Chapter 8
Jake
It was time for the monthly town hall. The meetings were popular because they were equal parts civic update and live entertainment.
I could use the distraction.
There was a restlessness simmering under my skin lately. I hadn’t quite named it yet, but it didn’t take a genius to connect the dots. A self-imposed break from dating came with consequences.
Lately, the tension was undeniable. Especially with my new neighbor just feet away.
I stepped into the pavilion for the meeting. Said my hellos. Made small talk with neighbors. It was all very routine.
On the third Thursday of every month, our town board chairman, Asher Forester, set up the pavilion in exactly the same way—twenty-five rows of white folded chairs, sixteen per row, a neat aisle cut down the center.
Asher was a good leader. Ten terms uncontested and counting. He was meticulous. Devoted to order, fairness, and process. And he encouraged us to use our voices—preferably at the microphone positioned at the dead center of the room.
Which no one ever did.
Not because we lacked opinions. In Lakeside, we had plenty of those. We just shouted them from wherever we happened to be sitting.
It drove Asher crazy. And sometimes we made it into a drinking game. A shot—or swig from a discreetly tucked flask—anytime he mentioned the microphone.
“If we could get everyone to take their seats, we’ll get started,” Asher said from the middle of a long banquet table at the front.
There were no assigned seats, but we all tended to migrate to the same spot every month. And almost every full-time resident attended these meetings.
Someone must have politely directed Ali and Misha toward the “newbie row” at the front.
Asher called the meeting to order and launched into his practiced opening statement.
“Thank you, Lakeside-ians, for gathering for our monthly town hall, allowing folks to air grievances, propose actions, and report on matters of interest.” It sounded like a tagline printed in a brochure.
“Official board of trustees meetings are held the following week on the fourth Thursday of every month and are equally open to the public.”
I tried to pay attention. I willed myself not to look over at Ali, but my eyes continued to wander in her direction.
My gaze scanned her body before I could stop it.
The dress she wore cinched her waist and showed off legs that looked smooth and toned and distractingly strong.
She was beaming.
I was staring and lost track of the meeting.
“Has anyone else received this letter in the mail?” a middle-aged woman I recognized from the hardware store asked. She held up a piece of paper and a roughly torn envelope.
A chorus of murmurs rose from the crowd.
“It’s from some developer,” she said as she brought the piece of paper close to her face and lowered her reading glasses from atop her head.
The letter looked just like the one I had received in the mail. I hadn’t paid much attention to it.
“Mrs. Underwood, please use the microphone at the center of the room,” Asher said. That would be the first shot.
She looked back toward the long table of village representatives, raised her brows, and peered over the top of her glasses. “Nah, Ash, I think everyone can hear me.”
There was quiet laughter from the crowd. She glanced back toward the letter.
“It’s from a developer. GlennGlobal.” She rolled out the name with careful emphasis.
“Says here they want to build a vacation resort in Lakeside.” Her finger dragged across the page.
“And they want an opportunity to meet to talk about how much money I stand to make from my property.” She looked up from the paper.
Several others raised their voices. Confirming the letters had reached all the households in Lakeside.
“All right, let’s settle down. Thank you, Mrs. Underwood, for bringing this to our attention. We also received notification about this company’s proposed plan,” Asher said into his mic.
“I thought we put this to bed a few years ago,” someone shouted from the right side of the pavilion.
“It says here, the five-year housing strategy in Lakeside expired at the end of last year. Are you voting yes to their proposal? Because this letter says you are.”
“What does that mean, Asher?” another voice from the crowd shouted. “What housing strategy?”
“It’s a standard prospecting letter. It’s harmless and inaccurate, I assure you.” Asher waved his hand like he was putting out a flame before it got too big.
“Not totally inaccurate, Asher,” one of the other trustees interrupted, speaking into one of the shared mics at the table. “The plans are compelling.”
Asher glared at the other trustee.
“We thought this was settled. No big corporations in our town. Ruining our homes,” another person from the crowd shouted.
Murmurs started to escalate.
Asher was losing control of the meeting. I noticed Ali and Misha whispering frantically.
Asher righted himself and spoke again into the mic.
“Now, okay, folks. Let’s pull it together. We need order if these meetings are to be productive.” Then Asher shouted just to be heard, “Quiet down!”
