The hot, humid weather of July continued right into the middle of Ashton Hill's bustling tourist season. A number of older homes that struggled economically through the harsh winter months, were born again as bed and breakfast establishments, filling their rooms as quickly as each new SUV barreled into town. Almost instantly, no vacancy signs were hammered into the front lawns, sending carloads of dejected latecomers scrambling for their maps to locate the next closest community. The Paisley Arms, Ashton Hill's oldest, and only, hotel, juggled reservations with the skill of a professional prestidigitator, eking the most from the space in its twenty-four rooms. A portion of Paisley Taft Park was set aside for campgrounds, monitored scrutinously by the local police for violators of the park's stringent codes, one of which was that Arthur Paisley's view of the pond remain unobstructed. Main Street was awash in colourful posters and advertisements for the various businesses and activities, and the shop windows displayed the very best of their wares with tourist prices to match.

Daryl stood proudly on the sidewalk gazing up at the floral extravaganza of climbing geraniums in hanging pots that festooned the front of his store. Across the street, in his upstairs office window, Jeffrey glared with distaste at the gaudy display, paid for out of the council budget. At Hardware Heaven, Ross was perched precariously on a ladder, stringing coloured lights around the huge sign, and a few doors down, Victor Wang was directing the placement of a pagoda shaped sandwich board, announcing the Forbidden City's specials. Throngs of shorts clad, sandal-footed families shuffled along the crowded sidewalks, oohing and aaahing at the windows of the various shops, reining in rambunctious children and unwinding family dogs from the sidewalk displays.

Happy holiday chatter emanated from the rapidly filling tables that fronted nearly every restaurant, tea shop and bakery, patrons thankful for the awnings and various umbrellas for shade, but eager to stay in touch with the fresh air and sunshine. Those unlucky enough, or through choice, to find an outdoor table, selected relish and mustard slathered hotdogs from the street vendors and found their way down into the green grass of Paisley Taft Park. Squares of blankets lay scattered among the trees, couples and families relaxing with their purchased meals and enjoying the amusing pastime of people watching. Veterans of the Ashton Hills summer getaway chuckled and winked at one another knowingly as the first timers flocked to take a ride on the Woogen tour boat, an oft painted, creaking relic that chugged around the pond under the captaincy of her Swedish master, Thor Rajflsak. For three dollars a head, half price for children, Captain Rajflsak provided an agonizingly slow, twenty-minute circuit of Paisley Pond, allowing for meager glimpses of the local landmarks; the tip of the steeple on the Methodist church, the twenty-five foot span of Ashton Hill's oldest bridge, and high above in the trees, Arthur Paisley's estate.

From the second floor window of his office, Milo stared unhappily at the giant, four colour poster advertising the summer theatre's offering. Despite heated debates at council, and later with Nigel and the full cast, he had failed to gain a prominent billing, relegated instead, to an alphabetically arranged list of players, well below the title.

"I don't know why you're so concerned about that sign," Amanda sounded bored as she sat at her desk, buffing her nails.

"You wouldn't understand."

"Milo, this isn't Hollywood, for Heaven's sake." She dropped her emery board into the desk drawer and walked over to stand behind him. "It's not like you're being paid by the size of type your name appears in, it's a joint, volunteer effort by everyone."

He turned and gave her a scalding look. "Yes, and I notice how eager you've been to volunteer your efforts, Amanda."

"Whoa, wait just a minute. Our little fun and games don't give you any license over my social life, Milo." She turned and strode to her desk, picking up her purse and slinging the strap over her shoulder.

"Where do you think you're going, we have work to do.""Yeah? Well work this, boss. I'm taking an early lunch."

*****

"Aren't you afraid of falling?" Jean called up to Ross, shading her eyes from the glare off the big store windows.

He looked down from his decorating, shifting to a resting position on the ladder, "I think I already have." Her pink blush brought a wide smile to his face. "What are you doing down here?"

"She fussed with her hair and smoothed her skirt, "Allen wanted me to join him for lunch; he wants to talk about our... incident."

"Still? That happened ages ago."

"I know, but it's only been this past few days that he's been able to make his eye contact... with both eyes."

They shared a conspiratorial laugh, and Jean's face turned a brighter pink.

"Do you think we could have a coffee or something afterwards?" He asked hopefully.

"I'd love to, maybe over in the park?"

"My favourite coffee place, about when?"

She looked at her watch and thought for a moment, "Give me an hour, I'll hurry him along." With a small wave, he watched her trim figure swing down the street, stepping adroitly through the casual crowd.

THE COMINGS AND GOINGS

"Keep your body square to the net and your balance even on both feet." Ramon bounced a ball with his racquet as he called his instructions to Grace.

"One more serve and I'm ready for a rest," she called back, grimacing from the heat of the asphalt court through her tennis shoes.

"Okay. Ready now, here we go." He tossed the ball in the air and slammed a serve right down the centerline.

Grace reacted swiftly with a soft underhand that brought Ramon rushing to the net with an easy grace. He lobbed the ball high, making her jump and reach, admiring the long tapered legs and stretch of material across her chest. Her awkward return sent the ball spinning into the net and Ramon politely called an end to the lesson.

"You have to be ready to retreat on plays like that, you can always charge the net again if I just try to drop it over."

"Ramon," she said, peeling off her visor and mopping her face and hair with a towel, "the only charge I want to net, is one for my services."

"Very clever, Miss- Doctor Winston." He sat next to her on a bench in the shade of a row of poplars and twisted the cap off a pair of water bottles. "Here's to an excellent first lesson."

"And likely my last for a while," she said, gulping down the cool liquid.

"You're not giving up already? I thought doctors were made of sterner stuff."

"No, it's hospital business, I've got a ton of paper work I've been letting slide because of this play thing."

"I'd rather not discuss the play thanks. I'm fed up with Major Milo and his petty gripes."

Grace handed him her empty bottle and grinned. "You know he has something going with Amanda, that's why he got so ticked off."

"What are you talking about?"

"C'mon Ramon," she slipped her racquet into its case and gathered up her towel and visor, "every time you two do that scene, you can smell smoke."

He jammed his things into his duffle bag and swaggered after her, flexing his pecs under the gold chain. "We were just having some fun with the parts, it got to be bit of a competition I admit, but it sure as hell doesn't mean anything."

"Tell it to Milo."

"The hell with Milo." They both laughed, pushing through the swinging door into the cool lounge, heading for the locker rooms.

"You know," he confided, pausing at the entrance to her locker room and giving her his best Clark Gable look, "we're the only ones at the club today."

"Really, and is that significant of something?" She leaned against the door watching his eyes.

"Well I was thinking back to your comment at the rehearsal about... possibilities." He matched her stare for stare, an arrogant lift to his lip.

"Why Private Courts, whatever do you mean?" She opened the door, and stood sideways to him with a coy smile on her lips, as she let her fingers slide slowly off the edge, letting it close.

Ramon looked both ways up and down the hall, pulled two clenched fists toward his chest in celebration, and pushed boldly through the door after her.