CHAPTER 6
Harper
“The more I get to know this guy, the less I like him,” Maxine says to her phone screen.
She’s been standing at the counter with the aunts and Steven, doing what he’s taught them is a “deep dive” on Aiden.
“Look, trip after trip, never in one place for longer than a damn day, and suit after suit after suit, not one photo in a normal shirt!”
She holds up the phone to me.
I just smile and shake my head at their antics.
I am very aware of how handsome he looks in his million-dollar suits. So is everyone. So is he. No need to comment.
“No normal women, either,” Steven murmurs.
I frown at that, “Hey, now,” I say, defending all women everywhere.
“Honey, you look at these women and tell me they’re normal,” Steven takes a turn holding up his phone.
I see what he means. Lithe, tan goddesses with legs for days, every single one.
I raise my eyebrows and cock my head in assent.
“Exactly. Supermodels, heiresses. He doesn’t even mess with actresses or influencers, they’re all literally straight off the runway. ”
“And so many of them,” Aunt Bobbie comments.
“Right? Not sure which kind of conquests he has more of, women or real estate,” Steven keeps talking more to his palm than to us. “We’re like the fourth or fifth small town he’s, uh, reworked. Hard to tell.”
“Reworked? Nice way of saying demolished,” Maxine side-eyes Steven who was, for a time, firmly on Team Sell.
“Not…totally,” he counters, but he’s wincing.
I touch his arm, asking what’s wrong without using any words.
He shows me the photos of a small town outside of Denver.
“It’s cute,” he says with his mouth. His face spells out the truth, though, like I’m sure mine does as well.
The awnings look old and quaint but the stores are huge and well-known.
I scan and sure enough, a Prada store. A restaurant that has a chef’s name I recognize from TV.
Even the lampposts are too modern for the cozy sidewalks.
I shrug and whisper, “We’ll show him.”
“Will we?” Maxine asks me.
I nod but Steven answers. “We will. St. Pat’s was just a trial run to see how we could execute Harper’s plan. All of us banding together around every single holiday. I think we did pretty well.”
“Tell that to my bank account!” Max replies. “Did you see a big bump yesterday?” She asks me. I shake my head because, no, no I did not. She sighs, “Me either. And it’s going to be a beast to clean up after each of these things.”
“Again, it was a trial run! Next up is Easter but even before that, we have The Maple Tap. We’ll focus less on the rallying together for the theme and more on actual profits. Right, Harp?”
Four sets of worried eyes land on me. My stomach flips. I’m not used to the attention. But I’m the only one who spoke up, unbelievably.
“Right,” I say, my voice cracking. One word, one syllable. Should be easy to get out.
But I feel the weight of it as they watch me.
What if we can’t show the Evil Lord that we’re worth saving? Worth preserving?
“Big handsome jerk will be thanking us by Labor Day!” Steven adds, overly cheerful.
Big handsome jerk, exactly.
“Ah yes, Harper, the mastermind with the eyes.”
My eyes are odd, I know. Very big and widespread on my face. Steven says I look a lot like Anya Taylor-Joy’s red-headed twin. But who just says those kinds of things out loud?
He was also right about the smell. But is it my fault cabbage is part of so many traditional Irish dishes? I’m not even going to think about the bakery comment.
He…
He’s awful.
I’ve googled him myself because of course I have.
Which has led me to wonder how on earth so many—so many!— gorgeous women have agreed to go out with him. Money, I guess. I get it. Lavish displays, designer dresses, fancy gifts. Sounds nice.
He’s also very nice to look at.
Until he starts to talk.
I chuckle as I take down a clover garland. They probably weren’t doing much talking on those dates, Harper!
I roll my eyes at myself. Not every gorgeous, rich guy is a player.
He may not even have any game. I’d bet a good chunk of change he doesn’t.
I’ll never forget during our awkward years, seventh grade I think, when Janie turned to me and said, “Don’t waste your first kiss on a hot guy. Hot guys don’t have to try as hard.”
To which my mind replied, Try at what? Have you already had a first kiss? With who? Should I have had one? Who’s going to kiss the weird, mute girl?
I didn’t verbalize any of those thoughts. But, looking back, I think that exchange may have actually been the catalyst for me to take my speech therapy seriously.
Of course, in those days, I could only ever dream of kissing one person.
What a fool I was.
What a fool I was for a freaking decade.
I shake my head as I throw a big pile of clover decorations into a storage bin. I stalk back to the counter. I’m not a fool anymore.
“The Maple Tap. Let’s work on our plan,” I say to Steven with a tap of my hand on the counter.
“Oooo Boss Harper is heeeere! I love her!” He sing-songs back.
We all laugh and then move to a table. Maxine scribbles on a napkin, Steven swipes away on his phone and I commandeer one of the store iPads.
We brainstorm for about a half hour before my phone rings.
It’s Betty. My heart constricts, knowing this phone call only ever goes one of two ways.
“Hello?” I say.
