Chapter 13
Dawn had never been so excited to talk about ears. The first thing she did when she woke up Sunday morning was check her phone to see if she’d gotten another message from Warren. They had texted all night. Sierra was at Mark’s house, so Dawn had free time on her hands, but Warren had been busy doing damage control after Mikaela’s visit with her mom.
Raquelle had taken Mikaela to get her ears pierced without discussing it first with Warren. Somehow, Mikaela had lost the aftercare instructions, and Warren didn’t know what to do. Dawn coached him through it but felt concerned. Since Mikaela had accidentally left the piercing solution at her mom’s house, Warren had to make a homemade saltwater rinse instead.
I hate this , said the latest text from Warren. I should be telling you how I can’t stop thinking about you in that red dress you wore yesterday, but instead, I’m freaking out. Mikaela’s left earlobe looked puffy when I dropped her off at Alison and Laurie’s this morning.
Was there pus?
No.
No pus is a good sign. Dawn typed quickly as she walked to her closet.
How do I know if this is bad enough to take her to the doctor?
Dawn grabbed the first outfit that caught her eye, a sleeveless romper that showed off her shoulders. When in doubt, take her in. But they might make her take the earrings out, and then she’d have to go through this again.
Crap.
If there’s no pus, and she’s not in pain, I’d give it a couple of days. Dawn pulled off her night shirt and stepped into the romper. It had a built-in bra which made it extra comfortable.
I’m about to start my shift, but I can’t stop thinking about you.
I can’t stop thinking about you either, she texted.
Warren responded with a kissing-face emoji, and Dawn’s heart fluttered.
Would you and Sierra like to come over for dinner tomorrow?
Dawn grinned. I can’t remember the last time a man cooked me dinner.
I grilled you burgers last Monday.
Oh. Duh. Dawn added an embarrassed face. Yes, we’d love to come for dinner. What can I bring?
I wouldn’t say no to Redhook.
Deal. Dawn looked at the clock. She needed to scoot if she was going to stop by the Nuthatch Bakery before opening the Forgotten Hug. I’m off to chat with Cheryl Lowrey. Text me an update on Mikaela.
Will do. Good luck with Cheryl.
Thx.
Dawn finished getting ready as fast as she could. She skipped breakfast at home since she could grab a bite at the Nuthatch.
By the time she arrived at the bakery it was nine o’clock, and the place was packed. The fragrant aroma of fresh cinnamon rolls enticed her. When it was Dawn’s turn at the counter, she ordered a cinnamon roll with a latte and vowed to burn off the calories later with Sierra over a game of tennis at the Cascade Athletic Club.
“Your breakfast will be right up,” said the guy behind the counter. His short hair was dyed blue, and he had a stud in his nose.
“Great.” Dawn wondered idly if his nose piercing had ever become infected. She put away her wallet. “Is Cheryl around? I was hoping to speak with her about her campaign.”
“What campaign?” The twenty-something-year-old rolled his eyes. “We keep encouraging her to get out there, but she’s always too busy. You looked fabulous in that petition photo, by the way.”
“Thanks.” She blushed, not knowing which was weirder, being semi-famous for the petition or being praised by a good-looking urban hipster who had to be at least a decade younger than her. It must be the romper, she decided. It gave off a youthful vibe. She’d need to thank Heather Woodhouse, her friend from the Ferry’s Closet, for selling it to her.
“I shared your petition on Twitter,” said the barista. “Save the beach.” He reached out to fist-bump with her, and Dawn noticed that each knuckle bore a different tattooed Roman numeral.
“Save the beach.” Dawn said, pressing her fist against his.
“I’ll be a sec.” He darted off into the backroom without giving her a pager or a receipt for her order. Dawn was unsure what to do, so she stood there, rooted to the spot.
Luckily, he reappeared a minute later. “Cheryl will be out in a bit. I’ll get your coffee now. Latte, right?”
“Yes, please, and thank you.”
After she had her order, Dawn found a table in the corner, next to a songbird poster. She sat on a cushioned chair, tore off a flakey bite of pastry, and popped it into her mouth. The taste was pure heaven. She closed her eyes to savor the joy. When she opened them, Cheryl Lowrey stood in front of her, wearing an apron and a confused expression. Her silvery-black hair was wound into a loose knot at the nape of her neck.
“Hi, Dawn,” she said. “You caught me in the middle of the breakfast rush. What’s up?”
“I don’t want to take up your time.” Dawn brushed some crumbs off her lips with a napkin. “If now’s not good, I can come back later, but I came to talk about your campaign.”
“Oh.” Cheryl sank into a chair. “ That. I only signed up because I couldn’t stand the thought of Brittany Barrow running unopposed. It didn’t take any signatures to get on the ballot. All I had to do was fill out a form and pay a ten-dollar registration fee.”
