, causing Josie to laugh.
“Two Stellas.” Josie set one down for Camilla and then Clive. She sensed her mum’s eyes burning into the back of her skull, but from what Josie had witnessed, Clive saw himself more as the charming publican who drank with the patrons and didn’t actually work. Josie couldn’t remember seeing him pulling that many pints since her arrival.
“Thanks, love.” Clive raised his glass to Camilla. “Cheers.”
Josie returned behind the bar, which luckily was customer-free aside from Harry, who was all set with a drink. “Now, where were we?”
“You said you had something you wanted to talk about.” Harry sipped her drink. “I applaud your gin choice.” She held the glass up to the light. “This dances on my tongue, and the slice of pink grapefruit adds just the right balance.”
Josie gave a slight curtsy. “I’ve been thinking about your newspaper.” She stopped herself from saying problem.
Harry jumped in. “Are you going to ask me to accept all paying ad customers?”
“What? No. I wouldn’t interfere in your business. I’ve been thinking you should compile all of your articles into a book. Shop the idea to publishers.”
“Who would buy a book like that?”
“I would, for one.”
“That’s kind of you to say, really. But I’ve been mulling over an idea I wanted to talk to you about.”
“You wanted to run something by me? The Spin Doctor?” Josie couldn’t resist the jab, but she softened it with a smile. “The defective Spin Doctor.” Josie tapped her dimple.
Harry gazed deeply into Josie’s eyes and then swallowed. “Podcasts. What do you know about them?”
Josie had to laugh over the way Harry shouted the questions, showcasing nerves. What was the root cause, though? Did Harry find Josie attractive? Or did any female attention turn the publisher into knots? “People really like listening to them.”
“Including me.”
“Okay.” Josie wasn’t sure where the conversation was going.
“I’ve been mulling over if it would be worth exploring starting a podcast, but I don’t know if—”
“Oh my God! That’s perfect and so much better than my idea about a book. Podcasts are all the rage these days. People, like me, still want to be informed, but the information some seek may not be found within traditional news sources. Or, and I don’t mean this as a dig against you per se, but trust in journalism is at an all-time low.”
“I’m aware. I’m worried, though, that starting one would be a desperate move. It seems everyone is doing it. I’ve never been one to jump on the bandwagon.” Harry tapped a coaster against the edge of the bar.
“You may be missing the big picture. People are doing them because there’s a need.” From Harry’s increased beer coaster tapping, Josie sensed she needed more convincing. “Listeners like having a choice of thousands of different topics. Podcasts fill a need, hence why everyone and their uncle is starting one.” Josie smiled, acknowledging Harriet’s jumping on the bandwagon worry.
“How would they find mine out of the thousands?” Harry set the coaster down as if she knew it was betraying her inner turmoil.
“Some seek out specific ones and will stumble onto yours, because they’re interested in the topic. Such as gardeners who can’t get enough gardening tips. Bakers who want to hear about the perfect banana bread, political news junkies, or techies wanting to learn all the latest technology trends. There are probably hundreds of podcasts about topics I’ve never heard of, and I wouldn’t even know how to describe them. That doesn’t matter.” Josie held onto the bar. “What matters is there isn’t a niche that’s too small. And, the medium allows people to listen whenever and wherever. During a boring conference call. While doing dishes. Heck, I’ve even listened to them while in the bathroom.”
Harry, openmouthed, remained speechless.
“Sorry. That’s the American half of me that overshares.”
Harry wore an awkward smile that made her even more adorable in a sexy way.
Josie pressed on, “I know I’ve only been back for a few weeks, but from the glimpses I’ve seen, and the articles in your paper, this village and the surrounding ones are full of characters. A real live Lake Woebegone atmosphere.”
“Are we allowed to bring up… ya know?” Harry’s posh London accent made the hair stand up all over Josie’s body.
Doing her best to tamp down the sudden desire to kiss Harry, Josie asked, “Bring up what?”
“Not what. Who.”
“The ginger?” Josie scratched the tip of her nose.
Harry waved Josie off. “No. The author of Lake Woebegone. After MeToo.”
Josie palm-slapped her forehead. “Oh, that. Now I’m following. I was just using it as an example. I don’t think you should follow Garrison Keillor’s example exactly. Don’t sexually harass people. So not cool.”
Harry laughed but stopped abruptly. “Sorry. Not something that should be laughed at.”
Josie leaned on her forearms. “I won’t tell anyone you did if you don’t tell people I cracked a joke about MeToo. Not many would find it all that funny in today’s political climate.”
“Deal.” Harry offered her hand to lock in the pact.
