Lovestruck Summer by Melissa Walker (best management books of all time txt) 📕

with a bow and include a little card that says, YOUR NEXT CLUE IS AT THE BADDEST-ASS FLAG EVER. He’ll fi nd my second message stuck into the corner of the case by the “Come and Take It”fl ag in the Four Seasons hotel lobby. That note says, SUPPER’S ON ME—THE BEST BBQ IN TOWN, OR SO YOU SAY. He’ll take off for Iron Works, where I have

253 an order in for a plate of barbecue and a big pickle, along with slaw and hush puppies on the side, of course. On his tray, the owner promised to deliver note number three. That one’s the scariest. It’ll direct Russ to the Continental Club, where Chrissy and Penny managed to convince the band that was playing on our night of plotting to do a very, very big favor for us. All in the name of summer love. I’m standing in the corner of the Continental, staring at the clock. It’s getting close to eight P.M., which is the ETA for Russ. The plan was that he got the Knock Out roses at around six P.M., when Chrissy would pretend she heard the doorbell and they’d be lying on the welcome mat outside as Russ went to check it. She texted me a little after six, and the text just said, Russter is on the move. So he must’ve gotten to the Four Seasons by six-thirty or so, where Jade was waiting in dark glasses and a hat, lingering near the fl ag to be sure Russ found clue number two. Her text, sent at 6:42 said, The rooster has picked up his hen. Funny how this clue game is making everyone

254 into weird code-talkers. That one made me laugh. Iron Works Barbecue is nearby, and Penny would be there, pretending to bump into Russ. Even though I hadn’t gotten a text from her by seven, I headed to the bar to wait. But now it’s close to eight, and she still hasn’t—beepbeepbeep Penny: He’s on his way. Phew. And no code talk. But then a second text comes in. Penny: He says it’s all or nothing. I have no idea what that means, but I can feel my heart beating in my throat as I wave at Tom the bartender. “Ready?”he asks. “Ten minutes,”I say. And I try to sound confi dent, but my voice shakes a little. Tom signals to the band, making a “10”with both hands. The lead singer, an older man with a white beard and a rough but perfect voice whom Tom calls “Pick-up Pete,”nods as they fi nish up their song. I lean back on the bar, glad I had my friends make sure Russ took each step of the bait. I also

255 wanted them to supervise the earlier parts of this plan because I don’t want them at Location Four—here. I made them promise that they’d let Russ come alone. This is a one-time humiliation for a good cause. My heart. But I don’t want too many witnesses. Especially not a family member who can tell the story for ages. Pick-up Pete fi nishes one more song, and then announces that the band will take a quick break. He steps down off the stage, walking over to me. “You the singing girl?”he asks. “Yeah,”I say, still not sounding very solid. “And you know the words to this song,”he says, looking me up and down like he’s not so sure that a blue-haired girl wearing a Walters T-shirt and Converse sneaks can pull off the country classic we have lined up. “I do,”I say. It’s all I’ve listened to for the past three days as Penny and Chrissy and Jade helped me get the clues ready and this fi nal moment set up. “Well, then, where’s the fella?”asks Pick-up Pete. As if on cue, Russ walks in. Followed by Chrissy, Jade, and Penny.

256 I glance down at my phone and reread the second text from my cousin. That’s what she meant by “all or nothing”—he wouldn’t come without them. Russ is getting his way again by bringing everyone here! And I start to fume, but then I look up at them, and I catch Russ’s eye. His smile grows a few inches, and I see he’s holding the fl owers. “I’m ready,”I say to Pick-up Pete. Then I take his arm and let him walk me up the steps to the stage. I shake hands with the band members, who eye me with kindness. Or is it pity? I don’t have time to think too much, because Pick-up Pete is already at the mike. “Ladies and Gents, we have a special treat tonight,”he says. “We’re going to perform an Ernest Tubbs classic with a very special song- bird.”He winks at me and I smile. I try to look out in the audience, but there are stage lights in my eyes, so I can’t see where Russ is. “Miss Quinn Parker would like to—”he starts. I tap him on the shoulder, interrupting, and

257 I whisper in his ear. “Excuse me,”he continues. “Miss Priscilla Quinn Parker would like to dedicate this song to one Mr. Russ Jay Barnes, who is the most amazing effi ng frat boy she’s ever met.”I hear laughter and a few hoots from the audience then, and the encouraging sounds buoy me to the mike. The band strikes up a slow beat, and I come in right on cue. “When we dance together, my world’s in disguise . . . “It’s a fairyland tale that’s come true . . .”My voice isn’t entirely melodic. Okay, it’s pretty awful. I’m not even on key. But I keep going, warbling about the stars in his eyes, how he takes away my heartaches and troubles. This is a song that I hadn’t even heard until Russ made it the closing song on his mix, but I am completely taken with it. Maybe it’s that feeling that’s car- rying me through this paltry vocal performance. When I end