The Fine Art of Faking It: A Small Town Love Story (Blue Moon Book 6)

by Lucy Score

  She cast a glance over her shoulder and, seeing no one, snatched the binder out of the bag. This could be the key to getting the nosy, matchmaking troublemakers off her case.

  This could free her forever from Davis Gates.

  She heard a noise in the hallway and unceremoniously stuffed the binder under her seat cushion. Eva reappeared, flushed and happy again. The joys of hormones and new marriages, Eden supposed.

  “Sorry about… well, literally everything that happened in the last thirty minutes,” Eva offered.

  “Eh,” Eden shrugged, trying not to feel guilty at her thievery. “Let’s eat cookies and pretend everything is normal.”

  Dearest Beautification Committee Member,

  Allow me to be the first to welcome you to the honorable, venerable, deeply respected keystone of our community. If you’ll forgive me for waxing poetic, I like to think of us as the “heart” of Blue Moon Bend.

  Our goal is a noble one: to make our community as happy, and therefore as secure and peaceful, as humanly possible. To accomplish such ends, we dedicate our energies to joining single citizens in love matches carefully orchestrated to the benefit of both parties and Blue Moon.

  You have been chosen to join our ranks to uphold this magnificent, magnanimous cause. It is an honor you won’t soon forget.

  With Warm Regards,

  Bruce Oakleigh

  Beautification Committee President

  14

  Snack time was one of the highlights of Eden’s days as an inn keeper. While some inns touted fancy tea time, Blue Moon stood for no such arrogance. Every day at 4 p.m. guests were treated to cookies and pastries and alcohol. It was a happy hour with baked goods. And it was quite popular.

  Eden hurried onto the sun porch where a roaring fire warmed the room. Her tray was overflowing with pecan tassies, apple tarts, and cheesecake cookie cups. She smiled when she noticed that half of her guests were already here, laughing and mingling. The smile froze on her face when she noticed Davis in the corner pouring wine. His wine. With her dogs staring adoringly up at him. Chewy put his head on Davis’s foot under the table. Traitors.

  She’d been avoiding him since overhearing Eva on the phone with the Beautification Committee. Eden didn’t see where it was any of his business that he was the other half of her intended match. This was a situation she could handle on her own.

  “Now, this one is our Riesling,” Davis said, handing Billie Sue a plastic cup with a healthy slosh of white wine in it. “You’ll be able to pick up on the tree fruit notes and maybe a hint of mango. It pairs best with savory dishes like a pork roast. Ah, Eden, perfect timing! I hope you don’t mind if I offer your guests a private tasting?”

  “How lovely,” she said wrestling the sarcasm out of her tone. It wasn’t her guests’ fault that they were being served free wine by a penis-packing closet jerk.

  Davis, blissfully unaware of her murderous thoughts, leaned across the table and snatched one of the cheesecake cookies from her tray. “Here, Billie Sue. Try it now.”

  Billie Sue nibbled at the cookie and took a dainty sip of the wine. Her green eyes rolled back in her head, painted eyebrows arching toward her hair line. “Oh. My. God. Sebastian! Come try this,” she bellowed over her shoulder.

  Eden tried to telegraph her rage through her eyeballs to Davis, but he was too busy entertaining her guests. They were all bellied up to his makeshift bar, asking questions and sampling.

  “What a nice young man,” Mrs. Hasselbeck, a sub-five-foot tall grandmother of seventeen, sighed as she shuffled by with her walker. “They sure don’t make ‘em like that anymore.”

  Eden bit back a sigh. Nothing in the world could make her argue with a guest. Not even when the guest was profoundly and painfully wrong. “No, I guess they don’t,” she agreed.

  “My granddaughter’s boyfriend has a neck piercing and calls her his ‘old lady’.” Mrs. Hasselbeck leaned in conspiratorially. “I hit him with my scooter at Easter. Pretended it got stuck in gear.”

  Eden couldn’t hold back her laugh. “I’m sure he deserved it.”

  “He’s a douchewagon, as the kids are saying these days. Not like that handsome Davis. Smart, charming, funny. And easy on the eyes.” Mrs. Hasselbeck took her glasses off and cleaned them on the hem of her sweater where donkeys paraded across her chest. “He just needs a good woman to help him pick better clothing.”

