5. Orson
5
Orson
It’s been a week since my first visit to Willow Creek. Armed with a substantial plan for the redevelopment of the town, I returned yesterday to meet with the town council. All four of them. We sat around a small table in a tiny room at the local library.
No lie, my bathroom is bigger.
When you’re used to huge conferences with long tables and twenty or more in attendance, sitting in that tiny room makes you feel like you’re in the twilight zone, or worse, back in kindergarten.
I’d given them all the information they needed to know for now, and while three of them looked pretty impressed—no one more than Mr. Lyle—there was one council member who remained dubious.
Lily Harper listened intently to what I had to say, but I could see the reticence in her eyes. I figured that after the last time we met, especially given it was she who had organized that town meeting in favor of fighting against Donovan Enterprises, she would give me the most trouble.
After the meeting ended, I pulled her to the side.
“Have you got a minute, Miss Harper?”
“Sure,” she said, looking up at me with raised eyebrows.
“This is a huge undertaking, and I don’t want anyone to get lost in all the elaborate verbiage of the contracts.”
“Elaborate verbiage?” She smirked. “You mean the long-winded jargon, right?”
I smiled at her quick deconstruction of my statement, as ironic as it was.
“Yes. That’s exactly what I mean. I have a proposal specifically for the bakery. I think, given that it’s the heart of the town, it might be a good idea for us to start with your business.”
Yes, all right. I was sucking up to her, but it wasn’t a lie. Harper’s has always been a constant of the town. It was the longest standing business that I could recall and thus represented Willow Creek at its roots.
She gave me a look that told me she wasn’t so easily worked and then shrugged. “Sure.”
That dismissive answer didn’t give me much hope, but I had known before I stepped one foot back into Willow Creek that this project was never going to be a walk in the park. That said, I figured Lily Harper would be the easiest to start with. She was one of the few people I could look in the eye and not want to wish harm upon.
“Why don’t you come around to the bakery tomorrow evening?” she offered. “I close the doors at six, so does seven work?”
“Sounds perfect,” I replied.
And thus, at 6:45 p.m., I am currently sitting in my car across the street, waiting for the minutes to tick by.
Until last week, I hadn’t thought much about Lily Harper. But then, once I left Willow Creek, I didn’t think much about anyone. Apart from Jake, but he’s a different story. Other than my closest friend through school, I wanted to forget as much of this place as humanly possible.
And yet, after seeing and speaking to her at the end of that meeting, memories of Lily have slipped back into my consciousness. Memories of the times she was kind to me when no one else was. I don’t know why she treated me better. I just know it was a pleasant change from the constant persecution.
That might sound dramatic, but my family’s name made my life hell. A small town with small minds, the rumors were never investigated, just shared and regurgitated like sheep eating grass. And like sheep, the townsfolk were easily led, all following each other mindlessly. I’m not sure whether they’ve ever had a critical thought between them.
Okay. Maybe that’s unfair. I can’t tar them all with the same brush. Still, my grandfather has a lot to answer for, sending me back here. If I end up strangling the living daylights out of someone, it’ll be his fault.
I take a deep breath and check the time. I should get going.
The little bell tinkles as I enter the bakery, but I don’t see any sign of Lily Harper.
“Come in and lock the door,” I hear her call from somewhere at the back of the shop. “I don’t want to be the talk of the town tomorrow.”
I smile at her sarcasm and do as she asks. I then take a second to glance around the place.
It looks different from the last time I was here. At the meeting, the main lights had been on, flooding the room with a harsh glare. In stark contrast, I notice the warm glow emanating from the vintage lamps fitted into the wall. There are only five tables, but each one has a tiny white vase with a fresh gathering of small flowers and a lit candle.
The walls are two-tone, with light green paint on the plaster at the top and dark wood paneling at the bottom, running from the front to the back of the room. It sits well with the vintage theme, as do the wall hangings.
“I’m sorry,” Miss Harper says a little breathlessly as she glides into the room. “I needed to wash up and change.”
“Never worry,” I reply with an easy smile. “I’m sure a bit of flour would not have bothered me.”
“I wouldn’t want to get any on your expensive suit,” she fires back as quick as lightning, a smile dancing at the corner of her mouth.
I smirk. Maybe I should employ this woman. I could do with that sharp brain in the office.
“Shall we sit?” She gestures to a table.
“Thank you.”
Once we’re seated, I place the file on the table. “Miss Harper—”
“Lily. Please.”
I hesitate, wondering if I should offer my own name, but I back out at the last minute. I don’t know why.