“It’s Stu!” She yells, exasperated.
“Again?” Steven says beside me, eavesdropping. Or maybe Betty is just that loud.
“Sorry, coming!” I say before hanging up.
“Go get your boy, we’ll start telling everyone the plan,” my friend says. The aunts nod and ooo and ahhh over our ideas as I grab my keys. They’re sure we’ll succeed this next time.
I’m not as confident about our future profits as our geriatric cheerleaders, but I’m positive about the effort. Mr. VanderBully thinks this is war? He doesn’t know us.
I hop in my van and brace myself for my task, stretching like I’m about to work out. Which, I kind of am. But it’s fine. God’s got me and you got this, girl! Stuart is learning! Things are getting better!
Tyrone always says I’m tough stuff. And so is everyone else on this little street.
We will not surrender without a fight.
_____
“I give up,” I say, a few hours later.
“Nah, you don’t,” Madison replies as she hands me my current favorite coffee blend. It tastes exactly like a maple donut with a few too many shots of espresso crammed inside. So, heaven. It tastes like heaven.
“Putting up decorations for each holiday is one thing, taking them down until midnight is another,” I say, motioning with my cup at the oven clock as I do. It’s just past 4 in the morning.
“At least the Maple Tap doesn’t have a color theme,” she says, yawning on the last word. I yawn back as I nod. She makes a good point. Not every event we’ve planned will require a total town makeover, but the more we can do to promote each attraction, the better.
Which is why Madison and I are currently cutting Maple fritters into teeny tiny sample pieces. Later we’ll stick each one with a toothpick and set them out on the sidewalk next to the sandwich board that holds the Maple Tap date and time.
Time flies as we work. Soon it’s 6 o’clock, time to open shop. Madison flips over the window sign and moments later, like most mornings, Carl comes in for coffee and a breakfast order to go. He’s grumpy and direct but he knows it, so he tips well. He and Madison even have a bit of a rapport now.
Next is Mr. Newman, headed to open Stockings.
Maxine usually pops in after that for a hot tea before she heads to My Favorite Things.
Some mornings she takes it to go, many mornings she stops and chats with Madison.
I suspect she misses being busier. I don’t think she even opens until 11 these days.
The doorbell and the conversations waft in and out of the back kitchen as I work. Madison is much better at the counter than I am, even with our regulars. I hum along to music, answering if she has questions for me, which she usually doesn’t.
I hear her call goodbye to Maxine and then I hear her mumble something unsure. The customer reply is not unsure in the least. A deep voice asks for a large, black, house blend coffee. I quickly make my way to the front and put a hand on Madison’s shoulder before she can ring up his order.
He’s looking at the display cases as he thinks aloud slowly, “And…I suppose I’ll try the…”
“No,” I say softly.
His head snaps up, realizing I’m at the counter. Yup! It’s me, with the eyes! Get out!
“What?” He asks, his perfect eyebrows scrunching.
I don’t repeat myself. No is a complete sentence. One of my favorite sentences, along with Yes. One word, so simple.
“No, I can’t have a pastry?” He asks. I just stand and offer an insincere smile. I wait. He goes on, “All right, then, just a black coffee.”
“Also no,” I say, trying to sound resolute. Not sure if I do. But I keep my chin up. He stares and I fold, looking away to pretend to wipe the counter. I’m still not good at confrontation and this man is nothing but confrontational.
“You’re refusing my business?”
“Rip.” Dammit! It’s either right or yup it’s not that hard, brain! “Yup,” I quickly correct myself.
“Wow, this town,” he huffs. “You’re on the brink of closing and you’re turning customers away?”
I don’t look up but I make sure my voice comes out a little louder as I reply, “Not customers, just you.”
He pauses, tilting his head, like he’s studying me. Then it seems like, out of my periphery, he straightens his spine and crosses his arms.
“I’ll buy one of everything in this case,” he says.
I don’t reply. “One of every single thing on your menu,” he tries.
Madison makes a squeaky sound behind me.
I stop wiping the counter and cross my arms too.
I lift my chin and stare at a spot on the wall across the store, as if I can’t even hear him.
“Two. I’ll buy two of every single thing you have made right now and take them to the workers at the site. ” I don’t budge.
“Fine, you tell me what kind of order it will take,” he gets louder. “I’m that desperate for a good cup of coffee.”
I clear my throat and inform him, “The diner has coffee.”
“Ah,” he says, angry. “And perhaps, after the giant breakfast orders I plan to make, they’ll also have enough income to keep their doors open another month, unlike this outdated, overrated, and very likely overpriced little dump! You’re making a huge mistake.”
He storms out after that, huffy like a teenage girl.
Good riddance.
I heard the construction site up the mountain is secure now, much to the thinly veiled disappointment of Braxton and his buddies. He doesn’t need to be in town to scoff at our events, I’m sure he can scoff just fine from his jet.
So.
Hopefully this is the last I’ll see of Aiden Vanderwell for a very long time.