  Davis was still rocking a horrific collection of thrift store finds until he was cleared to drive. Today his turtleneck could be described as a horrific mix of grey, green, and beige and was untucked over a pair of low-rise, orange corduroy trousers that sat snuggly on his hips. They made a whisper sound every time he took a step.

  “Maybe he’ll be lucky enough to find one someday,” Eden said. Why did everyone have to love him so damn much? He wasn’t the perfect gentleman that everyone thought him to be. And it annoyed her to no end that no one else could see it.

  “Eden, I swear you are a hospitality genius.” The sleekly dressed Nia was hitting the east coast for a road trip with her twin sister. The two had a goal of hitting all fifty states together and spent a portion of their year in the car, bickering and seeing the sights that the U.S. had to offer. “Setting up a tasting with our very own wine expert? Girl, you’re a genius-level marketer!”

  “Oh. Um. Thank you,” Eden said, deciding now was not the time to announce that she’d never served Gates wine under her roof before. Or to draw attention to the fact that Davis had undermined her to push his own business.

  “I love how this town is so damn neighborly,” Nia’s sister Tierra said, holding a dainty apple tart between glittering purple finger nails. She wore her hair in a short cap that framed her face and was dressed in a flowing caftan. “It’s like you’re all friends, and you want everyone to do well.”

  “Sounds like communism,” Nia laughed.

  “Actually, around here we call it commune-ism,” Eden said, still glowering at Davis.

  The sisters appreciated her humor.

  “So, can we talk about Mr. Hottie Wine Man for a minute?” Tierra asked, shooting a glance at Davis as he grinned down at the 82-year-old Mrs. Hasselbeck.

  “What about him?” Eden asked warily.

  “If he’s single and you’re single, why haven’t you two locked yourself in a bathroom with finger paints and a black light yet?” Nia demanded.

  “Well, that’s oddly specific,” Eden evaded.

  Nia pulled a folded piece of paper out of her back pocket. She cleared her throat, “Sexual Scenario Suggestions for November. Number One: Lock yourselves in a bathroom with finger paints and a black light. Number Two… Oh wait, that one’s just a drawing.” She turned her head. “I can’t tell which end is up.”

  Tierra peered over her sister’s shoulder.

  “Where did you get that?” Eden asked, making a grab for the paper.

  “It was an insert in The Monthly Moon that we got at the book store,” Nia said, snatching the brochure back to get a better look at the illustration.

  “Super weird guy behind the register at the book store, by the way,” Tierra added.

  “That’s Fitz. He’s… unique,” Eden said in lieu of explaining that Fitz was a reformed pot dealer who now supplemented his used book income by stripping on the side. She, like the rest of the town, had seen the video the Pierces had shot when an unfortunate mix-up had Fitz flashing his pearly white butt cheeks at the Pierce women and was nearly arrested by Sheriff Cardona. Some things were better kept from tourists. Some things couldn’t be unseen.

  “Anyway, so why haven’t you?” Nia asked.

  “Why haven’t I what?” Eden asked, setting the tray down and arranging the cookies carefully on color coordinated plates.

  “Why haven’t you and Davis broken out the finger paints?” Tierra demanded. “He’s so fine, I’d write a sonnet about him.”

  “He’s hot enough that I can forgive him for his utter fashion failures,” Nia said, eyeing up Davis’s
bleck turtleneck.

  Eden bit back a laugh. “In his defense…” those words had never come out of her mouth in regard to Davis before. “Most of his wardrobe was ruined in an unfortunate incident recently. He’s living it up in thrift store donations until he can go shopping. You should see him in yoga pants.”

  “Ooooh!” Nia and Tierra crooned, drawing the eyes of everyone.

  Davis looked their way, and the twins wiggled their fingers at him.

  “Ladies, would you like a sample?” Davis asked. He gestured at the open bottles of wine in front of him. But given the direction their conversation had gone, the twins erupted into flirty giggles.

  “Davis, let me ask you something,” Tierra insisted.

  Oh, no.

  “Ask me anything.” He flashed them a charming grin that had Nia fanning herself.

