Chapter 14
Daisy
Bad news is not wine. It doesn't improve with age.
~ Colin Powell
“Hey, Dad,” I say, my cell wedged between my shoulder and my ear so I can close up shop while I talk.
“Hey, Sweetheart.” My dad’s voice instantly calms my nerves.
“Can you put on your supplier hat?”
“Sure. What’s up, Daisy, owner of the local bookshop?”
“Dad.”
“Right. Right. Yes. Ms. Clark.”
I smile, but then my smile falls. “I owe you for the last delivery. But I want an extension.”
There’s a pause.
“Sweethea … Daisy. You can consider that debt covered by an anonymous patron of the arts and literature.”
“Dad, I’m not calling you to have you cover my business expenses. We’re just tight this month …” and last month … and for the foreseeable future.
“I understand. You’re a small business in a small town. If you want an extension, take all the time you need. Anything beyond that, say the word.”
“I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too, Daisy. And this town loves you. And they love Moss and Maple. It will work out. Feast and famine is the life of an entrepreneur.”
“I know.” If I had a dollar for every time I had heard that phrase, I wouldn’t even have to be making this call.
“Chin up.”
“It’s up. I’ve gotta run. Town meeting.”
“Your mom and I won’t be there tonight. Fill me in later.”
“I will.”
I drive to our community center, a sense of dread looming over me. It’s just the slow season, I tell myself. But if I can’t cover inventory and payroll during the slower months, what will happen if something bigger ever threatens Moss and Maple?
“Don’t worry,” I say out loud. “In a little over a month people will start to think about Christmas.”
Business always picks up in late October through the middle of December.
“And then it drops again,” I answer myself.
I stop there. Half smiling because I can’t remember a time I didn’t talk out loud to myself when I was stressed or excited.
“Maybe it’s not a sign of insanity,” I say, parking and gathering my things off the passenger seat.
I glance at myself in the rearview. “Then again, maybe it is.”
I shake my head, standing to follow the other townspeople who’ve shown up for tonight’s town meeting.
My phone buzzes in my purse. I pause, shifting my belongings to pull my cell out.
Winona: We got seats close to the front. Saved you one.
I don’t bother to try to respond. She’ll see me in a minute.
My eyes lock onto the back of a head of jet black hair.
Patrick. He’s walking in with a man in a suit.
And that man has hair the same color as Patrick’s.
His stature is slightly smaller, but somehow more ominous.
When did Mr. O’Connell decide to start attending town meetings?
I’m aware he’s back in town—thanks to Patrick’s relocation into my duplex.
The pool of dread in my belly expands from a small puddle to a pond.
I find my seat between Winona and Carli three rows back from the podium.
“Hey, girl,” Carli greets me with a side hug when I sit down.
“Sorry I’m late.”
“I should have stopped in to help you close,” Winona says.
“It’s fine,” I say, setting my purse on the floor and opening my notebook.
My friends don’t have notebooks with them. I don’t know why I always feel compelled to take notes at these types of meetings.
My breath actually hitches when Patrick and his parents take seats in the front row.
His hair looks freshly washed and his broad shoulders fill the space between him and the person beside him.
He’s one of those men you don’t want to end up sitting next to on an airplane.
Even if he didn’t want to, he’d command the whole armrest with his massive forearms.
After the mayor makes the usual opening statements calling us all to order, we run through the agenda: school budget, storm readiness, and preparations for the Fall Festival.
Mayor Briggs stands again. “We have one final item of business. I’d like to welcome Conrad O’Connell to the microphone.
As most of you know, Conrad and Lauren moved to Nashville several years ago, but they’ve maintained close ties to the Waterford community throughout that time.
So, without further ado … Conrad, come on up here. ”
Patrick’s father stands, smooths his tie and steps up to the podium.
“Good evening, neighbors,” he says with a deceptively warm smile on his face.
Carli’s hand instinctively lands on my knee. Winona pats my forearm.
Have I mentioned how much I love my friends?
“I’m grateful to be back in Waterford. Lauren and I will always consider this town home.”
I inhale deeply and blow the air out my nose slowly, quietly whispering the word, “But …”
Carli squeezes my knee reassuringly.
Patrick’s dad speaks as easily as if he’s folding paper. Creasing. Wetting the line. Waiting for the rip. His words are the seemingly harmless fingernail dragging slowly along that crease—poised to tear everything I cherish straight down the center.
