Chapter Three
One week later
Caroline sat in a crowded booth with Gigi and Mabel, the noise of the chattering crowd nearly deafening. As she reviewed her scribblings in a notebook, a plate of waffles sat before her, growing cold.
“You’re too tense.” Gigi nudged a syrup bottle toward Caroline with the authority coming from having raised four kids and half the town. “You need more waffles and fewer worry lines.”
Caroline didn’t look up from her notes.
She tapped her pen once. Twice.
Color-coded lines and budget estimates danced across the pages like a dream she was still trying to drag into reality.
“I don’t need waffles,” she said. “I need tourists, which means I need a functioning website, updated signage, and at least one Instagram-able photo op not involving Max’s hand-painted pelican.”
“Max’s pelican has character,” Mabel said unapologetically, stabbing her sausage.
“It has a lazy eye,” Caroline muttered.
“Details.”
“You’ve only been mayor for a week. I knew you’d be a shoo-in to take your father’s place.” Gigi scooched the sticky bottle across the table again.
Caroline sighed and looked up from her notebook. Across from her, Gigi and Mabel sat in matching sun visors and satisfied smirks, like two ladies who’d just watched a Hallmark movie and decided they could do it better. And messier.
Stabbing at a waffle square, Caroline held it up with her fork and waved it in front of Bluebell Bay’s matriarchs. “Did you know the Greeks invented the waffle? They were originally flat.”
“Those are called pancakes, my dear.” Gigi adjusted her sun visor before taking a bite of her breakfast.
“It was the northern Europeans who invented the waffle iron to create those little squares. Do you know why they needed those squares?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell us,” Mabel said, her voice laced with curiosity as she plunged her hand into the depths of an oversized tote bag draped over her shoulder.
The bag was vibrant pink, encrusted with faux rhinestones matching the ones embedded in the sunglasses sitting on Mabel’s curly salt-and-pepper hair.
Caroline watched, amused and a little amazed, as the older woman pulled out a flashlight, a handful of granola bars wrapped with knitting yarn, and a travel-size bottle of hand sanitizer.
The bedazzled tote, the straps straining under the weight of its endless inventory, seemed to hold the contents of a small convenience store.
“For texture and to hold syrup.” Caroline dropped her fork, watching as it tumbled to the porcelain plate with a sharp, resonating clang echoing through the quiet cafe.
“Can you imagine? Someone putting so much thought and planning into a breakfast food?” She slumped back into her chair.
Her outburst left behind only a quiet, unfilled pause.
“I can’t even get the town to update our street maps. ”
“Bless your heart,” Gigi said. “You need more syrup in your life.”
“What I need is to update Max and his pelican. We need to get everything together by Memorial Day.” Flipping through her planner, Caroline started counting off squares. “It’s only thirty-nine days.” She picked up a bright pink highlighter and drew a square around the last Monday in May.
“Isn’t Memorial Day later this year?” Mabel continued to rummage through her oversized bag as she dropped a purple bottle on the table.
“I knew my dauber was in there somewhere. I’ve been looking for this since I was at the Senior Center.
” She looked at the marker with unflinching satisfaction before rolling it over to Gigi.
Caroline cringed. If Mabel was looking for her dauber, then the Bingo Queens, as the town dubbed them, had already put together a card.
“I wish Daddy were here. He’d be able to guide me through this. I know nothing about marketing.”
Gigi lifted a manicured eyebrow. “And your father does? Listen, Caroline. You’re the best mayor since your daddy.”
“I’m the only mayor since Daddy. Let’s talk about what’s important, then. How am I going to get the right Instagram-able photo op before summer?”
“Everything’s online these days. Count me out.” Mabel made a face. “I like my gram without the Insta. Thank you very much.”
Thinking, Caroline picked up the pen again and tapped it on her lips. “Maybe if we update the boardwalk with some string lights, we could do a retro-style campaign. We could even have Max do it in his absurd pelican style.”
“Absurd!” Gigi gasped, her hand covering her mouth. “That’s the word I was looking for. You’d be better off enlisting Boomer. At least you can hear him several counties over.”
No one knew what Boomer’s real name was.
He had been a fixture in the town since Caroline had been coming for summer vacations with her parents.
He was known for standing on the corner of the boardwalk and announcing Bluebell Bay’s news and gossip every afternoon at four o’clock sharp.
