Storybook Love: A Storybook Park Romance

  Storybook

  Love

  Carol E. Ayer

  Storybook Love

  Copyright 2009 by Carol E. Ayer

  Cover art by Sup_ben, Dreamstime.com

  Cover designed using BookCoverPro

  Edited by Marci Baun

  Chapter 1

  “He’s here, and he’s hot!”

  Rebecca Charles wearily turned her attention from the computer screen to her assistant’s grinning face. Leave it to Sara to latch onto the irrelevant.

  Sara yanked open the door and rushed outside before Rebecca had a chance to ask for more time. She powered down the computer, chewing on the inside of her cheek. It figured that Mr. Bigshot would be early. Did he expect her to drop everything she was doing and hurry outside the moment he arrived? Jonathan Eastman the Third, vice-president of the ThemeWorld Parks conglomerate, clearly didn’t care about anyone else. He didn’t care whom he inconvenienced on the way to getting what he wanted, which was no doubt more money and power than he already had.

  In fact, the whole situation reminded her uncomfortably of her ex. She couldn’t count the number of times Mark had arrived early to pick her up and been insistent that she leave even if she still had work to do. Of course, when she needed him, he was busy with a client.

  So she would go out there, tell Eastman she’d changed her mind about his business proposition, and send him on his way. She would keep her beloved fairy tale park out of his clutches if she had to wrench it from his greedy hands.

  Rebecca stood, trying desperately to rein in her emotions. Eastman wasn’t Mark. Still, she needed to get rid of him. She looked down at the framed picture on her desk and whispered, “Gran, don’t worry. I don’t care how hot he is.”

  * * * *

  At least, she thought she didn’t care, and then she stepped outside and actually laid eyes on the man. Jonathan Eastman the Third stood close to six feet. His silky dark hair curled beguilingly over his ears and begged for a woman’s fingers to be run through it. Clean-shaven and slightly tan, Eastman would draw attention, even without his immaculate, three-piece Armani suit. He looked more than a little incongruous leaning against the side of the giant shoe that acted as Storytown’s customer service center.

  Well-defined muscles strained against the fabric of Eastman's suit, and Rebecca forced herself to stop staring at his chest and to focus on his eyes instead. Bad idea. Bluer than the painted moat at their Cinderella set, his eyes reminded her of swimming in the open ocean on a clear summer day. And the eyelashes…. Why did men always get the long eyelashes?

  She gathered her composure and reached for her guest’s hand. A pleasant whiff of musky aftershave swirled around her.

  “I’m Rebecca Charles. How do you do?” Good, Rebecca. You remembered your own name.

  “Miss Charles, it’s so nice to meet you. I’m Jon Eastman.” His smile revealed a dimple in each cheek, and she cringed. She didn’t know how much more of this she could take.

  “Let’s go back to my office.” Rebecca led him to the building that did double duty as the Storytown office and a model of the witch’s house from Hansel and Gretel. So many times she’d wished the candy on the outside of the building was real instead of fake—especially in the middle of a morning filled with nervous mothers planning birthday parties.

  At the office door, Eastman lightly placed his hand to Rebecca's back and reached around her to twist the knob. Rebecca jumped at the contact. He didn't appear to notice and gestured for her to enter first.

  Once inside, Rebecca evicted the resident cat from the chair by her desk. “Please sit.”

  He did as she suggested, but clucked at Mittens until the cat hopped onto his lap and curled up in a ball. Rebecca knew from experience the pinstriped suit would soon be covered in cat hair, but her guest didn’t seem to mind. He scratched under Mittens’ chin and tickled the cat’s ears. The sound of the cat’s purring rolled across the desk.

  Jonathan Eastman the Third wasn’t at all what Rebecca had expected, and she didn’t appreciate it one bit.

  She straightened the stack of papers on her desk and cleared her throat. “Mr. Eastman—”

  “Jon, please.”

  “Mr. Eastman, I’m afraid I’m having second thoughts. I don’t want to sell Storytown after all.”

