“Why don’t we all have a seat.” Her mother, ever the hostess, directed them to the table with a smile. “The wine steward should be here with our request momentarily. I hope you don’t mind, Lauren, dear, but we ordered a lovely bottle of pinot noir, grown locally, in fact. We’ll be more than happy to get something else—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Lauren said, allowing the mayor to pull her seat back for her before he rounded the table and did the same for his wife. She sat catty-corner to her mother and directly across from the mayor. She watched them, curious to see any byplay between them, anything to help her understand the magnetism that supposedly existed. But there were no little touches, no private glances, no silent communication. In fact, they seemed to just be going through the motions, not exactly strained, but each of them definitely seemed lost in their own thoughts. “I, uh, didn’t know they grew grapes at this altitude.”
“Well, it’s not Napa Valley,” Arlen responded jovially, “but we’re pretty proud of what our great state produces.”
“You’re originally from California, right?”
“Yes,” Arlen said, and seemed quite enthusiastic about being given the chance to endorse that little tidbit about himself. “San Francisco.”
Lauren kept her own “circuit smile” on steady display. “Then I suppose you’d probably know a little something about those Napa wines, so I’m impressed you think so highly of the local wines here. I’m looking forward to trying it.”
“I assure you, you won’t be disappointed.”
Small talk momentarily exhausted, when the silence went on for a beat too long, Lauren’s mother reached for her menu, prompting them to do the same.
It was cowardly, she knew, to hide behind the oversized, faux-leather folder, but it gave her a much-needed moment to regroup and reorganize her thoughts without Arlen staring her down. Well, maybe stare was too excessive a description, but he’d kept his focus fairly intently on her since she’d entered the room. Even when he’d seated her mother, his attention had been on Lauren. It wasn’t exactly creepy or anything, but it wasn’t comfortable, either.
Lauren surreptitiously took peeks at both her mother and Arlen as they perused their menus. For all she knew, they ate here all the time and knew the course offerings by heart. But they both seemed pretty intent on examining every entrée. And not once, that she had noticed anyway, had they so much as glanced at one another.
Could it be, Lauren wondered, that perhaps her mother had already come to the same realization that her East Coast friends and Lauren had come to about five seconds after she’d announced her elopement? If so, Lauren would be profoundly relieved and grateful to have the mother she knew and loved back to her normal sane, rational self. But she also was well aware that Charlene was a proud woman who’d been raised to do well in anything she attempted—a goal she’d pretty much always succeeded in achieving—so would likely be embarrassed by this rather public and personal failing. Lauren vowed right then she would approach the subject delicately and with compassion.
She glanced at her mother, wishing again that she could have spent some time with her alone first, rather than this somewhat stilted, best-behavior, social call. The private room was nice, but only went so far. She couldn’t ask her mother the things she was most dying to know, which was how in the worldwide hell, with all the distinguished and lovely gentlemen who had orbited her very active social circles since Lauren’s father had passed away—and there had been no small number who would have given anything for even a personal smile from Charlene Matthews—had she ever, even in a weak moment, chosen this one?
Okay, maybe she needed to work on the delicate part of her approach. But even if her mother had realized her impulsive union was a mistake, Lauren was still curious why she’d been compelled to be so impulsive in the first place.
She thought perhaps she could catch the corner of her mother’s eye and silently mouth something to her—about seeing her later, in private. But her mother had set her menu aside and was busy spreading her linen napkin neatly in her lap, her faultless southern Virginia manners as natural a part of her as her relentlessly graceful charm.
When the silence continued after they’d all set aside their menus, Lauren cleared her throat and said, “Cedar Springs is lovely.”
Her mother’s eyes sparkled at the comment. “Isn’t it, though? Just like a page out of a magazine.”
“Jewel of the Rockies,” Arlen said, sounding less uncertain of himself now. Of course, that was because he sounded like a campaign poster. Which as mayor, was, generally speaking, his job.
Now that Lauren suspected he wasn’t going to be in her or her mother’s orbit much longer, it was easier to simply take him with a grain of salt and not be as tense or stressed over every single sentence.
“It’s taken a good part of my time in office,” he went on, “but we’ve managed to turn this town into a destination resort that rivals—and if you ask me, outdoes—its more glitzier counterparts to the south. Telluride might have its little film festival, and Aspen and Vail their constant stream of movie starlets, but Cedar Springs is a town that can embrace the worldwide adventure seeker, and still offer home and hearth to those residents who plan to live out their life in our little mountain paradise. It’s becoming a generational town, where family names still mean something, and small town values remain high on our priority list, despite our reputation as a place that easily meets the needs of our most worldly and cosmopolitan travelers. From a five star resort, to award-winning restaurants, it really is—”
“The jewel of the Rockies,” Lauren finished with him, wondering how often he’d given that exact speech. “I can see why.” She turned her attention to him more personally, a pleasant smile on her face. In fact, she was feeling almost generous with the guy now. It was even a bit tempting to let him believe he’d won her over with his chamber of commerce, tourism board ad campaign, but given the amount of rhetoric she’d heard in her career, it would have taken a much better actress than her to pull that off. Besides, even her goodwill had its limits. Which was made, perhaps more clear than she intended, when, instead, she said, “I will admit though, I hadn’t expected my arrival to be so…conspicuous.”
“I’m sorry about that, sweetheart,” her mother broke in to say. “It’s just, with Arlen being the mayor, and my excitement over your visit, word spreads in a little town like this. Please don’t feel pressured by it; everyone is excited to meet you, as well.”
Lauren smiled at her mother and wished like hell the two of them were anywhere but here right now. This all felt so…staged. And she was pretty sure her mother was feeling the same way. But her manners would never allow her to tear away the veil of social propriety. And Lauren wouldn’t put her in that kind of awkward position by doing it herself. At least, not blatantly anyway.
But at least she could look forward now to spending some time alone with her mother. The two of them could figure out how best to handle the next step so that her mother could extricate herself and return to her previous life with as little fallout as possible. Which…was going to call on every bit of campaign strategy Lauren had learned in her years in Washington, and then some.
She glanced back at Arlen to find him steadily regarding her. It caught her off guard, and he immediately glanced down and spread his linen napkin on his lap, but it was still a little unnerving. She told herself he was simply feeling the awkward tension in the room and had been trying to read her, figure out what would work. Politicians and businessmen did it all the time as they met with constituents, clients, and those who might be able to help them achieve their goals. She wondered if Arlen was good at reading people, or just thought he was good at it. She’d met both types. She hadn’t learned enough about him to know, but his business successes would indicate he was pretty decently skilled. It was something to keep in mind. To not underestimate him. Especially if her mother was planning to ask for a divorce.
He had a whole town behind him. Her mother was an O’Grady and