  That son of a bitch was even smoother than he had been in high school, Eden thought gritting her teeth.

  “Why haven’t you and our girl Eden here gotten together, yet? You’re both beautiful, you live next door to each other, you’re running successful businesses,” Tierra ticked the items off on her fingers.

  “Are you working for the Beautification Committee?” Eden asked. “Did a man named Bruce come up to you on the street and ask you to help in some matchmaking scheme?” Damn it, she really needed to find time to read that binder she stole from Eva. She kept falling asleep halfway through Bruce’s twelve-page introduction.

  Nia and Tierra shared a “she’s lost her damn mind” look.

  “Let’s start with a sparkling wine,” Davis suggested, dancing around the line of questioning. Sparkling wine was for celebrating, and as far as Eden could tell, she had nothing to celebrate. Not with the man who had stomped on her teenage heart and helped destroy her reputation—possibly twice now—pouring his wine for her guests as if he owned the place.

  “Fill us up,” Tierra insisted holding up an empty cup.

  “And tell us why you haven’t asked this fine young lady out yet,” Nia added.

  “I asked him out,” Eden said, regretting the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. The twins had no idea what kind of disaster story they were in for. But at least she’d wiped the smug smile off of Davis’s face. The other guests crowded around ready for the gossip.

  “Eden asked me to the HeHa dance when she was a junior and I was a senior,” Davis began.

  Tierra raised her hand. “HeHa?”

  “Helping Hands,” Eden answered. “It’s a day of community service that ends with a big, formal dance.”

  “Did you pick her up in a limo?”

  “Did you get her a corsage?”

  “You didn’t wear that, did you?”

  The questions flew fast and loud around them.

  “I actually stood her up,” Davis said.

  Eden felt a grim satisfaction at the looks of horror and disappointment on the faces of their rapt audience.

  “That doesn’t sound like you, sweetie,” Mrs. Hasselback frowned.

  “No, it was very much like him,” Eden said, unable to hold back on the dig.

  Davis didn’t make a move to defend himself. “It was a mistake I’ve regretted ever since then,” he said simply.

  “Awh,” swooned their audience.

  “He showed up at the dance with another date,” Eden added.

  “No!” Nia gasped.

  Davis nodded and poured a round of chardonnays. “I’m afraid so. I was young and dumb, and my parents didn’t approve of me going with Eden.”

  “Star-crossed lovers! And now here you are under one roof for a second chance,” Marty Bigelow, an insurance salesman from Idaho sighed dramatically.

  Eden shook her head. What the hell was in the wine Gates was serving up? Liquid romance?

  “That ship has sailed,” Eden said with a cheery smile she didn’t feel. “Now, who would like a pecan tassie?”

  “But you two practically smolder when you’re in the same room,” Marty’s sister-in-law Judith said, her dangling cat earrings jiggling with vehemence.

  Davis met Eden’s gaze, and Eden pretended not to notice said smolder.

  “See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Judith said pointing at them. “It’s like he wants to rip your clothes off, and you want to break his face kissing it!”

  “How much did you give these people to drink?” Eden demanded.

  Her guests erupted into a loud discussion of all the reasons why Eden and Davis should give each other a second shot. Eden’s polite proprietress smile was frozen on her face.

  “Everyone. Everyone!” The room quieted down at Davis’s tone. “We both made mistakes, myself especially. And sometimes there are no second chances.”

  Someone in the small crowd booed.

  “Besides,” Eden added. “Our families have been feuding for decades. It would never work out.”

  Tierra grabbed the bottle of sparkling wine from the table and started filling cups. “This I’ve gotta hear.”

  “Well, it all started in 1960 when Davis’s grandfather hit my grandma with his car,” Eden began.

  “That’s not how it started.”

  She turned to look at Davis. “Excuse me?”

  “No, it started when your great-aunt broke into my great-aunt’s store and stole all her flour.”

  “That’s not what happened,” Eden argued. “Your great-aunt refused to sell my great-aunt any cake ingredients so she could win the baking contest.”

  “That actually does sound like something she’d do,” Davis said, rubbing a hand over his dimpled chin. “Great-Aunt Vera was mean as a snake. She hit her husband with a rolling pin every time he asked what was for dinner.”