“Well, good for you.” Dawn slapped the table with her palm. “I’m here to help you beat Brittany because I know you’d make a much better councilperson than she would.”
“I agree.” Cheryl arranged a strand of hair behind her ear that had fallen out of her chignon. “But look at this place. We’re drowning in business even after hiring an additional manager. I don’t have time to actively campaign.”
“It doesn’t have to be a huge time commitment,” said Dawn, not knowing whether that was true or not. “You already have great name recognition. Harper Landing loves the Nuthatch. We could post about your platform on Harper Landing Moms and instantly reach five thousand voters.”
“But I don’t have a platform.”
“Yes, you do. Beat Brittany Barrow because she’s a sneak and a liar.”
“And a rat.” Cheryl grimaced. “Literally. She brought a dead rat into my restaurant and posed it next to my chowder. The health department cleared us of any violation and gave us the highest rating for kitchen cleanliness.”
“See? That’s a story that voters in Harper Landing deserve to hear. Brittany claims she wants to help businesses, but you have clear evidence that she tried to tear yours down.”
“And she sent automated bots against our social media accounts. It took my daughter, Grace, and some of my son’s friends weeks to unravel that.”
“I heard my name.” A tall woman with curly brown hair walked up to their table. She wore shorts and a purple University of Washington T-shirt.
“Dawn,” said Cheryl, “this is my daughter, Grace. She’s a scientist for Custom Aeronautics Plastics.”
Dawn pulled out the chair next to her. “Please join us.”
“Thanks.” Grace took a seat. “Custom Aeronautics Plastics is down by the waterfront in a building that would become completely inaccessible if a coal train derailed and the bridge proposal didn’t go through.”
Uh oh... Dawn had assumed the entire Wexler-Lowrey family was on her side, but maybe she was wrong. “There are other ways to ensure that everyone has access to emergency services besides that bridge,” she said quickly.
“I agree.” Grace nodded. “I like your idea for a tunnel under Main Street.”
Dawn raised her eyebrows. “You do?”
“Yes.” Grace leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. “I backpacked through Europe in college, and that trip taught me how much better public transportation is in other countries, especially the infrastructure for trains.”
“Exactly! Why should we let our beach be ruined by train tracks? Why not move the tracks?” Dawn ripped off a bite of cinnamon roll and stuffed it in her mouth, even though she was full. She pushed the plate into the center of the table to save herself. “Would anyone like to share? This is a thousand calories more than I needed to eat for breakfast.”
“Thank you.” Grace ripped off a mammoth swirl of cinnamon roll. “Your idea for a tunnel under Main Street is not only feasible, but it’s also a much better option than the bridge in terms of environmental impact.”
“Thanks,” said Dawn. “I’m glad you agree.”
“But the tunnel would be more expensive.” Grace pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I’ve run the numbers, and the federal grant the city has secured would only cover half the cost.”
“I was afraid of that.” Dawn frowned. “My hope is that the railroad would pay for the rest.”
Grace sighed. “That might be difficult.”
“If we put enough pressure on them, anything is possible.” Dawn turned her attention to Cheryl. “Which is why we need you in a leadership position and not Brittany. You’re honest, and you care about this town. Brittany only cares about herself.”
Cheryl snorted. “You can say that again.”
“Plus,” Dawn continued, “I have reason to believe she’s in cahoots with that property developer from Mercer Island. I think Brittany and Will Gladstone mean to turn the marina into an upscale housing development. They’re using the safety bridge as the gateway to make that happen.”
“But the marina bridge proposal is supposed to be for emergency service vehicles only,” said Grace. “I read the literature posted on the city’s webpage.”
“True.” Dawn nodded. “However, if Brittany wins that city council seat, she would be in a position to help change the rules.” Dawn shifted her gaze from Grace to Cheryl. “That’s why you need to beat her, and I’m here to help.”
“I don’t know.” Cheryl wrung her hands and stared at the checkered tablecloth. “I’m a baker, not a politician.”
“You’re a businesswoman,” said Dawn. “A successful one.”
“That’s right.” Grace patted her mother on the back. “Besides, Dad’s more of a baker than you are.”
Cheryl shot her daughter a look. “Gee, thanks.”
Grace shrugged. “I meant that as a compliment. He’d never be able to manage the books, but you’re a great accountant.”
“See?” Dawn smiled. “Accounting skills. That could be part of your campaign pitch. You have the number sense to help balance budgets.”
“True.” Cheryl sighed. “I do have concerns about how we’ve overspent on road repair in Burke Woods. I’ve looked at the numbers, and they don’t add up. Other neighborhoods have more potholes. Why isn’t the city allocating assets to those places first?”
“Maybe because Mayor Jordan lives in Burke Woods.” Dawn raised her eyebrows. “Honestly, I have no idea. That’s only a hunch. But I’d love having someone like you on the city council to investigate it.”