  “I suggest you reconsider. Our offer is a more than generous one.”

  “Yes, but that’s not really the point.” Rebecca looked out the window to the center of Storytown, taking in the familiar view. The giant-sized boot representing the nursery rhyme There Was an Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe stood in the middle of her vision. From the shoe's window, they sold ride tickets, souvenirs, and brightly-colored plastic keys that activated the park’s storyboxes. To the left, the title plant from the Jack in the Beanstalk set soared high into the air. To the right, three young girls rode characters from The Wizard of Oz on the small merry-go-round.

  Rebecca loved this park. She’d spent the happiest hours of her childhood here with her grandmother. Gran had been among the first visitors when Storytown opened in the 1950s, and she’d introduced the park to Rebecca. For years, Storytown had been Rebecca’s first choice of outing whenever the two spent time together. Now the owner and manager, she thrived. She would not allow Storytown to be gobbled up by an impersonal conglomerate and turned into a generic theme park, no matter how precarious the financial situation.

  “You said on the phone that you’re having some financial problems,” Eastman said, breaking into her reverie and apparently reading her mind. “So a generous offer would be exactly the point.”

  She shot him a look. “I overstated the situation in our conversation. Our insurance rates went up a bit, but I’ve got it covered.” Or not.

  Her visitor’s blue eyes twinkled, and she sensed he knew she was treading water.

  “You’re having trouble, Miss Charles, and you know it. As I told you over the phone, we’re willing to work with you to keep the original vision of Storytown alive—if that’s what it takes to get you to sell. It will be a new kind of ThemeWorld park, with the theme of children’s literature.”

  Rebecca frowned and gazed out the window again. The one time she’d been to a ThemeWorld park, it had overwhelmed her with its glitz and glamor. Too many bodies packed the park, and Rebecca found the whole place hot and noisy. They called it ThemeWorld, but the only theme apparent to her was commercialism. Unlike Storytown, with its quaint rides and sets representing nursery rhymes and children’s books—an oasis in a crazy world—ThemeWorld's name was plastered everywhere.

  Eastman was going on about themes, but the exact words didn’t penetrate through to Rebecca’s brain. She disciplined herself to listen to the content instead of the mellifluous tone.

  Meanwhile, Mittens’ purring had grown louder, and Rebecca muttered, “Traitor.”

  Eastman stopped speaking. “Pardon me?”

  “Nothing. You were saying?”

  He continued. “Your park is truly charming, but it's an anachronism. Kids today—they’re all about instant gratification. Video games and computers, rides and shopping. They don’t need fairy tales anymore.”

  Rebecca gestured out the window. “Then how do you explain the park’s popularity?”

  “Your clientèle is mostly very young children and their parents. Nostalgic parents seeking to recapture their own youth. I doubt there are any children here over the age of six—at least who aren’t here under protest.”

  Rebecca grimaced, remembering how she’d invited her seven-year-old nephew, Milton, to visit Storytown for his birthday. He’d scoffed and asked if they had an upside-down rollercoaster yet. He’d been unimpress
ed by the offer of a pirate-themed party to make up for the lack of thrill rides.

  She shook her head at Eastman. “I think you’re making a generalization. Lots of older kids like the park, too.” Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of any at the moment.

  The dimples again. “Perhaps. But I still think this is an offer you can’t refuse.”

  Rebecca clenched her teeth. What nerve! “Actually, it is, and I do. Refuse, I mean.” What in the world had she been thinking when she’d agreed to meet with this guy? Oh yeah—she’d been feeling desperate after seeing the monthly bills. He’d approached her at her most vulnerable. Well, that was last week. She was stronger now.

  Eastman stood, cradling Mittens in his arms. He gently placed the cat back onto the chair and handed Rebecca his business card. “I’m renting an apartment in town. You can reach me on my cell phone. I’ll be waiting for your call when you change your mind again.”

  Rebecca also stood. She stormed to the door and flung it open. “You’ll be waiting a long time.”

