Chapter 5 Sun’s out, buns out
Sun’s out, buns out
Zoey
Iwas late. Again. I’d gotten distracted putting the finishing touches on my presentation and worked straight through the alarm on my phone.
And of course there was no parking left in the funeral home’s lot.
It was weird that Story Lake hosted town meetings in a building full of dead people, weirder still that no one else seemed to find it odd.
But that was the vibe of this place: Weirdos welcome.
It had been a chaotic several days, and I felt like I was on a treadmill slipping closer and closer to flying off the back.
In addition to prepping for Hazel’s launch by shoving her story—romance novelist finds inspiration and her own happily ever after—down the throats of every journalist, podcaster, and influencer on my contacts list, I’d made a trip back to the city to start the monumental task of packing up my apartment.
I’d split one too many farewell bottles of wine with my cousin Inez and Mrs. Newville.
In my drunken state, I’d impulsively purchased a box of Earl Wiggens’s favorite cigars and had them overnighted to his house.
Not only did sober me discover too late that they were obscenely expensive, I’d also forgotten to put my name on the card, thereby not receiving any credit for said obscenely expensive gift.
My financial and tactical regret was compounded by a nagging hangover, during which I’d turned in my rental car.
I’d intended to get a modest, practical SUV.
Instead, I’d fallen for a totally impractical ancient Mazda Miata convertible.
The most recent owner had been a delivery driver, so its brakes squeaked and the interior smelled vaguely of cooked onions, but I’d just put the top down and let it air out while I sportily zipped around.
Besides, I wouldn’t be here by the time winter rolled around again, so there was no need to worry about the rear-wheel drive in Pennsylvania snow.
I still hadn’t looked for an apartment yet in Story Lake. But that was next on my list…after tonight.
In between all my other duties, I’d spent a large and unplanned number of hours working on my first town council presentation as Story Lake’s official publicist. Well, as “official” as I could be, seeing as I still hadn’t reviewed or signed the contract. That was also on my list.
I entered the front doors of Pushing Up Daisies, out of breath. All three viewing rooms had been opened up to accommodate the crowd tonight. Since the Haven began welcoming residents, town meeting attendance had tripled. Apparently older folks liked alcohol and town debate.
Speaking of alcohol, I was too late to partake of tonight’s fruit punch and vodka fundraiser for the girls’ volleyball team. Alcohol sales stopped when the meeting started. So there went my chance at some liquid courage.
The local a cappella group, the Story Lake Warblers, was just finishing up their official “singing the meeting to order” when I spotted an empty chair in the middle of the room between Billie and Gage.
I wasn’t thrilled about the Gage part—his general disapproval of me wouldn’t help my nerves—but Billie always packed snacks, so I figured it was worth the discomfort.
I apologized and excused my way down the row, climbing over legs and mobility implements to the chair.
“I hope this seat isn’t taken, because I’d rather sit in someone’s lap than crawl back out of here,” I whispered, flopping down.
“All yours. Twizzlers?” Billie offered up her snack bag.
“Don’t mind if I do. Hi,” I said to Gage.
“Hey,” he replied with little warmth. He looked irritatingly good as usual. His hair had a slight fresh-from-the-shower curl to it. Instead of his blue-collar-by-day look, he was wearing a zippered cardigan over a T-shirt, which I immediately decided to be turned off by.
Hazel gave me a finger wave from her spot on the dais at the front of the room between Cam and Kitty Suarez, the newest council member.
Kitty had replaced Emilie Rump, the traitorous grump who had been removed for “treason against the town.” Emilie was seated in the second row, tension visible in everything from her shoulders to her tight blond curls.
I had to admire the woman’s gumption for still showing up to town meetings when she knew she was unwelcome.
It took ovaries of steel to bear the brunt of town-wide anger.
“I’m so happy to see so many smiling Story Lake faces,” Mayor Darius announced from his end of the table. “We’ve got a lot of exciting things on the agenda tonight, so let’s get started. First up, the status of the sewage treatment plant upgrade requirements.”
It was a long-winded and technical explanation about the improvements that would take place over the next few years that had me tuning him out in the first two sentences.
I ate my Twizzlers and hoped that my presentation would be more captivating.
I wanted to make a good impression, show the town that I was the right person for the job.
Even if it was a job I didn’t actually want and had no intention of keeping, I still wanted to be good at it.
