Chapter 10 #3
“You know, Knox, it just this very minute occurred to me as I was telling that completely unrelated story,” Webb interrupted, “that Jack needs some help building a wheelchair ramp at his mom’s place.
She messed up her knee, and she’s gonna need wheels for a while.
It would be really neighborly if you could help out. ”
The man was as subtle as a sledgehammer.
“Webb Sunday,” Jack muttered. “I told you I was going to hire that handyman from Two Rivers. Knox has his own work, and I—”
“I’m happy to help,” I assured him. “I don’t know how helpful I’ll actually be since that ramp was the last time I did any construction, but Webb’s right about it being neighborly.” That was the only thing he was right about.
“Well, there’s no rush. My mom’s still in rehab since she hurt her hand in the fall, too, so I have a couple weeks.”
I nodded. “Pick a date, and I’ll put it on my calendar.”
Gage leaned back so I could see him and grinned mischievously at me. “You’re so efficient, Knox.”
Hmph. It was hardly an outlandish thing to keep a calendar. Almost everyone did. In fact, Goodman should keep one himself, and I was going to tell him so. At great length. At the earliest opportunity.
Was it fucked-up that lectures were our foreplay? Probably. But I liked it.
A lot.
“You know, Gage, speaking of neighborly things,” Marco said. “Drew and I saw Helena Fortnum at the Farmers and Artisan Market today—she sells her wildlife photography prints, you know, and her nephew makes spice racks and medicine cabinets out of reclaimed barn wood—”
Goodman’s mouth pulled down in an exaggerated frown. “Huh. Remy Fortnum, the guy with the tattoos, makes spice racks?”
“Lovely ones,” Drew agreed. “Nice boy.”
“Anyway,” Marco went on, “I told her she should ask Gage to make her a, ah… whatjamacallit.” He snapped his fingers. “A thing on her website that lets her sell things direct to customers?”
“Oh, a storefront?” Gage nodded. “That’s easy enough.”
Marco beamed. “I knew you’d say that. But then we started brainstorming about how Remy would need a website, too…”
“And it occurred to us,” Drew continued without missing a beat, “that maybe we’d need something bigger than a website. More like an app. Something that all the artisans in town could use to sell their crafts.”
Em nodded. “You mean like Etsy, but for Little Pippin Hollow?”
“You could call it Pipsy,” Hawk suggested.
Gage froze, and I could practically see the wheels turning in his brain as he identified the problem and found a solution.
“You know,” he said slowly. “That’s an amazing idea. An app that connects local artisans and suppliers with local businesses who need their products and services. Like, that big bed-and-breakfast you can see from the road just south of town—”
“The Apple of My Eye,” Jack supplied.
“That’s Helena’s place,” said Drew. “She and Remy run it.”
“Wait, is it? Even better,” Gage said excitedly. “Does she use Remy’s reclaimed wood medicine cabinets there? Does she use Sunday Orchard apples and jams from our jam kitchen when she makes breakfast? Where does she source her pumpkins?”
Drew shrugged, baffled.
Meanwhile, my mind caught on him using the word our, and I tried to ignore the warm, gushy, terrifying emotion that suffused my chest.
“Okay, go with me here, right?” Gage pushed his plate out of the way—a true hallmark of how seriously he was taking this idea—and got out his phone to make notes.
“If she uses all local stuff and advertises that on her website for the B&B, potential guests would find it adorable and authentic, and since some people literally need to go on vacation to find any authenticity in their lives, it would bump her business. Then we could offer her a discount for using our jam products in exchange for putting a little sign up in her breakfast room about how all the products are from Sunday Orchard, which is right down the road and be sure to visit them, which bumps our… I mean, bumps Sunday Orchard’s…
business. And then we could put an advertisement on the orchard website about how we recommend visitors stay at the Apple of My Eye. And meanwhile, there’s this app—”
“Breathe,” I reminded him.
Gage grinned at me before taking a deep, dramatic breath and letting it out again. “I’m good, I promise! So meanwhile there’s this app—”
“Pipsy,” Webb, Hawk, Em, and Marco said at once.
“Right, Pipsy,” Gage agreed. “And it connects even more businesses. Like the speakeasy bar in the old brick building right on Stanistead Road in town—”
“The Bugle,” Jack supplied.
“That building used to be the town hall back in the day,” Webb said, apropos of nothing.
“Yeah. Do they carry your cider, Drew?”
Drew shook his head. “Nah. Always seemed like too much work to try to sell it.”
“But what would you say if you could sell it through the app to local businesses?”
Drew’s grin got even brighter. “I’d say… I think I’ve found my retirement project.”
Marco snorted good-naturedly. “If you think this means we’re not vacationing in Florida, think again.”
“Gage, you’re a genius,” Drew said happily. “I gave you a problem, and you gave us a solution that’s perfect for our town.”
“You guys came up with the idea! But I’d love to build that for you. How fun.”
“Can you do that from Boston or New York, Goodman?” I asked gently.