  “Great-Aunt Uversal wasn’t much better,” Eden admitted. “She chased me once with a riding lawn mower. She was 97 at the time. Got kicked out of two nursing homes for biting.”

  Davis’s lips quirked at the corner.

  “Look! They’re bonding,” Marty whispered as if Eden and Davis couldn’t hear him.

  “Wait, if your families were already feuding, what happened after you stood her up at the dance?” Nia asked Davis.

  Davis held Eden’s gaze.

  “I accidentally set his lawn on fire and almost burned down his house.”

  BEAUTIFICATION COMMITTEE GUIDELINES

  SECTION C: IDENTIFYING POTENTIAL MATCHES

  Potential matchees are identified at committee discretion. Qualifications can include, but are not limited to: general physical attraction, compatible emotional neediness, and/or a satisfactory score in the proprietary Blue Moon Mate Compatibility ProfileTM.

  15

  After sharing the gist of The Incident with Eden’s guests yesterday, Davis got the feeling he was persona definitely non-grata around the inn. Apparently, Eden was still sensitive about the whole fire thing. At breakfast this morning, she’d actually thrown a fresh blueberry muffin at his head when none of the other guests were looking. Vader helpfully caught the shrapnel of it in her mouth and trotted off under the dining room table to enjoy the spoils of war. He’d gone back to his room to change out of the black sweater vest with brass buttons into a more subdued checkered shirt with bull horns embroidered on the back.

  “You busy?” Anastasia poked her head into Davis’s office.

  He’d been staring blankly at the newsletter template for the past half an hour and thinking about Eden.

  “I’ve got a minute.”

  “Then I’ve got something for you to taste.” She plopped down across from him and handed over a small glass beaker.

  Davis picked it up and held it to the light. “Is this the blend?” he asked. Before the fire, he and Anastasia had spent a good week tasting and testing a new blend. Last year’s Cayuga and Chardonnay grapes were getting a new life. It was a secret experiment he and Anastasia were working on behind closed doors. They wanted to nail down exactly the right mix before introducing the vintage to his father.

  “Have a sip and you tell me
.” He and Anastasia had worked at rival wineries in California and had spent their first year at Blue Moon Winery going head-to-head over every decision. They’d finally settled into a groove once they both realized that the other wasn’t out to ruin everything.

  Davis wished he could come to a similar agreement with Eden.

  He swirled the wine inside the beaker and watched the legs work their way down the glass. He sniffed deeply, catching notes of fruit and oak.

  Anastasia sat patiently through the ritual. Wine was a multi-sensory experience. One had to be detail-oriented enough to hit all the right notes for each sense. Their batches were small compared to some other upstate wineries, but there wasn’t a single vintage that Davis wasn’t inordinately proud of.

  He brought the beaker to his mouth and sipped lightly, letting the wine hit his tongue. It was crisp and dry, clean on his palate.

  Anastasia smiled smugly and crossed her arms. “Winner?”

  He swallowed, breathing out the aromatics. “Wow.”

  “Rack it?” she asked. Racking was the next part of the process once the proper blend was established. It was one of Davis’s favorite parts of winemaking. Finalizing the flavor that would end up in glasses on dinner tables around the country.

  “Rack it,” he nodded.

  Anastasia kicked her legs out and stretched. “How’s the head?”

  “For all intents and purposes, good as new,” Davis said. “I got the okay to drive this morning.”

  “Good. That means you can stop dressing like a seventies porn star,” she said eyeing his shirt.

  “Not a fan of western flair?” he asked.

  Anastasia wore the same thing every day. Jeans and a black sweater in the winter and jeans and a black tank top in the summer. She insisted her mental energy was better spent on the grapes rather than her wardrobe.

  “Your father called me this morning,” she said, changing the subject.

  Davis picked up his pen and tapped out a beat on his notebook. “And what did he want?” He knew exactly what his father wanted.

  “Oh, the usual. Wanted to know if the girl at the inn had been arrested. Wanted to know where you were staying. Wanted to know if he needed to call his cousin Ira.”

  Ira Gates was a bulldog lawyer who worked out of Boston and made a living suing the shit out of anyone who looked at his clients funny.