He smiles broadly. Then he continues. “While we love Waterford—because we love Waterford—we want to see this town flourish for years to come. And the quaint shops in our historic downtown all do relatively well. But we’ve seen far too many small towns decline and perish over time.”
He looks around the room, making the kind of intentional eye contact a high school public speaking teacher would praise. He needs to drive home the fear of “perishing” before he dubs himself savior, apparently.
“Perishing?” I whisper to Carli. “Tell that to the Saturday morning line at Baker From Another Mother.”
She rolls her eyes in a show of solidarity.
“As most of you know, I specialize in development. And I’m well aware that the mere idea of expansion can raise hackles.”
He has the audacity to look me dead in the eyes. I stare back, unwilling to let him see how his very presence feels like a stab in the back.
“I have a proposal for our community that I think will be a compromise of sorts. No one wants to change anything about our downtown—myself included. The charm and simplicity of that sector of town remains a draw and serves its purpose.”
“How nice of him to concede that,” I mutter, shocked at the visceral reaction this whole speech is drawing out of me.
“Shhhh,” Winona warns softly.
She gently strokes my arm to calm my riotous nerves.
I’m a mess. If not for the fact that two of my closest friends were containing me with their hands, I might bolt out of my chair right now.
“So,” Mr. O’Connell continues, “We’re looking on the outskirts of town—at land that has very little development.”
“Looking for what?” someone shouts from the back.
“Ain’t gonna find much out there,” another chimes in.
Light laughter follows.
Not much but my shop.
Maybe he’s thinking of another outskirts. The area around Waterford is undeveloped in all directions.
“We’d like to expand in a direction where there’s already some existing minor development—residences and smaller shops.”
I close my eyes and bite my lower lip.
Winona and Carli softly pat and rub my arm and leg, reminding me I’m not alone.
“The open property to the north of Moss and Maple has access to existing water lines and electricity. We’re planning an exciting expansion there.
Home Mart is interested in bringing a shop to Waterford.
This will mean fewer trips to Nashville for your essentials, lower prices, and more access to products you want. ”
Home Mart. The words detonate in my chest. Like a wrecking ball swung straight through my shelves. The O’Connells swing through town and I’m rubble.
“You mean to tell me you’re puttin’ a chain store in Waterford?” one elderly gentleman shouts out.
That’s exactly what he’s saying.
And not in Waterford, just outside the town limits. Right next to my shop.
I don’t dare look at any of my friends right now. The tears gathering on my lids will spill.
“You’ll all be included in the plans as we go,” Mr. O’Connell promises. “I encourage you not to think of this as a chain. It will be run by locals. This will be your store. The Waterford Home Mart.”
“Still sounds like a chain to me,” another older member of our community shouts.
Normally our town meetings have a little more decorum. But, when things get feisty, well, they get feisty.
“You’ll have the opportunity to buy stock in the company. This will truly be a local-owned, local-run business venture.”
“A horse by any other name …” I whisper roughly. My throat is so constricted, I’m surprised any sound comes out.
“It’s all in the preliminary stages right now,” Patrick’s dad explains.
“We’re only exploring options at this point.
Today, we need your vote permitting us to do the initial survey of the land, soil tests and environmental impact study.
We’ll submit our findings and go forward from there.
No actual building would begin for a while. ”
I’m crestfallen. My crest has officially fallen. I’m crestless.
My future flashes in front of my eyes. Not only have I been struggling to cover expenses, but now a chain is moving in next door.
Will that chain carry books? All Home Marts do.
They have a whole section of discounted books.
Customers can request special orders. Maybe I could still run story time and featured events that a chain won’t have, but if the bulk of my sales move next door, I’m done for. I won’t be able to keep the doors open.
Does Mr. O’Connell know this?
I’m quite sure he does.
And he doesn’t care—at all.
I tune out the rest of the meeting—the passing of the ballots, the closing remarks. At some point we must have officially wrapped up because people are standing and milling around.
Emberleigh steps over Carli to get to me. She pulls me up out of my chair and into a hug.
I squeeze her and step back. I’d sink into her arms and let her hold me like a little baby, but I’d bawl like one too, and right now I need to stay strong. Because Patrick O’Connell is studying me from his place at his dad’s side.
I’ll make it out of here, get home, walk up my steps and shut my door behind me. Then I’ll collapse into a puddle of uncontained sobbing.
