Page 14 of A Fall to Remember

“Ms. Bowerson?”

“Yes.” She clutched her right hand tight, letting her nails dig into her skin.

“I’m calling with Citizens Bank regarding the formal notice of default letter we sent. As a reminder, your ninety-day grace period is coming to a close in one month. Will you be able to cure the default?”

Cure. What a joke. Shelby couldn’t believe the language the banks and credit card companies used. “You mean pay what’s owed?” she asked, keeping her voice low. She didn’t need Pete to hear this.

“That’s correct, Ms. Bowerson. As our letters have stated, all missed payments are due at the end of the ninety days. Now that we’re at the thirty-day mark, we’ve sent a notice of intent to foreclose.”

Shelby’s stomach dropped to her toes. This wasn’t unexpected. The bank had spelled out the requirements. She just wished she had more time.

“After that, we will proceed with a notice of sale, and the home will be sold at auction,” the woman continued.

“Yep.” Shelby clenched her jaw so hard that her molars grated against each other. “Understood.”

“Do you have any additional questions?”

“Nope.” Her blood boiled. She wanted to scream. But it wasn’t the bank employee’s fault. And she’d be screaming into a void. There was only one solution—she had to land the promotion. Otherwise, her family home would be sold at auction to strangers.

Shelby hung up the call and walked back over to Pete, wiping her sweaty palms on her pants and forcing a cheerful smile. Her own life might be falling apart, but if she could create a dream life for Miranda, she just might be able to salvage some of it.

“Everything okay?” Pete asked, looking concerned.

“Yeah. Fine,” Shelby lied. “Sorry, can you scooch to the left a little?” she asked Pete, shielding her phone with her left hand to block the reflection in the bookstore window and shifting back into work mode before her emotions could swallow her whole. “You’re in my shot.”

“Sure, yeah, no problem.” Pete moved next door to a rustic barn that housed a hardware store and waited for her to finish taking pictures. “What else do you want to see?”

“What else is there?” Shelby checked the time. They still had two hours before the parade. She wanted to get as many stylized pictures as she could, and then she needed to find a quiet spot to brainstorm exactly how she was going to turn the sweet yet slightly bumbling Miranda Brown into an aspirational influencer. She had her work cut out for her.

“The park is down this way.” Pete pointed to his right. “It’s all set up for the festival, so it might give you some ideas for B-roll. Is that what you call it?”

“Yeah.” Shelby nodded, pausing to capture the breeze rattling the leaves in the bigleaf maple trees.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Pete asked, following her gaze to a sturdy oak on the corner. “My mom always told me that whenever you see the wind blowing in the trees, it’s a reminder that the trees are cheering for you. They’re our guardians, rooting for us at every turn.”

Shelby’s breath caught in her chest for a minute. “Wow, that’s… like poetry. Yeah, I love that. I could use some encouragement from the trees.”

“You’ll find them all around here,” Pete said with a soft smile, pointing in the opposite direction. “The beach trail is that way. It’s a pretty walk, and the succulents are blooming right now, creating a carpet of burgundy and green against the sand. It’s my favorite time of year, but the only problem is that the beach is probably already starting to get busy. If you want an open shot of the aquamarine waters and coastline, you should go early. I could meet you first thing tomorrow morning and show you around.” He sounded hopeful, like maybe he actually wanted to hang out.

She was seriously tempted, but also torn. The call from Citizens Bank was a glaring reminder that this weekend needed to go flawlessly. It was the only way to secure the promotion. But it was also hard to deny Pete’s natural charm. He had a way of pulling her in and making her feel like she was the only person in the world he wanted to spend a single minute with. Plus, she needed a brief distraction from thinking about how dire the situation at home was. The call had sent her blood pressure skyrocketing. She didn’t think Pete could tell, but her limbs felt wobbly and every breath felt like it took extra effort. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt and might give her a chance to regroup. “Sure. I mean, let’s see how much we get today, but I definitely don’t want to see another soul on the beach. We need it to look like the entire coastline belongs just to you and your mom.”

Pete laughed. “Good luck with that. There are going to be over two hundred thousand tourists in town for the Fest.”

“Then I guess we get up before all of them,” Shelby said with extra determination. Pete was nice and low-key, but she needed him to understand the assignment. She needed someone on her side. Someone who understood her vision. Miranda and Jim were two peas in a pod. If left to their own devices, Shelby could only imagine the content they’d choose to create. It would be too trite, too mom-ish, too cutesy, too average-everyday. Pete was her best bet. He was close with his mom. He could be their go-between, the voice of reason when Jim started droning on about connection and authenticity.

She felt bad even thinking disparagingly about his approach. She knew he meant well, but the truth was, she didn’t need the competition and his approach was totally at odds with her own. She needed this promotion to get out of debt and get her mom back on her feet. Shelby wasn’t just motivated for herself. She was doing this for her entire family. If she could demonstrate her ability to bring in a new market, like middle-aged moms, that could be the thing that finally put her ahead and landed her the promotion and, more importantly, the pay raise and bonus that came with it.

“That’s fine by me,” Pete said, dragging her back into the moment as they passed a giant mural on the side of a building depicting Half Moon Bay’s farming roots with fields of yellow flowers, pumpkins on brilliant green vines, and bushels of apples. “I’m up early anyway.”

“Good. It’s a date.” The minute the words escaped her lips, Shelby wished she could stuff them back in. Date? Why had she said that? It wasn’t a date. This was business. She recovered quickly, rolling her shoulders and continuing along the street. “Anyway, how about the park? Let’s hit that next.”

As they walked to the park, Shelby tried to formulate her pitch to Pete. She didn’t want to throw Jim under the bus, but she really did need another voice of reason. Staging for the parade had already begun at the park. It was a sea of floats, people in pumpkin costumes, and high school and middle school marching band members and cheerleaders. “It looks like the whole town is participating in the parade,” she said, taking a few candid shots of the activity.

“Yep. We usually do a Green Grocer float, but we skipped it this year since you all are here.” He sounded almost wistful, like he was disappointed not to be in on the action.

“Well, hopefully, we’ll get what we need over the next few days, and you can be back to your normal routine.” She stepped off the path to make way for a guy in overalls wheeling a pumpkin the size of a small car toward the bandstand. This was good. She was starting to feel a bit more normal. “Did someone grow that?”

Pete nodded. “That’s nothing. That’s small potatoes—or I guess, in this case, pumpkins. You’ll see at the weighing contest later. Last year’s winning pumpkin weighed over two thousand pounds. The giant gourd was grown by an engineer from Santa Rosa. We’re not talking about your neighborhood jack-o’-lantern here,” Pete continued. “Growers have to cart their pumpkins in on trucks and trailers and use forklifts to transport them. It’s about bulk over beauty. Weight wins. The prize is by the pound. I think last year’s winner brought home over thirty thousand dollars.”