  “We’ll see. Good afternoon, Miss Charles.” And he left, the tantalizing scent of his aftershave trailing behind him.

  Rebecca tore up the business card and jettisoned the pieces into the garbage can. Sara bolted into the room seconds later. Mittens objected with a loud meow, leapt from the chair, and scurried under the desk. Rebecca cooed at the cat to calm him down.

  “Well?” Sara demanded, hands on her hips.

  “Well, what?”

  “What did he say? What did you say? Are you going out later?”

  “Sara, it was a business meeting, not speed dating. I told him I’ve decided not to sell. I want to keep Storytown the way it is.”

  “But, Becca, don’t you think….”

  “What?”

  “That it might be fun to be a ThemeWorld park? All those rides?”

  “Sara! Storytown is a storybook park, not a huge, crass theme park.”

  Sara looked down at the floor, and Rebecca tried not to stare at the black stripe running from front to back of her assistant’s light blonde hair. Sara was easily bored by hairstyles, and this was the latest attempt to shake things up. Rebecca found the effect uncomfortably skunk-like.

  “I just thought it would be nice to have a change,” Sara said. “Don’t you at least want to see Jonathan Eastman again? He’s thirty-five and single. Not to mention sooo hot.”

  “How in the world do you know how old he is and that he’s single?”

  “I asked.”

  Rebecca rolled her eyes. Sara became more incorrigible by the minute. “I don’t care if he’s single. I’m not interested.”

  “Come on, Bec. You haven’t dated the whole time I’ve worked here. And you’re turning thirty in a few months. Aren’t you lonely?”

  Rebecca frowned at her assistant, not appreciating the reference to her milestone birthday. “I’m perfectly fine. Could you find the timecards? I want to finish the payroll before we close up.”

  Sara nodded but didn’t make a move, and Rebecca could tell her assistant wasn’t ready to end the conversation. She picked up some paperwork to indicate they were through, and Sara finally advanced toward the black hole that served as her desk.

  Mittens emerged from his hiding place and used Rebecca’s lap as a springboard to leap on top of her blotter. He settled onto a pile of papers and licked his paw. Rebecca sat back in her chair, determined to forget about the meeting with Jonathan Eastman. Yes, they were having financial problems. But they had three events coming up that were sure to raise lots of money, including the puppet festival next weekend and the big Halloween party in late October. Things would turn around soon. She didn’t need ThemeWorld, and she certainly didn’t need Jonathan Eastman the Third.

  * * * *

  For the next few days, Rebecca threw herself into preparing for the Puppet Fest. She'd invited ten well-known puppeteers from all over the country to come perform and to teach a series of classes. The media responded well to the event; they made it into the neighborhood papers and on Channel 8’s morning news show. Rebecca put Sara on camera when they requested an interview, and aside from the skunk-like hairdo, her assistant managed to come off professionally. Ben and Jim, two of the more motivated of the college kids, constructed a number of makeshift sets to accommodate the simultaneous performances. The weather that weekend was expected to be glorious, with the temperatures in the low eighties. All in all, Rebecca’s hopes ran high for a huge turnout.

  She didn’t hear from Jonathan Eastman all week, and she was glad. She was way too busy to deal with him, or even think about him…almost. Every so often, a vision of his dimples crept into her mind, and she wondered how it would feel to be enveloped in those muscular arms. But she reminded herself of his intentions and quickly turned her attention onto something else.

  * * * *

  The afternoon before the Puppet Fest, Rebecca looked out her office window and did a double take. Jonathan Eastman was at the merry-go-round, dressed casually in jeans, a New York Yankees baseball shirt, and a cap positioned backwards over his dark hair. He lifted a young redheaded girl onto the Scarecrow, and then sat on a nearby bench. She waved at him each time she rode by, and he waved enthusiastically back. He seemed to be having as good a time as the child.

  Rebecca sank back in her chair. Why had he returned? How annoying that he hadn’t taken the hint. And what kind of act was he putting on? He’d probably bribed the girl. Soon, he’d be in the office, prompting the child to say things like “Where’s your water ride?” and “How come you don’t have any shops?”—with the promise of a dollar per question.

