Page 56 of Snowed Inn

I’m already picturing the social media accounts and the billboards and the adorable little menus with a hand-drawn bird in the top right corner. It’s the exact sort of project I used to love to work on. Only I don’t get any of those projects anymore. I get . . . Monica Mosses.

“Well, the trick to effective PR for a place like that is creating buzz,” I tell him, ready to launch into a full-on presentation based on the ideas in my head. “If you can create enough excitement around your bar, people will come and check it out. Then it’s up to you to provide the experience that makes them love it. Makes them want to come back again and again.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he says, waving his hands in front of his chest. “I said I’m thinking about it. The PR plan is a little premature.”

I cock my head. “It’s never too early to begin generating buzz,” I tell him. “If you want me to come up with a list of ideas, I’d be happy to.”

“I’ll let you know,” he says, his mouth curving up into a grin.

I begin to argue with him but the door jingles again and an older lady with dark, curly hair shot with gray practically jumps inside. She homes in on us like a street style influencer clocking a designer coat from three blocks away and comes rushing to our table.

“Hi, Jesse,” she says in a super suspicious voice.

His eyes narrow. “Hi, Mrs. Lawrence.”

Mrs. Lawrence. Hmm. The name sounds familiar, and I soon recall it’s because she is the owner of the local drive-in movie theater and the not-so-anonymous blogger responsible for the Harvest Hollow Hot Sheet. I’m immediately aware that she has been summoned here by a nosy text message. Someone in this diner ratted us out.

“Who’s this?” Mrs. Lawrence asks next. She’s eyeing me like her next headline, and I have just the grabber for her. This town loves gossip? I’m going to give it to them. And hopefully get Jesse’s future bar some PR at the same time.

Jesse gives Mrs. Lawrence a skeptical stare. It’s clear he also knows she was summoned. And that she already knows exactly who I am. “This is Maria Agostini, Ellie’s friend from the city,” he says anyway.

“Oooh,” Mrs. Lawrence draws out the word. “Ellie’s friend.” She says it as if she doesn’t think for a minute that I’m here for Ellie.

“Nice to meet you,” I say, and then I purposely add, “You sure do have some handsome men in this town. Successful ones too. Has Jesse told you about the Mockingbird?” I try to bat my lashes at Jesse. It may just look like I’ve got something in my eye. I’ve never been the best flirter. But I’m committed. Jesse could use some PR and what better way to get it than to plant a story in the press? Okay, Mrs. Lawrence’s blog isn’t quite TMZ, but it can’t hurt. According to El, the Hot Sheet is quite popular in these parts.

A slow, delighted smile spreads across Mrs. Lawrence’s face—bull’s-eye. “You don’t say?” she purrs, giving me and Jesse a sly wink.

“The Mockingbird is the bar I’m thinking about opening,” Jesse informs her, shooting me a warning stare.

“Oh, right. The nonloaded stuff.” She waves a hand in the air.

“That’s the one.” He gives her a tight smile.

“Yep, I sure am going to miss it here when I go back to the city.” I add an overly dramatic sigh. “But Jesse, you did promise to visit, didn’t you?” I give him a full-on pouty bottom lip while Mrs. Lawrence’s eyes nearly bulge from their sockets.

“I’ll leave you two to your lunch. Nice to meet you, Maria,” Mrs. Lawrence says, hurrying away, while nearly shaking with unabashed glee.

The moment she’s gone, Jesse whispers under his breath. His nostrils flare. “Why did you do that? We’re going to end up on the Hot Sheet tomorrow.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” I say. “I just hope she mentions the Mockingbird. How many people read her blog?”

He shrugs. “The whole town, I suppose.”

“Then, yes,” I continue. “I want to be on it and so do you. If she mentions the bar, that’s great PR.”

“PR for a bar that doesn’t exist.” His mouth quirks, giving me the slow-burn equivalent of a really?

“Yet,” I say, pointing my finger directly into the air. “Trust me,” I continue. “Go with it. She wants to write about seeing us together and we want her to mention the Mockingbird. It’s a win-win.”

Jesse laughs and shakes his head. “Nothing stops you, does it, Agostini?”

“Haven’t found anything yet,” I inform him with a resolute nod. “Now, where did you say you live again?”

Half an hour later, we’re back in the red truck and Jesse fires it up. He managed to sidestep my question about his place again, but I will not stand down. We’re not home yet. There’s still time.

I’m waiting for the heat to start blowing on me like it did earlier, when I notice snow falling on the windshield. Like a weird clumpy amount of snow. Not an it’s-snowing amount of snow.

“Donny!” Jesse calls.