BIG BAD BOY - Penny Wylder Page 0,2

anymore.

“Have a nice stay, Ms. Walker,” the receptionist murmurs to me, having read my name off my I.D. card, no doubt. “Your room is just up that staircase. Third room on the right. Please ring down if you need anything at all.”

“Good luck with this one,” I whisper under my breath, flashing him a wink.

“Oh, I know how to handle his type,” the poor guy replies, in just as low a voice. He raises a single eyebrow as he studies Cell Phone Guy. “Locals here know when to keep their mouths shut and lie low.”

I snort under my breath, then I scoop up my bag and turn to head up to my room on the second floor. As I leave, I hear Cell Phone Guy return to his conversation, still just as loudly, while the receptionist sets about checking him in.

“I mean, last year’s retreat was a fucking ashram in India, I know this is a downgrade of epic proportions. But Christ, they couldn’t find anywhere better than Podunk Pennsylvania, population five inbred mountain people? Hey. Hey, bellhop, don’t put the room on that card; I want to use the black for this, better points for mileage…”

My sympathetic grimace remains as I reach the second floor and scurry along to my room. Thankfully, from this height, I can’t hear Mr. Complainer anymore. I fling open the door to my room and burst into a smile.

This is definitely what the doctor ordered. Queen size bed, pretty, understated wallpaper, a desk I’ll be able to use for editing photos in the evenings, if I’m not too tipsy after visiting the beer tents… And a balcony right next to it overlooking the town square. From this vantage, not only can I see the square itself and the tents popping up all over it, but I can also make out the thick forest that borders the far edge of the square and winds away up into the mountains. The Poconos peaks are visible too, snow-capped and still melting in the early spring sunlight. It looks like a fairyland, the sort of magical place you could lose yourself in.

I hope to do that this weekend. Forget about everything. The stresses of work, the bustle of the city. I just want to breathe in all the mountain air I can.

So, energized anew by the prospect of doing just that, I set about unpacking. The faster I get settled, the faster I can head right back outside into this town and start exploring in earnest.

2

Jenna

The festival is every inch as adorable as described. I spend the first hour after its official opening wandering around in wide-eyed, open-mouthed excitement. Then, once the crowds begin to trickle in, presumably as the locals finish up their day jobs on this fine Friday afternoon, I pull out my trusty DSLR and start to snap candid shots. I get a phenomenal shot of a pair of twin girls, dressed identically right down to their pigtails with matching red ribbons, sharing an ice cream cone from one of the trucks that advertises itself as locally-sourced, farm-fresh dairy.

I snap another picture of what looks like a big bachelorette party, everyone dolled up to the nines, clinking their enormous local brew beer steins together; and more than a few shots of locals, especially older couples, strolling through the festival and eying all the different wares. There are some adorable craft sellers here, making everything from soap to jewelry to wooden furniture that looks like it would be right at home in a countryside cabin—or in an exposed-brick city center studio trying to dial up the rustic vibes.

Near the latter tent, I can’t help but linger on the seller. He’s in the middle of talking up a cabinet to an older couple he clearly knows, to judge by the way they’re all laughing and leaning close together. But if I’m honest, it’s not the sweetness of the scene that captures me.

It’s him.

At six-foot-something-crazy, with broad shoulders and a beard that would make a Viking jealous, the man stands out above the crowd. Literally. But despite his height, and the bulging muscles I spot underneath the loose flannel he’s wearing, there’s something gentle about his demeanor. The way he grins at the older couple and demonstrates a hidden drawer in the wardrobe, his big hands deftly working the wooden puzzle-like contraption in a way that tells me the man knows how to work with his hands. His smile goes right up through his eyes, and I wonder