“Lily,” I start again. “I have drawn up some ideas for the bakery, and I would love your opinion on them.”
“All right,” she says, scooting her chair closer to mine and leaning over to look at the file.
Immediately, a soft musky aroma reaches my nostrils, and it takes a huge amount of effort not to inhale deeply. Her scent is intoxicating, so much so that I’m knocked off balance.
“What’s this?”
She’s pointing to a bar graph that shows projections of what we hope to achieve over the coming months. Steeling myself, I snap back to the moment and begin explaining it to her.
We talk for about an hour. I tell her that this is not merely a financial venture but a collaborative effort to enhance the town’s appeal, drive tourism, and ultimately rekindle the sense of pride and prosperity that once defined the area. All the while, I’m trying to remain undistracted by her aroma and the intent attention of those green eyes.
She doesn’t fight the plans as much as I thought she might, and as we’re wrapping up, I’m feeling quite confident that I might be on the road to winning her over. If I can win her, then the rest will likely follow. Or at least, that’s my thought process.
And then she throws me a curveball.
“I think you should offer this proposal to all the residents of Willow Creek. I understand that you’re concentrating on the businesses, but I think if everyone knew the great ideas you’re putting forward, it would be good for morale. And”—she shrugs—“maybe they’d be more receptive to you being here.”
She looks at me expectantly, waiting for my response, but I can’t say I’m particularly eager. It isn’t exactly what I had in mind. Seeing everyone in that meeting had hardly been the highlight of my week. While I’m proud of my achievements—and, yes, a part of me wanted to rub that in their faces—I wouldn’t choose to do it again.
But how do I get out of it? And then it hits me. There are not many places the whole town would fit. The town hall is under repair, and without a roof, we can hardly hold the meeting there.
“I’m not sure they would all fit into this tiny bakery, Miss… Lily,” I say, correcting myself.
“We could hold it at the school,” she offers.
I draw a quick intake of breath, too slow to hide my reaction. Having to come back to this town is bad enough. Returning to Willow Creek High is an entirely different ball game.
“Oh, Lord. I’m so sorry,” she says hurriedly, placing a hand on my arm. “I didn’t mean—I mean, I didn’t think… It’s just… I don’t know. You know what? It doesn’t matter. We don’t need to have a meeting.”
I can’t help it. Her overreaction makes me chuckle. Maybe I need a release of tension, or maybe it’s just the rapid way that everything flew out of her mouth like gunfire, but the laughter bursts from my chest.
For a second, Lily looks surprised, then confused, and then her face settles and she laughs with me. But for some reason, I can’t stop. And nor, it seems, can she. Our nervous systems have taken over, and we laugh for so long that I begin to forget what we were laughing about to begin with.
“My stomach is killing me,” I moan through the laughter.
“So are my cheeks,” she cries, pressing her hands against them to alleviate the pain.
This makes us laugh even more, and with tears running down our faces, the two of us are hysterical.
“We need to stop,” Lily cries. “My sides. Oh, my sides.” Her hands move from her cheeks to her sides, and back again. This makes me laugh even more, and upon seeing me laughing, she bursts forth with fresh laughter of her own.
It goes on for a while, until, eventually, with sore stomachs, sore cheeks, and tears in our eyes, we begin taking big, panting breaths to calm ourselves down. Every few seconds, a little laughter escapes, and I try hard to suppress it. Lily does the same. It takes another five minutes until we fully regain our composure.
“Oh, my word,” I breathe, still struggling to fill my lungs properly.
“That was nuts,” Lily says plainly, but she’s grinning. “I haven’t laughed like that in years.”
And as she says those words, I realize I can’t remember the last time I really laughed at all. I mean properly laughed, with no holds barred.
“I am sorry,” Lily says, now that she’s calmed herself.
“Don’t start that again,” I quip.
She smiles, but then the smile fades. “I didn’t think it through, Mr. Donovan. It was stupid of me.”
Maybe it’s the laughter, maybe it’s Lily Harper being kind once more, but at this juncture, I look at her. “If I’m calling you Lily, then you must call me Orson. It’s what you used to call me,” I say gently.
“Yes. Yes, I did,” she replies.
“Good. Then that’s settled. Organize a meeting at the school, and I’ll speak to the town,” I say, standing from the table.
Lily stands with me, her face marred with uncertainty. “Are you sure?”
“You don’t need to worry about me anymore, Lily. I’m a grown man.”
But after the farewells, once I’m safely in my car, the smile falls from my face.
Darn you, Pops!