“Harper Landing needs you, Mom.” Grace removed her glasses and rubbed her temples before putting them back on. “I told you I’d help with a website.”
“And I’ll help too,” said the barista as he set a large cappuccino in front of Grace. A heart shape floated on the milk foam, and a cookie straw lay on the saucer. “Websites are my thing.”
Grace’s cheeks turned bright red. “They’re not that hard.” She sipped her coffee and gave herself an accidental milk mustache.
Dawn blotted her own upper lip with her napkin, but Grace didn’t take the hint.
“Probably because you’re brilliant,” said the barista, standing behind her like a sentinel. “I still remember that time when you babysat me and you and my sister fixed my iPhone. Of course, I’m in college now.” He chuckled. “Don’t need a babysitter anymore since I’m twenty.” He stared longingly at the back of Grace’s head. “Do you want anything else?”
“No,” said Grace in a high-pitched voice. “Thanks, but I’m good.”
The guy’s shoulders sagged, and he looked glumly at the floor as he hurried away.
“What’s going on?” Cheryl asked as soon as he left. “Cade doesn’t put hearts on cappuccinos for just anyone.”
“I think he has a crush on me.” Grace twisted around to look at Cade, who was at the register, busy helping a customer.
“Don’t make him look at you.” Cheryl pulled a napkin out of the holder. “At least not with that milk mustache you’re wearing.”
“Huh?” Grace felt her upper lip. “Oh no.” She snatched the napkin out of her mother’s hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried to tell you,” Dawn said. “That’s why I wiped my lip.”
Grace crumpled the napkin into a wad. “This is so embarrassing.”
“I get milk mustaches all the time,” said Dawn, feeling bad for her.
“No, not the mustache. I don’t care about that.” Grace palmed her forehead. “Cade having a crush on me. I can’t date someone I used to babysit. Now I won’t be able to come here for free coffee anymore.”
“Just be polite and professional, and everything will be fine,” said Cheryl.
“Crushes usually pass,” said Dawn.
But then she began to worry. Was that what Warren felt for her... a crush? In Dawn’s experience, crushes got her into trouble, not that she’d call Sierra trouble. But a crush on the cute guy sitting next to her at a Huskies game became her whirlwind courtship with Mark, which turned into parenthood before she was truly ready.
Dawn wished she could check her phone and see if Warren had left a message but didn’t want to appear rude. The sooner she finished this meeting, the better. “I want to host a campaign kickoff party for you,” she told Cheryl. “It’ll be at the Forgotten Hug, and we’ll invite the whole town but charge people thirty dollars a head to come. We’ll raise your campaign fund.”
“With a party?” Cheryl wrinkled her forehead and thought for a moment. “Yeah, I guess a party would be all right. I could bring cookies.”
“And I’ll serve wine and cheese,” said Dawn. “It could be a wine-cheese-and-cookie-tasting party. My former mother-in-law gave me several cases of Pursued by Bear for Christmas, but I’m not much of a wine drinker.”
“What’s Pursued by Bear?” Cheryl asked.
“Kyle MacLachlan’s winery in Eastern Washington.” When Cheryl showed no signs of recognition, Dawn elaborated. “You know, the guy from Twin Peaks and Dune ?”
Cheryl looked back at her blankly. “Never heard of him.”
“ Sex and the City ?” Grace prompted.
“Nope. Sorry.”
“You really need to cut back your work hours, Mom,” said Grace. “I worry about you.”
Dawn felt bad. Here she was trying to convince a woman who didn’t have time to watch TV to take on another major endeavor. Would Cheryl even have time to serve on the council?
“If you win this thing, you and dad should hire another assistant to help run the Nuthatch,” said Grace.
“Good idea,” said Dawn, feeling relieved. “And there are no ifs about it. I intend to help you kick Brittany’s butt. Does Friday night at seven o’clock work for your campaign party?”
“I guess so.” Cheryl smiled uncertainly. “I can handle the cookies and the paper products too, but will people come? Thirty dollars is a lot of money.”
“We can only have forty-three people, max,” said Dawn. “The Forgotten Hug can’t accommodate more than forty-three due to fire code. That many guests would bring in over twelve hundred dollars. I’m still not sure how much campaign materials would cost, but we could print a lot of flyers and yard signs.” Dawn ran the numbers in her head. “Let’s say a postcard mailer costs eighty cents. You could reach fifteen hundred mailboxes with that type of money.”
“We need yard signs too,” Grace added.
“Absolutely.” said Dawn. “We need at least one to put at the entrance to Main Street, and another one in front of the library.” She rose to her feet. “But I better run. My shop opens at eleven, and I have inventory to process before then. It was nice meeting you, Grace.”
They made plans to confer over email in the next couple of days, then Dawn took off for work.
