Chapter 2
Merri
The Pelican Point Town Hall is packed tonight, which is unusual.
Normally, these meetings draw no more than twenty people, mostly retirees with nothing better to do and other business owners fulfilling their civic duty.
However tonight, the wooden benches are full and the town’s who’s who are in attendance.
Shaking my head, I spot Brennen Murphy, head of The Celtic Knot Winery, up front with his wife Joselyn.
And there’s Emma Dawson and her husband, Miles.
There has to be at least a hundred people crammed in this room, and I sense an electric buzz in the air that has nothing to do with Mayor Barry Snyder’s typically boring agenda.
I slide into a seat on the left side of the room, next to my assistant brewer Tommy, who's scrolling through his phone and looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. I don't blame him. Town hall meetings rank somewhere between root canals and gynecologist visits on my list of fun activities.
As a business owner, I have to show up to these things. Community engagement and all that. But he doesn’t.
"You know you don’t have to be here," I mutter as I elbow Tommy.
He glances at me through his long blonde bangs. "I need the hours." Whatever. He’s working for me as an intern and needs to bolster his time to get his college credits. I get it.
Just as I settle in, the hair on the back of my neck stands up.
Scanning the room, my eyes zip across the aisle and sure enough, there he is: the bane of my existence.
Wyatt Dalton is on the opposite side of the room, his massive frame taking up too much space, arms crossed over his chest, and his narrowed dark eyes locked on me with a hostile intensity that would terrify most people.
I give him my sweetest smile and that little finger wave I know he hates so much.
His jaw tightens, and he looks away, staring straight ahead.
I'm still riding the high from this afternoon's fake tasting incident. The ladies from Aunt Patty’s walking club really came through for me, and I owe them big time.
If only I had witnessed the look on his face when they showed up expecting a coffee and dessert pairing.
From what Gladys reported, it was priceless, like he was about to have a stroke at any second.
Absolutely hysterical. I wish I'd hidden a camera in there to capture it for posterity.
The mayor bangs his gavel against the podium and calls the meeting to order, his voice cutting through the chatter. He's a somewhat rotund middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair, a set of veneers that will blind you if the sunlight hits them just right, and an energy that makes things happen.
"Good evening, everyone. Thank you all for coming tonight.
We have some exciting news to share." The mayor beams at the crowd, practically bouncing on his heels.
"As many of you know, Pelican Point has experienced significant growth over the past two years.
We've welcomed fifteen new businesses to our downtown corridor alone, and our tourism numbers are up thirty percent. "
Polite applause ripples through the room. I join in, though I'm not sure where this is going.
"Which is why," the Mayor continues, his voice rising with enthusiasm, "I'm thrilled to announce that Pelican Point has been selected for a very special partnership with Coastal Living Magazine! Joining us tonight is Ms. Jennifer Mitchell, the Assistant Editor."
He points to a severe-looking woman sitting off to the side.
Her salt and pepper hair is scraped back into a tight bun and she has a that ram-rod posture that would make a general stand straighter.
I nearly jolt when I realize her intense gaze is locked on me, and I glance away trying to focus on the mayor.
"Coastal Living is featuring Pelican Point in their spring issue, and they're running a Best New Business competition to go along with it.
The only requirement is that you opened within the last two years.
" He pauses for effect, his unnaturally white smile widening.
"The winner in each category will receive a full-page spread in the magazine, a feature on their website, and a cash prize of fifty thousand dollars. "
The murmur of excitement sweeps through the crowd like a wave.
I snap to attention, my heart suddenly pounding. Fifty thousand dollars and a feature in a mainstream magazine? That's huge. It’s the kind of publicity that could really put The Sassy Siren Brewery on the map, not just regionally, but nationwide.
"The categories are as follows," Mayor Snyder says, consulting his notes. "Food and Dining, Retail, Professional Services, Arts and Entertainment, and Beverage."
My mind kicks into overdrive. The Sassy Siren Brewery is a year and a half old, which makes me eligible. And in the beverage category, who else would even compete as a new business? There’s the smoothie place near the beach, and the kombucha bar that went up near the grocery store a few months ago.
Which means my only real competition would be—
No. Surely he wouldn’t qualify. No, no, no. He roasts beans and doesn’t brew coffee.