Not. Here.
I will not cry in front of the O’Connells.
“It’s going to be okay,” Emberleigh assures me.
I shoot her a disbelieving side eye.
“It is,” Carli echoes. “Because we are all going to chain ourselves to trees.”
“By all, you mean … ?” Winona asks.
“Winona!” Carli scolds. “All of us. We can’t let them do this. The land around the shop is precious.”
“It’s not just the land,” I say, my voice raspy with emotion.
My friends’ eyes all echo the truth I’m not speaking out loud.
My shop will close. Moss and Maple will be a memory. I’ll be unemployed.
“Do you want to go grab coffee and pie?” Cass asks from Winona’s side.
“No … Yes … No. I don’t think so. I just want to go home. But thank you.”
“I understand,” Cass says. “We’ll take a raincheck.”
“Definitely,” I nod.
Winona’s eyes brighten. “Maybe there will be some near-extinct lizard who only lives in the exact climate of that field. I’ve heard of developments shutting down when endangered species are found.”
“Maybe we should buy an endangered species and release it into the wild in that field,” Carli suggests.
“It would most likely die,” Cass says, bluntly. Then she looks at me. “Sorry, Daisy.”
“No. You’re right. I don’t think we’re going to be able to relocate an endangered species to that field in time for it to convince the inspectors to shut down the development.” I crack a half-smile. “But thanks y’all. You are the best.”
“This isn’t over,” Emberleigh says. “Not by a long shot.”
I take a deep breath, letting her words sink in. It’s not over. Even if it feels that way.
I gather my belongings, hug my friends, and walk toward the doors of the community center.
Winona practically jogs to catch up with me. “Wait, Daisy! I’ll walk you out.”
I’m about to make a joke about not needing an escort when I practically run headlong into Patrick.
He’s lingering by the entrance when I step outside. His arm raises to catch me as I slam into his chest. I step back, shaking off my anger and humiliation.
I should walk on, but I can’t. Patrick’s staring at me and I’m studying him. He’s a puzzle I can’t solve—the necklace with knots that appear easy to detangle at first glance, but only end up more twisted the harder you try to sort things out.
My mouth moves without consulting my brain. “So tell me, Patrick, how many mom-and-pop shops has your family flattened this week?”
His eyes go wide with surprise.
And apparently, I’m not finished. "Do you keep a scoreboard on your parents’ kitchen wall?”
I kick myself. He probably thinks all I bring to the table is immaturity and hostility. I’m just so weary—and, if I’m being honest, I’m petrified of losing everything that matters most.
Winona shoots me a surprised look. I can’t blame her. I’m never so riled up as when Patrick is within twenty feet of me. His family and their bulldozers get under my skin like nothing else.
Patrick’s neutral expression makes me want to smack his well-defined jawline. He rubs his hand along the stubble on his chin and utters one word. “Ouch.”
Is this a game to him? Does he even care about my future?
I’m about to ask him just that when he raises his brows and leans in just a few inches closer. “For the record, Daisy, I’m more of the stop-the-flames type than one to fan them. I stay out of my family’s projects.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Convenient. You fight fires while they light them.”
Patrick’s lips thin and his eyes narrow. “You make it sound like we’re twirling mustaches in some back room. These projects bring jobs and resources. They’re just stores, Daisy. Not the end of the world.”
I can’t believe my ears. “Just stores? Next you’ll be saying Moss and Maple is just some shelves and paper.”
Patrick takes a full step toward me—close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating off him. And of course he smells like a cup of coffee you sip around a campfire. Ugh. He would smell good. Infuriating. Such a distraction tactic.
He leans just a fraction closer, looking me directly in the eyes. “Careful, book dragon—I wouldn’t dare call your shop shelves and paper. I enjoy living. And, for the record, I like Moss and Maple.”
Book dragon. The old nickname slams into me, straight out of high school. My pulse skips, betraying me. Does he even realize he said it?
“Flattery won’t get you out of this one,” I assure him.
Patrick likes Moss and Maple?
Well, he has a strange way of showing it. He’s aligned with his family—again.
The initial shock of the O’Connells’ attack on my world has ebbed, but not enough to steady my rattling nerves.
Without another word, I turn on my heel, squeezing my eyes shut to stem the tide of threatening tears, and stride to my car.
Not here. Not now. Not in front of Patrick O’Connell.
He’ll never see me break.