At First Sight - Nicholas Sparks [15]
“Well, here you are!” said Mayor Gherkin, interrupting Jeremy’s thoughts. Gherkin, overweight and balding, was color-blind when it came to clothing. Tonight he wore purple polyester pants, a yellow shirt, and a paisley tie. The consummate politician, he never seemed to draw a breath while speaking. And speak he did—the man was a veritable typhoon of words.
Not surprisingly, Gherkin was still going on.
“. . . hiding away in the back . . . why, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were making secret plans to elope and deprive this town of the ceremony it rightly deserves.” He lumbered over, grasped Jeremy’s hand, and pumped it up and down. “Good to see you. Good to see you,” he said almost as an afterthought, before continuing on. “I’m thinking the town square under the lights, or maybe right there on the library steps. With enough hoopla and a little planning, we might be able to get the governor to swing by. He’s a friend of mine, and if it coincides with his campaign, well, you never know.” He stared at Jeremy with his eyebrows raised.
Jeremy cleared his throat. “We haven’t even discussed the wedding yet, but actually, we were thinking about something more low-key.”
“Low-key? Nonsense. It’s not every day that one of our town’s most prominent citizens marries a genuine celebrity, you know.”
“I’m a journalist, not a celebrity. I thought we’d been over this—”
“No need to be modest, Jeremy. I can see it now. . . .” He squinted as if he actually could. “Today, columns for Scientific American; tomorrow, your own talk show, beamed to a worldwide audience from right here in Boone Creek, North Carolina.”
“I highly doubt—”
“You’ve got to think big, my boy. Big. Why, without dreams Columbus would never have sailed to the New World, and Rembrandt would never have picked up a paintbrush.”
He slapped Jeremy on the back, then leaned down and kissed Lexie on the cheek. “And you are even lovelier than usual, Miss Lexie. Engagement definitely suits you, my dear.”
“Thank you, Tom,” Lexie said.
Doris rolled her eyes and was about to shoo him from the room when Gherkin turned his attention back to Jeremy again.
“Do you mind if we talk business for a minute here?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Now, I’d be remiss as a public servant if I neglected to ask if you were planning to write something special about Boone Creek, now that you’re living here, I mean. It might be a good idea, you know. And good for the town, too. For instance, did you know that three of the top four catfish ever found in North Carolina have been fished from Boone Creek? Think about that . . . three out of the top four. There just might be some sort of magical quality in the water.”
Jeremy didn’t know what to say. Oh, his editor would love that one, wouldn’t he? Especially the title: “Magic Water Responsible for Giant Catfish.” Not a chance. He was already on thin ice for leaving New York; if there were ever any cutbacks at the magazine, he had the sneaking suspicion that he’d be the first to go. Not that he needed the income; most of that had come from the freelance articles he sold to other magazines and newspapers, and he’d invested well over the years. He had more than enough to survive for a while, but the column at Scientific American definitely kept his profile higher than it might have been.
“Actually, I have my next six columns done already. And I haven’t decided on the next story, but I’ll keep the giant catfish in mind.”
The mayor nodded, pleased. “You do that, my boy. And listen, I want to officially welcome you both back to town. I can’t tell you how thrilled I am that you’ve chosen our fine community to be your permanent home. But I have to get back to the bingo game. Rhett’s been calling the numbers, but with him barely able to read, I’m afraid he’s going to make some sort of mistake and a riot’ll break out. Lord only knows what the Garrison sisters will do if they feel they’ve been cheated.”
“Folks do take their bingo seriously,” Doris agreed.
“Truer words have never been spoken. Now if y’all will excuse me, duty calls.