“I really think the podcast idea is a fantastic one. You’d make a great podcaster.” For one thing, Harry’s voice was sexy as hell. Josie placed one hand on the bar to steady herself.
“I find the idea interesting, but implementing it terrifies me.”
“You have passion. Why else would you put out a local paper brimming with charming stories that encapsulates the Cotswolds’ village life? That enthusiasm comes across in your writing. How many people have you interviewed since starting this living history project?”
“Around twenty or possibly thirty.”
“Perfect. Am I right in thinking you’ve scored a fair share of charming tales?”
“Oh yes. Many. But, I’m better at writing things down. Not speaking.”
“Have you even tried?”
“Well, no.”
“That’s where I can help!” Josie hopped up and down on her feet.
“I’m not following. Do you mean you’ll host the show and I’ll write the copy? I can get behind that.”
“Not at all. I’m thinking”—Josie formed a trumpet with her hand and made the accompanying ra ra ra rhaaaa sound as if about to make an important announcement before the royal court. “Luckily for you, this is my wheelhouse.”
Chapter Ten
“Wait, you already have a podcast?” Harriet asked. “How did I not hear about this sooner?” She opened a leather iPhone case that was meant to look like a book. “What’s the name so I can subscribe?”
“No, I don’t have one. But I’m good at coaching people when it comes to speaking.” Josie’s emerald eyes sparkled.
Harriet snapped her fingers to imply things were finally clicking together in her mind. “That’s right! You’re involved in politics as a speechwriter. I never considered coaching would be part of that. Sounds foolish to say aloud, but…” Harriet patted the side of her head, knowing she could be a tad slow on the uptake, but once something sunk in, she wasn’t likely to forget it.
Josie nodded. “Oh my God. You have no idea. It involves lots and lots of coaching. Sometimes, I felt more like a cheerleader. Or dog trainer, really, saying silly things like, Who’s a good girl?” Josie said this in a silly voice, clapping her hands together, and laughed. “That’s in the past, though. I’m done with politics.” Josie slapped her hands together to emphasize the finality of that chapter in her life, but Harriet detected a twinge of regret in Josie’s slumped shoulders.
“Does that mean you’re staying here, then? Permanently?” Harriet had difficulty believing her good luck. When she
’d moved to Upper Chewford, Harriet had believed she’d given up on finding someone like Josie. But six months into her sojourn in the Cotswolds, and here was the perfect woman. Intelligent. Witty. Feisty. Beautiful. Not that Harriet actually ascribed to the notion that anyone could be perfect. There was no such thing. Not even one with the perfect dimple. And the whole spin doctor aspect was a mark against Josie, but Harriet knew her journalism background was a mark against Harriet in Josie’s book. Did the two negate each other? No, that made zero sense. Harriet, though, was picking up on a trend when it came to Josie: not much made sense, and that was alluring in an odd way. Josie always made Harriet smile. Could life be that simple? Find someone who makes you smile?
As if she noticed Harriet was lost in her head, Josie waited until Harriet tuned back in before Josie said, “Haven’t decided my future fully yet. I’m still assessing the damage so I can move forward.” Josie’s eyes dropped, while her right hand reached for one of the beer taps as if she needed to hold something solid in her hand.
“Was it that bad?” Harriet asked, concerned.
“Which part?”
“The job?”
“It had its ups and downs, like any career. The end—wait.” Josie’s hand fell off the tap, and she pointed at Harriet. “Is this off the record? No offense, but I’ve had rotten luck with media types. One reporter in particular brought my candidate down, and I got fired as a result. It’s left me somewhat bitter, and I want to cover my ass.”
Harriet showed her palms. “No offense taken. I also don’t have the best opinion of some of my colleagues. That’s why I chucked it in and moved here to rebrand a small paper into what I hoped would be more whimsical, pulling in new readers who are tired of boring news. However, I’m finding even villagers in places like Upper Chewford don’t want wholesome. Many seem to appreciate the human-interest stories, but what everyone wants more of is scandal.”
Josie made a humming sound, showing she agreed.
Harriet continued, “Salaciousness sells, and it’s how I’ve been keeping The Chronicles afloat. It’s been eye-opening, destroying my belief in the goodness in people.” Harriet hefted one shoulder in a helpless fashion, proving she’d really believed outside of the big-city rat race, things would be different. Better. “It’s like when you get to know a person on an individual level, you realize people aren’t that bad. Most, really, are decent, and we all have something in common. But when I lump people together”—Harriet conjoined her hands—“I just don’t like them.”
A Shot at Love Page 9