Suddenly, a screeching whistle tore across the pavilion. One of the trustees using their fingers. It did the trick and everyone stopped talking.
“Thank you, Danielle,” Asher said. “This is indeed at the top of our agenda for our board meeting next week. For now, please withhold responding to any communication from the developer. We will update you accordingly.”
“We have so many questions, Asher,” came a male voice from the back. A warning.
“I am sure you do. I ask that you give me and your other elected municipality representatives time to work this out. Trust me. We don’t want any misinformation out there. For now . . . for now we have to move on. The floor is open. Anyone else?” Asher sat back in his chair.
“Um . . . hi. Yes, hi.” A male voice was amplified around the room. Someone was actually using the microphone.
“I’m Mikhail Dvorkin. Hello there.” It was Misha.
He waved like he was a pop star on stage greeting his fans.
“It’s wonderful to be here and in this absolutely adorable town.
What a gem! Seriously, you’re doing a great job.
I’ve been to so many places around the Chicago area, and this town, oooh!
I imagine it’s just like a wee bonnie burgh in Scotland.
I don’t know yet because I’ve never been, but I’m in my Scottish romance reading era and this town holds up. ” He stood there nodding and smiling.
“What book?” an older woman shouted from the crowd.
“Is Harmony here? I want to read that book,” another woman shouted, referring to the local bookstore owner.
“Perhaps we can discuss that later. After the meeting. Please make a note in the record. I think we’d all be interested in that one.”
“Will do,” Misha said with a wink.
“Was that what you wanted to share?” Asher asked.
“No. Sorry. I got sidetracked. I am up here to introduce my friend and your new resident, Ali Bennet. She has something very important to share.”
Misha started clapping with his arms outstretched in Ali’s direction.
She hesitated before joining Misha at the mic.
She took a deep breath.
And stalled . . .
I recognized the fight-or-flight battle going on in her head.
“Thanks, Misha.” Her voice cracked.
She cleared her throat.
“Ladies and gentlemen of Lakeside, I am Alison Bennet, Elizabeth ‘Libby’ Bennet’s granddaughter.” She spoke slowly.
“My grandmother bequeathed to me her cabin and property, so that makes me your newest transplant. Hi. Hello.” She looked around the room, and her eyes momentarily landed on mine. Her head tilted in recognition. “I’m very excited to be here as a temporary resident.” She was captivating.
“Welcome home, Ali!” someone shouted from the back corner.
Ali pressed her hand to her chest as if she was holding the moment close and scrunched her face. “That is so sweet! Thank you, new friend!”
As she turned back to face the trustees, her glance brushed past me. It felt like a caress along my jaw.
“Yes, welcome, Ali. And please continue,” Asher said.
She faced forward. Pulled back her shoulders. And began again.
“Asher, sir, and esteemed members of the Lakeside board. This may not be the right forum to bring this to the table, but since time is of the essence . . .” She leapt into the meat of what she wanted to say.
“I am very familiar with GlennGlobal, and I know they do not have your best interests at heart. If you are receiving letters now, I’m afraid it may be too late to reject their plans.
What worked in the past likely won’t work now.
I hate to have to say this, but they’re moving forward with their project whether you like it or not. ”
Crowd murmuring bubbled up again.
“Settle down. Let’s hear what she has to say,” Asher said. “Ali, how do you know this company? And what makes you think we’re too late?”
“I, uh . . . I used to work for GlennGlobal—Misha and I both did. And I was sort of in a committed relationship with the second son of the head of the company. He was a low-key man-child who humiliated me after his father epically fired me. It was kind of a mess. But—” She paused, then started her explanation more rapidly.
“The company is shay-dee. And they know how to bully and undermine to get what they want. I know from personal experience.”
What?
“The resort project they have planned is already underway. I didn’t know they were targeting Lakeside while I worked there.
They have prospecting letters all across the country.
That letter. It’s standard, but it spells out all kinds of doom—I promise.
Prospecting letters are a tactic on a list of tactics designed to pit neighbors against one another and scoop up the properties quick and cheap.
I’m afraid Lakeside as you know it is in danger. ”
“With all due respect, Ali, that sounds a little dramatic. We’ve taken on this kind of thing in the past. We know what we’re doing.”