I turn my head slowly, like a character in a horror movie who knows the monster is right behind them but has to look anyway.
Wyatt stares at the mayor with the same dawning realization playing out on his face.
His dark brows draw together, and I can practically see the dusty cogs turning in that thick skull of his.
He glances my way, and our eyes meet across the aisle.
The corner of his lips lifts in that same way it does when he senses a challenge.
"Excuse me, Mayor Snyder?" Wyatt's deep voice cuts through the room, and every head turns his way.
He stands up, all six feet four inches of muscled former Marine, and I want to throw something at him on principle.
No man who is so irritating and juvenile should look that good.
"I have a question. Would a coffee roasting business fall under the retail or beverage category? "
"I can answer that." Ms. Mitchell stands, her eyes darting to me, then back to Wyatt. "Coffee, including a roasting operation, would fall under the beverage category for the purposes of this competition."
His lips twist in a competitive smirk as he eyes me again. "Perfect. Just wanted to make sure."
Oh, he wants to play, does he? Fine. It’s on like Donkey Kong. I won’t mind stomping his tender ego into the ground one more time.
I stand up too, ignoring Tommy's muttered "Oh, here we go" beside me.
"Mayor Snyder, I hate to interrupt, but I think we should save Mr. Dalton the trouble of entering.
The Sassy Siren Brewery has this category locked down.
" I turn to Wyatt with my sweetest smile.
"No hard feelings, Dalton. I know you'll try your best."
A hush settles over the crowd. Someone coughs. Then total silence.
Wyatt's eyes narrow, but that infuriating grin doesn't leave his face.
"That's adorable, Gallagher. I appreciate the concern.
" He tilts his head, his voice dripping with mock sympathy.
"But I wouldn't want to spoil your delusions of grandeur before the competition even starts.
Where's the fun in that? I know how much you adore your fairy tales. "
The entire room erupts in laughter. I press my lips together, trying to block the snort that wants to escape, but it's no use. The comment is so perfectly Wyatt, that I can't help it.
"Fairy tales, huh?" I manage. "Is that the best you've got, Dalton?"
"I'm saving my best material for when you lose," he retorts, still grinning.
A few more chuckles rise up. Even the mayor struggles to keep a straight face, and there’s a gleam in Ms. Mitchell’s gaze that suggests she’s enjoying the show.
The other business owners exchange knowing glances around the room.
Jim from the hardware store elbows his wife.
Sarah from the bookstore leans toward the art gallery owner, whispering behind her hand.
Everyone in this room knows about our years-long war, and the fact that only a brick wall separates our businesses makes it even more entertaining.
We're basically dinner theatre at this point.
Mayor Snyder clears his throat, his smile distinctly nervous. "Well. I'm glad to see such enthusiasm for the competition. Entries are due by Friday, and the judging will take place in six weeks at the Country Living Showcase. This is a big deal, folks. So I hope you’re taking this seriously."
He very deliberately avoids looking at me or Wyatt as he continues with the rest of the agenda.
I don’t care. My mind whirls with the certainty that I’ll finally beat Wyatt Dalton at something that truly matters. This won’t be a stupid prank, but a legitimate competition.
I'm going to utterly destroy him.
The next morning, I arrive at The Sassy Siren before sunrise, which is impressive because I am not a morning person. But I have a competition entry to perfect, and I'm not about to let Wyatt get the jump on me.
My flagship Sandbar Ale is the obvious choice, and I set to work immediately.
It’s my best-seller, and for good reason.
The crisp blonde ale with citrus notes is made for Florida's climate and half the restaurants within fifty miles carry it.
If any beer is going to win this competition for me, it's this one.
I'm in the middle of checking the pH levels when Tommy strolls in, looking considerably more awake than any twenty-three-year-old has a right to at eight in the morning.
"Morning, boss," he says, grabbing his apron from the hook. "You're here early."
"I want this batch to be perfect." I’ll literally sleep at the brewery if that’s what it takes to beat Wyatt’s ass like a drum.
Tommy snorts. "As if any of your batches aren't perfect. You're going to win this thing easily."
"Don't jinx it," I snap, resisting the urge to knock on wood. "Have you heard what Wyatt plans to enter?"