When he wasn’t playing the role of town crier, he could be found entertaining tourists with his ukulele, tuba, or one-man band contraption he carried around on his back.
Caroline closed the notebook, placed the pen carefully in the rings of the spiral, and dropped her head on the table. “One week and I’m already a failure. If we don’t get more tourists to town, I’m afraid of what might happen.”
Mabel leaned forward, lowering her voice with the dramatic flair usually reserved for soap operas and surprise pregnancies. She tapped Caroline on the arm. “You know who you should talk to?”
Caroline didn’t look up. “If you say the universe, I swear—”
“Carter Beckett. He used to be somebody in marketing.”
Caroline lifted her head. “Beck?”
“The very one. What would call him, Mabel?” Gigi snapped her fingers.
“A fixer?”
“Yes, that’s a suitable term. He worked to repair the reputation of the senator who was caught having an affair with his assistant.”
“Too bad the assistant was his ex-wife,” Mabel mumbled.
“What?” Caroline’s ears perked up.
“What?” Mabel grabbed a piece of toast, sinking her teeth into it before chewing with hurried motions.
“Point is,” Gigi continued, “you should look him up. He could probably help you.”
“I’m not a senator who was caught in a compromising position.”
“Just think of the story he had to spin to get that politician out of that mess,” Gigi chortled loudly. Caroline lifted her fork again, dragging the doughy square through the syrup on her plate. “I can’t imagine Carter Beckett doing that.”
“I heard he was ruthless.”
“Ruthless,” Mabel echoed.
“One day he’s a big deal in the big city, then poof!” Gigi gestured with her arms theatrically. “Now he has a surfboard, hammock and a poor attitude.”
“I do not need a surfer with a poor attitude.”
“It would be good for you,” Gigi said, a gleam in her eyes as she slid a fresh round of sugar packets toward Caroline, forming a little mountain of pink and blue. “My granddaughters think he’s cute.”
“Ew, Gigi,” Caroline protested, feigning exasperation as she spread the sugar neatly across the table, avoiding her own blush. “He’s practically a child.”
“He’s thirty-three,” Mabel supplied. “And a half.”
“I rest my case. I’m twelve years older than he is. He’s just barely reached maturity. Perfect.”
Gigi grinned. “I knew you were interested. A little fun won’t kill you.”
“I am not interested,” Caroline insisted, though even as she spoke, an image of Beck flashed in her mind. The rebellious hair, his amiable smile. Annoyingly handsome. She shook her head. It didn’t matter; she had a job to do. “Besides, I’m busy trying to save Bluebell Bay, remember?”
“What better way than with Beck’s help?” Gigi pressed. “Multi-task, dear.”
“I’ll think about it,” Caroline conceded, flipping open her notebook with a sigh. Grabbing the pen from the coil, she slowly jotted down the name in her best block letters. Carter Beckett. “After everything else.”
“It’s not a no.” Mabel grabbed Gigi’s arm and gave it a few quick shakes.
“Not a no for marketing. Definitely, it’s a no about romance.” Stabbing the air with her pen, she frowned at the two women across the table. “Don’t you dare think of making this a game.”
Gigi nodded, all too pleased with the direction of the conversation. “Did you know he retired early? Or got burned. Men always get vague when you ask why they leave their jobs and their wives.”
Caroline blinked. “You two know way too much about everyone in this town.”
“It’s a skill set,” Gigi said modestly, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “Anyway, the rumor is he helped a coastal resort triple their bookings. You get him on your team, and your summer gala might happen.”
“Don’t let the flip-flops fool you,” Mabel added. “He’s got a brain under all his sun-bleached hair.”
Caroline stood, sliding her notebook into her tote. The keys to The Hollis Express jingled softly in her hand.
“He sounds just like what I need.”
“Sandy!” Mabel called across the room. “Get a coffee to go for the mayor.”
“Hazelnut creamer and two sugars,” Gigi chimed in.
“I don’t drink …”
“It’s not for you.” Gigi winked. “Let us know how you make out.”
Mabel snorted. “Or when you make out.”
She turned to go, coffee in one hand, resolve in the other. As she reached the door, something caught her eye. Gigi, without breaking stride, pulled a laminated bingo card from her bag and slid it across the table to Mabel.
Not a word.
Not a look.
Caroline knew exactly what it meant.
She had the distinct feeling she’d just been added to someone’s “Summer Shenanigans” square.