Chapter 21
SUNDAY
TAYLOR RAN HOME to change before meeting Mrs. James for their dinner date.
He was cutting it close to being late for his “date,” but Chelsey needed him, even though she didn’t know it yet.
Or maybe he couldn’t wait until tomorrow to see her again.
How could she look so adorable with her messy hair and lounging around in sweats?
He wanted to cover her in kisses, but held back, knowing he had a plan to show Chelsey she was safe with him.
While he pulled on his khakis he wondered again why Mrs. James bid on him, but he wouldn’t let her down, even when he had a feeling he was being put in the middle of something to do with the roller-skating rink’s future.
Mrs. James had hinted earlier that she wanted to show Taylor some of the history and secrets of the building.
Maybe this was about the town’s history.
She had no way to know what he’d put in his report for the mayor and city council to consider.
As a matter of fact, Dad hadn’t said anything since Taylor had submitted the report, other than thanking him.
Taylor pulled into the pothole-riddled parking lot next to one lone car.
He sat in his parents’ Escalade and studied the old building again.
The bricks were from the early 1900s and still in good repair.
The wood framing windows and doors needed to be replaced— He shook his head.
He already knew this building would take a cool million plus to upgrade.
The city didn’t have that kind of money nor was it willing to burden the citizens with a tax or fee to fix it, if the emergency meeting this morning was any indication.
He rubbed his chest at the emotion welling up. Nostalgia. That is what was making him think about eighth-grade dances, roller skating under a disco ball and kissing Chelsey in a dark corner of the rink. He got out of his car and waited for the feeling to pass.
It didn’t take long with the summer sun beating down on him.
When he took a step inside, he was surprised at what he found.
A round table sat in the middle of the room with a red-and-white checked tablecloth and a place setting for two.
Even though it was four-thirty, and the sun shone through the warbled windows, two fake red taper candles flickered in the middle of the table.
“Welcome, Taylor.” Mrs. James came toward him from the direction of the old kitchen with a pitcher of water. She looked every bit the librarian with her slacks, cardigan and glasses hanging on a chain around her neck.
Taylor hurried over and took the water from her. He filled their goblets and set the pitcher in the middle of the table then pulled out a chair for her.
“I’m so happy you’re here. I hope you like BBQ.”
She handed Taylor a couple of take-out containers and brown bags. He opened them, relishing the aroma. He pulled out slow-cooked pork, beans, coleslaw, potato salad and homemade rolls with honey butter.
“My mouth is watering.” Taylor picked up his glass and saluted her. “Thank you for doing all of this. It looks amazing.”
Mrs. James picked up her goblet and clinked it against his. “You’re welcome. Now eat up. We have a lot to do here.”
“What do you mean?” Taylor had an inkling where this was headed. There were many families of the original settlers who didn’t want any change. There were disagreements all over social media and in the halls of the churches.
“Let’s cut to the chase. You’re a smart young man. I’m sure you know why I bid on you.”
So, this was how lunch was going to go? “Because of my good looks?”
“That too.” She took a moment to study the gym. When Mrs. James turned back, her light-blue eyes focused intently on him. “I want you to save this building.”
“Now, Mrs. James—” Taylor started to say but was interrupted.
“Hear me out.” She glanced up as the sound of a machine whirled to life with a high-pitched noise then promptly died. “My husband used to fix that stupid ice machine almost every week during the summer.”
Mrs. James stood and headed toward the other end of the gym at a fast clip. When Taylor didn’t follow, she beckoned him. “Come on then. Let’s go fix it.”
Taylor looked down at his clothes. Why wasn’t he ever wearing the right things for working on this trip?
“You’ll be fine. Grease washes out.” She turned on her heel and disappeared through the door that led to the utility room.
“Chelsey said the same thing when she sent me outside to work with Rich in the mud,” he mumbled as he broke into a jog to catch up with her.
When he caught up to Mrs. James, she was kicking an old, rusted machine. She cocked her head and listened as it whirled, sputtered, and stopped.
“Stupid contraption.” She kicked it again, but the noise didn’t change.
“Your turn.” She turned to him and crossed her arms. “Give it a good hit.”
Taylor hesitated a moment to wonder how long the old machine would last with all the kicking and hitting it endured throughout the fifty plus years it’d given ice. He angled his foot and barely kicked.
Mrs. James scoffed. “That was weak. Try again.”
This time he aimed his foot at the corner where he thought the metal might connect with the motor. He grimaced at the small dent he left, but the noise changed in pitch and started to run with a consistent sound.
“Well done. I knew you had it in you.” She patted his arm. “I want to show you something upstairs.”
“The air conditioner?” Taylor asked.
Mrs. James laughed and shook her head. She climbed up to the second story on stairs that creaked in protest. Taylor stepped to the side of the third stair, avoiding the squeakiest spot, a memory that took him back to his junior high days when he and his friends used to play hide-and-seek.
