Uh-oh. Why had she opened her big mouth?
“Yes, but not a playwright. I’m a novelist.”Barely. Could she even claim that title if she didn’t finish her novel?
“Do you think you could make the necessary adjustments to the script for us?” Cassie asked.
“Well…” She hesitated. Yes, technically, she could. But did she have time? She glanced between Cassie and Eliza, who stared at her expectantly, as if the fate of the children’s pageant rested entirely on her shoulders. Could she let the kids down?
Suppressing a sigh, she offered them a smile. “Of course. I’d be happy to do it.” As she said the words, she realized tweaking the scriptdidsound like a fun project. And much easier than penning her pièce de résistance.
While Cassie and Eliza effused their gratitude, she caught Nate watching her with a spark of curiosity. He looked surprised, but in a good way, as if he’d seen her in a new, positive light. Why did the possibility make her toes tingle?
“What about the sets?” Eliza asked suddenly. “They’re all Victorian England. They’ll have to be redone.” Worry crept into her voice, but Cassie continued to smile calmly.
“I’m sure we can make do with some minor modifications,” Cassie assured her. “Luke can get started on them tomorrow. I hate to impose during your visit,” she said, turning to Nate, “but if you’re free, I’m sure Luke would appreciate an extra set of hands.”
“I’d be happy to help,” Nate offered without hesitation. He really was an upstanding guy.
“Wonderful! Then we’ll see you both at the middle school tomorrow. Let’s say around 10 a.m.?”
“Both of us?” Juliet asked, unclear why her presence was needed.
“So you can look through the costumes in case you have to make additional character modifications,” Cassie explained, her eyes twinkling.
Juliet supposed that made sense.Maybe. She stole a glance at Nate.
He stared at the opposite wall, deeply engrossed in reading the chalkboard menu.
So, they’d be spending even more time together tomorrow. The dilemma should fill her with dread. After all, she had a deadline looming. And she very much doubted her editor would accept a Shakespearean rewrite ofA Christmas Carol, even if it did have more literary clout than the mushy, feel-good stories Juliet devoured—and sometimes scribbled—in private.
Bottom line: she didn’t have time to go Christmas tree shoppingorhelp with a middle school play. And she certainly didn’t have time to be distracted by a man like Nate.
And yet, the more time she spent with him, the more intrigued she became.
CHAPTER 11
NATE
On the drive to the Christmas tree farm, Nate cast a sideways glance at Juliet in the passenger seat, typing away on her phone. How could she be glued to a screen on a day like today? Crisp, clear blue sky sprawled overhead, wiped clean after last night’s rain. The scent of damp earth and leaves clung to the air, refreshing and sweet. He could get used to rural, small-town life.
In fact, so far, he loved everything about Poppy Creek. And he couldn’t believe his luck back at the coffee shop. He’d actually get to help build the sets for a children’s Christmas pageant! What could be more festive than that?
It may even turn out to be an opportunity to spend more time with Juliet. Not that he cared about spending more time with her. Especially if she spent every second on her phone.
After several minutes of driving in silence, they came to a fork in the road. On the right, an elaborate wrought iron archway welcomed them to the Sterling Rose Estate. Dormant flower fields spread out for miles in every direction along with what appeared to be apple trees asleep for the winter.
On the left, a wooden cutout of a reindeer pointed toward a narrow dirt lane. The hand-painted sign underneath read,Follow me to the Christmas trees.
Nate veered left and rolled down the window. The invigorating aroma of evergreen flooded the truck, catching Juliet’s attention.
She glanced up from her phone. “Wow. That smells incredible.”
As she rested the device in her lap, he caught a glimpse of the screen. She appeared to be using some sort of writing app. Working on her novel, maybe?
Although she wrote literary fiction, he couldn’t help wondering if her novel featured a romantic subplot. And if so, what kind of romantic hero did she like? Rugged or clean-cut? Alpha or—what did his chatty coworkers call the less dominant guys? Cinnamon rolls? Golden retrievers? Labradoodles? He couldn’t remember. Something soft and cuddly. At the very least, Juliet’s so-called “book boyfriend” would probably have a full-time job.
Maybe she even had a real living, breathing boyfriend. Why did the possibility spark a pang of disappointment? He pushed the unwanted emotion aside.
As they approached a gravel parking lot, the twangy notes of “Deck the Halls” greeted them, redirecting his wandering thoughts. An elderly gentleman bent over a banjo serenaded two children making s’mores around a large metal-barrel fire pit. The image was right out of an old-timey postcard.
