A tiny smile formed on Charlie Grace’s face. “Well, he is handsome; I’ll give you that.”
“And how long do you get to enjoy looking at Mr. Handsome?” Capri asked. “Is he staying long-term?”
“He’s only registered for three days.” Charlie Grace kicked off her boots and folded onto the sofa, tucking her legs underneath her. “Besides, I don’t have time to gawk. I’ve got a lot of important things to do.” Even as she said it, her eyes twinkled.
“Ah…well, enjoy the scenery while you can,” Reva urged while grabbing herself a Perrier water from the refrigerator. “No harm in that.”
Charlie Grace blushed and waved off the comment. “Do I need to remind you we’re no longer girls roaming the halls of high school? We’re grown women with responsibilities, jobs, and people who depend on us. Remember?” She turned to Reva. “You’re the mayor of this town, for goodness’ sake.”
“We’re women who still have red blood running through our veins,” Reva reminded.
Lila sat on the floor near the sofa. “Oh, that’s rich…coming from someone who hasn’t dated in well over a year. All our love lives are fairly dim at this point.”
True, Reva thought. The idea of dating was low on her list after Merritt.
“Back to the subject.” Reva unscrewed the top off her water bottle. “Tell us more about…what’s his name?”
Charlie Grace took a sip from her margarita. “His name is Nick Thatcher. He must come from money because the internet says he…”
“You looked him up on the internet?” Reva exchanged glances with the others. “That seems significant.”
“Internet research takes a lot of time for such a busy woman,” Capri teased.
“Oh, stop.” Charlie Grace set her glass on the table. “Yes, he seems like an interesting guy. But that doesn’t mean there are romantic implications. Besides, like everyone in this town, I care about tourism and what that new television series will mean to our town.”
None of them looked entirely convinced.
Lila leaned back against the sofa cushion. “Okay, so what did you learn?”
“Well, he’s quite the muckety-muck in Hollywood, with a long and illustrious career as a production designer. He’s worked on some major projects.” She named several well-known movies. “He even won an Oscar.”
“Wow!” Capri said.
Reva whistled, echoing the sentiment. “Impressive.”
“What’s a production designer?” Capri asked, reaching for a chip.
“Nick says he is the one who plans each scene. He calls it ‘storyboarding.’”
Reva returned to the kitchen, slid the enchiladas into the oven, and adjusted the temperature control. “My office has been inundated with people stopping by with questions about this show. Understandably, there would be a lot of curiosity, especially since everything seems so hush-hush.” She swiped a cloth over her granite countertop. “That seems to fuel speculation.”
“Yeah, Nick didn’t disclose many details—and I certainly did not want to pry—but apparently, filming is going to be out at the Aspen River Ranch in Wilson.”
“Figures.” Capri reached for the pitcher to refill her glass. “The people who own that place are connected.”
Reva joined them in the living area and sat in the chair across from the sofa. “Many locals relish the potential tourism this production will bring to the area, but I’m on board with the concerns being expressed.”
“What concerns?” Charlie Grace asked.
“No one wants long-term growth in terms of people flooding into the area to live…or worse, building second homes that drive up the property values and taxes and then remain vacant when the owners return to California.”
Lila nodded. “Exhibit A: Sun Valley, Aspen…”
“Jackson Hole,” Capri finished. “I’ve said before, bring on the summertime tourists. That’s good for all of us. But, we don’t need more taxes. My profit margins are set. I’m not keen on raising my prices to cover increases.”
“Yes, that’s the sentiment I most often hear,” Reva confirmed. “Along with questions about how to become an extra in the show.”
They all laughed.