  For the next hour, as she made last-minute touches to Saturday’s schedule, she waited for Eastman’s imminent arrival. When he didn’t show up, she got curious. A half hour before closing, she ducked out of the office on a reconnaissance mission.

  She located him at the Jack Sprat Restaurant, sitting with the girl at one of the outdoor tables. Both were inhaling ice cream cones at warped speed, and again Rebecca marveled at how Jonathan Eastman the Third challenged her expectations.

  He caught sight of her, wiped ice cream from his chin with the back of his sleeve, and said, “Miss Charles. How nice to see you again. I was going to stop by, but Lauren and I got involved in looking at everything.”

  Rebecca smiled uneasily. He certainly sounded sincere.

  “This is Lauren Walker. She’s the daughter of an old college buddy. Lauren, honey, this is Rebecca Charles. She runs Storytown.”

  “Hi,” Lauren said through a mouthful of chocolate ice cream.

  “Hey, sweetheart.” Rebecca bent down to shake the child’s hand, catching a bit of ice cream on her finger. She licked it off.

  “Looks like you have a big event tomorrow,” Eastman said. He gestured to a poster behind him, and Rebecca nodded in response.

  “Lauren and I are thinking of coming.”

  Ah, ha! So that’s when the big pitch would come. “Great,” Rebecca said. “I’ll be very busy, though. I won’t be able to meet with you.” She gave him a defiant look and sent him a silent message: How do you like that, Mr. Bigshot?

  “No problem. We already have an eye on three of the shows, so we’ll have our hands full. Do you know Lauren and her family have lived here for five years and this is her first visit?”

  Rebecca lifted her eyebrows at his underlying implication, but she kept quiet.

  “If we don’t see you tomorrow, best of luck with the event.” Eastman stood and shook Rebecca’s hand.

  Heat suffused her face when she realized her palm had gone sweaty. What was the matter with her?

  He smiled, and Rebecca caught something in his eyes she couldn’t read. What kind of game was he playing? If he thought being charming and pretending he enjoyed the park was going to get her to change her mind…well, he was terribly, terribly mistaken. She bid the two goodbye and stalked back to her office. She had better things to do than decipher Jonathan Eastman’s motives.

  * *
* *

  That night, Rebecca struggled to fall asleep. Her bedroom windows, flung open to attract the night breeze, overlooked one of the busiest streets in Hillmont. She switched from one sleep position to the next as cars and motorcycles roared by. Her thoughts cascaded one on top of the other. Had she done everything she needed to for the festival tomorrow? All the puppeteers had arrived safely and were ensconced at a local hotel—she’d gone to welcome them on her way home. Birdie James from Texas had complained some about her room, but Rebecca sent up a bottle of champagne to placate her. The staff was set to arrive an hour early to help put up signs, and the food service people had ordered extra hot dogs and ice cream. Yes, they were ready.

  But, still, her mind wandered. At midnight, she threw off the bed covers and shuffled to the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of lemonade and brought it back to bed with her. She leafed through the novel from her bedside table and found where she’d left off.

  A pleasurable twenty minutes passed. She put the book away, closed her eyes, and began some visualization exercises. A slide show of soothing images—a beach at sundown, a cozy cabin in the woods, the colors of New England in the fall-switched on in her head. But the mental pictures calmed her only momentarily. Against her will, Jonathan Eastman intruded on each scene. He chased her along the sand, fed her chocolate ice cream in front of the fireplace, or stroked her hair after pulling her down into a pile of leaves.

  She didn’t fall asleep until nearly three.

  * * * *

  “Davey the Great has food poisoning and is staying behind at the hotel. He won’t be here to perform Cinderella. Birdie James isn’t happy about the size of her stage. And I just realized we’re out of helium.” Sara ticked off the items on her fingers as Rebecca gulped down her third cup of coffee. These were minor annoyances compared to their real problem. The clock had already struck noon, and attendance was terrible.