“I want to show you what I found the other day when I was tidying up.” She waved her hands around the area that was littered with old gym equipment, chairs and tables.
He followed the spry older woman as best as he could without tripping over rusty bar bells and hand weights. She led him to the far corner, picked up a shoebox and handed it to him.
“I did clean up a little,” she chuckled. “I moved a stool and found that treasure trove.”
“What’s in here?” Taylor brushed a layer of dust off the box. Inside, he spied yellowed papers and black-and-white photos.
“Let’s go back down to the table. This box is full of Juniper Valley’s history and could possibly hold the key to saving this building.”
Once they sat back down, she tapped the box. “Open it.”
Inside were stacks of yellowed papers tied with a faded ribbon, and a neat pile of black-and-white photographs.
The top photo showed a group of children standing in front of the old roller rink—except it wasn’t a rink then.
It was a one-room schoolhouse, freshly painted, topped by a hand-lettered sign that read Juniper Valley School, 1904.
Taylor turned another photo over. The next one showed couples dancing under string lights, postwar era—the same building, different look. And then a third photo: roller skates, disco lights, laughter caught mid-spin. The years had changed, but the bones of the place stayed the same.
“My husband and I met here,” Mrs. James said softly. “We were playing tag, and he accidently pushed me down. He spent the rest of his life trying to make it up to me.”
Taylor chuckled, still flipping through the photos. “Looks like the whole town grew up in this building.”
“Oh, we did,” she said. “Learned arithmetic, danced the jitterbug, kissed under the twinkle lights, married…mourned, too. And now the council wants to tear it down and the memories with it.”
They sat quietly in the building humming with nostalgia and the cranky air conditioner. This wasn’t going to be an easy fix for the town on either side of the argument for or against keeping the building.
“My grandfather taught in this building,” Mrs. James said quietly. “Long before it ever heard the sound of wheels.” She tapped the picture gently. “These were his people. The founders. The first families who built Juniper Valley out of stubborn hope and more dirt than sense.”
“And that’s a reason to keep this drafty, broken-down building?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “Every family that fought to keep this place open. Every kid who learned something here—on paper or on skates.” She looked at him, eyes bright in a way that had nothing to do with the overhead lights. “They all belong on these walls.”
He drummed his fingers on his thighs, thoughtful. “You really think people will care about this part? The history?”
“I think people are hungry to remember they’re part of something bigger than their own timeline.” She carefully pressed the photo and papers back in the box. “Places like this…they don’t just hold memories. They shape them.”
Taylor’s mind went back to the times he’d danced and skated in this brick building, most of them paired with Chelsey. Were those precious memories worth the cost of upgrading this place?
Mrs. James picked up the take-out bags and filled them with the garbage from their dinner. She paused and caught his eye. “Let me ask you a question: What do we owe the places that made us who we are?”
The question settled around Taylor. Did places really hold that much strength?
His own grandparents were gone, and their heritage lived in his family’s photo albums and memories.
What would happen when his parents were gone?
Was it worth keeping something that would eventually crumble physically and figuratively?
He nodded, his easy grin fading. “The repairs would cost a fortune.”
“You’re the next generation,” she said simply. “You’ve got the energy. The town trusts you. And if anyone can make this place shine again—weddings, concerts, fall dances—it’s you.”
“I don’t know, Mrs. James,” he said quietly. “That’s a big project.”
She took a sip of her water, eyes twinkling. “So was building a schoolhouse in 1904, dear. They didn’t ask if it was easy. They just asked if it was worth it.”
A few hours later when Taylor finally got home, he was exhausted and filthy but happy.
Mrs. James had gingerly pulled out each piece of memorabilia dating back over eighty years to show him.
Creative energy filled Taylor as he thought about doing something meaningful for his hometown.
The vision Mrs. James showed him was exciting and her enthusiasm contagious.
Taylor’s next project in Singapore wouldn’t begin until the fall.
He’d already rescheduled his flight and let his team know he’d work remotely for the next few months.
And that meant staying close to Chelsey.
TAYLOR TOOK A shower to wash away the dust and musty odor from the old building.
His routines the past week were starting to feel like all he did lately was get dirty while wearing his nice clothes, then take a shower, change into clean clothes and start over.
He hadn’t expected to get dirty at dinner with Mrs. James, but it was worth it to see her face light up at his suggestion of framing the old photos to display them, showcasing the first families to settle Juniper Valley.
Taylor rubbed his face. With nothing left to do, and too much to think about, he decided to draw a mockup for The James Project, which was how he was starting to think of it.
Mrs. James had the grand idea of turning the building into a kid-friendly hangout with a pool table, ping pong, foosball and other games where teens could chat on weekdays and on weekends, using the space for receptions, reunions and family gatherings.
Taylor liked the idea of creating something that would bring the community together.