Gage leaned in, and my heart rate kicked up a notch in anticipation of an insult or barely detectable slight.
I caught the clean whiff of soap. Just regular old off-the-shelf soap.
What in the holy bananas was with the tickle of attraction in my belly?
The man was in a cardigan, for Pete’s sake.
Cardigans weren’t hot unless you were Pedro Pascal.
I liked suits worn by unattainable men who were good in bed and bad everywhere else.
“Heard you’re on the agenda tonight,” he said, drawing my attention away from his confusingly sexy sweater.
I nodded. “First presentation as town publicist. Got any advice? Besides staying away from moving vehicles.”
I scanned the crowd. It was a melting pot of ages, ethnicities, sexual orientations, and financial backgrounds. As far as I could tell, the only thing they all had in common was the fact that they were in this room listening to Darius talk about where poop goes.
“We’re a fiercely loyal people,” he said. “As long as you can convince everyone that this will benefit Story Lake, they’ll get behind you.”
“Good to know.”
“By the way, weren’t you supposed to stop by with a contract for me to look at?” he asked.
“How did you—”
He deigned to give me a smirk. “Small town, remember? Cam mentioned it last week. Then Hazel texted me to remind you if I saw you tonight. Oh, and Darius hired me to write the damn thing.”
“Isn’t that a little conflict of interest-y?”
“I give you my word I’m not trying to screw you.”
“Right back at ya.” The words left my mouth before my brain filter could catch them. “Uh. I mean, Twizzler?” I snagged another one from Billie’s bag and offered it to him.
He looked at it like I’d just offered him a chalice of poison. “I’m good. Thanks.”
Snack snob.
“So, uh, back to the contract. I didn’t have time this week. Do you have any openings next week?” I asked.
“I can make room.”
I pulled out my phone and opened my calendar app.
“Christ, woman. What the hell is that?” Gage demanded.
“It’s my calendar.”
“You have fifteen events every single day.”
Every event also had at least two reminders or alarms attached to it, but he didn’t need to know that.
“I don’t want to forget anything. Stop judging me.” I scrolled through my week. “I have time at four on Wednesday.”
Gage consulted his own tidy, color-coded calendar. “That works.” He looked like he was going to say something else, but a ripple of grumbles in the crowd had us both turning our attention back to the front of the room.
Emilie Rump was standing in front of the microphone set up for comments from the crowd. “I have a comment on town ordinance fifty-seven, subsection L.”
The grumbling in the crowd grew louder.
To their credit, the council members refrained from eye rolling and began to page through their fat binders. Apparently organizing a town required at least a century’s worth of paperwork.
“No need, folks. I’ve got it all up here,” Darius said, tapping his temple. “Ordinance fifty-seven, subsection L, lays out appropriate means of fishing. Specifically that no one may catch a fish with their bare hands.”
Cam kicked back in his chair next to Hazel and crossed his arms. The glare he delivered in Emilie’s direction would have microwaved a lesser mortal.
“Oh, come on,” someone called out behind us.
“Sit on your rump, Rump, and leave town business to people who actually care about Story Lake,” someone else barked.
The audience started to boo.
“I have a right to comment about laws being broken,” Emilie insisted.
“I saw Willis Whimperschmidt pull a walleye out of the lake with his bare hands on Saturday at 9:17 a.m. I reported it to the chief of police, who said, and I quote, ‘Why don’t you mind your business before someone decides to feed you to the fish?’”
A ripple of laughter rolled through the crowd. Levi Bishop was only a few months into his unwanted term as chief of police and had taken an unorthodox approach to wielding his authority.
Willis got to his feet in the fourth row. The man was always wearing some variation of flannel and overalls. “I hooked the damn fish, reeled the damn thing in, and my damn net had a damn hole in it, so I used my damn hands. Sue me,” he snarled.
“I might be forced to if our law enforcement refuses to enforce the laws of our forefathers,” Emilie said dramatically into the microphone. The woman clearly took the rules seriously.
“I don’t care how many fathers you have. Quit wasting our time,” someone yelled.
“Care to comment, Chief?” Darius asked.
All heads swiveled to the back of the room where Levi leaned against the wall. He was just as good-looking as his brothers, but where Gage was outgoing and charming—to people who weren’t me—Levi was reserved. And where Cam was a straight up grouch, Levi was more broody.