At that time of the morning, some food venues were open, but shops in downtown Harper Landing remained closed. The marine layer hung heavily over Main Street, and the sun peeked through clouds. Dawn checked her phone for messages but didn’t see any. She was in such a rush that she smacked into a woman holding an enormous basket of yarn. Skeins of brightly colored fibers flew in all directions, and Dawn stumbled backward as she struggled for balance. Luckily, the lady she’d bumped didn’t fall.
“I’m so sorry!” Dawn exclaimed, embarrassed she’d been so focused on her phone that she hadn’t looked where she was going. “Let me help you pick this up.”
When the woman put down the basket, Dawn realized that she was Liz Anker, the owner of Hip To Knit. They stood in front of the building that used to be the Sugar Factory. The brand-new sign smelled freshly painted, but Liz’s shop was still closed to the public.
“This was totally my fault,” said Dawn.
“No problem, dear.” Liz tossed a skein of yarn into the basket. “I was being overly ambitious in what I attempted to carry. A new shipment of merino wool arrived at my house yesterday, and I tried to carry it from my car in one load.”
“You’re using your home address for merchandise deliveries?” Dawn collected the yarn as fast as she could.
“Only until I’m at the shop full time and can receive goods there. Until then, my condo has a secure locker for deliveries. It’s a perk I might as well use.”
Dawn helped Liz carry the rest of the yarn into the store, partly because she wanted to make up for knocking into her but also because she was eager to see the transformation. Sure enough, Hip To Knit did not disappoint. The back wall showcased a rainbow of yarns, each color on its own honeycomb shelf. At the center of the room comfy armchairs were pulled together into a circle with task lighting.
“Wow,” said Dawn. “You’d never know this used to be a candy store. I love how cozy it feels.”
“Thanks.” Liz set her basket down next to the register. “I wanted to create a space for building community. I don’t see this as a yarn store so much as a healing place where strangers can come together and become friends.”
“That’s a beautiful sentiment.” Dawn noticed a framed wedding photo on the wall behind the cash register. It showed a young couple dressed elegantly in formal wear from a different era. Liz’s gray hair was blond in the picture and styled into a pixie cut. “Is that you and your husband? You’ve hardly aged a bit.”
“Except for the gray hair and wrinkles, you mean.” Liz laughed. “That was a glorious day. I keep that picture close to remember that Jim always encouraged me to follow my dreams.”
“Jim’s your husband, I take it? That was my dad’s name.”
“Yes.” Liz nodded, a fierce smile on her face even as her eyes misted with tears. “My Jim passed away in January of colon cancer.”
“I’m so sad to hear that,” Dawn said in a somber tone.
“He’s not in pain anymore.” Liz stared at the wedding photo a moment before wiping moisture off her cheeks. “Anyhoo, I sold our house in Everett, bought a condo in Harper Landing, and signed a lease on this store. I’m sixty-six years old and finally becoming the businesswoman I always longed to be.”
“Atta girl.” Dawn pumped her fist in the air. “Have you gotten a chamber of commerce mentor assigned to you yet? Cheryl Lowrey from the Nuthatch Bakery is mine, and she’s been outstanding. Although I guess my first year of business ownership is completed now, so I’m officially on my own.”
“Congratulations. Maybe you could be my mentor.”
“Um...” Dawn gaped at her. “I don’t know if I’m qualified to give advice yet. You’d probably be better off with someone more experienced.”
“Thank you for your honesty and for saving me a seat at the chamber of commerce meeting last week.”
“No problem.”
Dawn found herself looking back at the wedding photo again. “How long were you and your husband married?”
“Forty-three years,” Liz said with pride.
“Wow. That’s impressive.” Sadness washed over her. Dawn had always dreamed of having a marriage like that. She turned around and focused on the store. “When will you open? This place looks ready to go.”
“Sunday morning,” said Liz. “I’m having a grand-opening celebration Friday night, but I’m worried that nobody will come.”
“This Friday?” Dawn asked. The same night as Cheryl’s campaign fundraiser.
“Yup.” Liz frowned. “I tried to place an announcement in the Harper Landing Beacon , but a mix-up happened, and the ad didn’t run.”
“Oh no.” Dawn felt bad for Liz but also for herself and for Cheryl.
“I’m really worried that I made a huge mistake,” said Liz, “with all of this.”
“What time is your celebration?”
“Seven p.m.,” said Liz. “If anyone shows up.”
Light bulbs went off in Dawn’s head as her inner well of creativity rose to the challenge of solving two problems at once. “How many people can Hip To Knit hold?” she asked. “I mean, according to the fire code regulations?”
“Sixty-two. Why?”
“Because I think I might know a way to pack your party with people.” Dawn did the math in her head. Together they could raise over eighteen hundred dollars for Cheryl’s campaign coffers. “Let me ask you a question,” she said. “How do you feel about supporting the beach?”