Chapter 6
Just ahead of one o’clock, the front door chimed as another customer entered the Beach Belle.
Grace barely heard it over the rhythmic thrum-hiss of her industrial steamer.
She was currently locked in a battle with a stubborn bolt of vintage-inspired lace, as if trying to smooth out the wrinkles of a past she wasn’t ready to revisit.
“I’ll be right with you,” she called out.
Thankfully, the morning had been busy, preventing Grace from dwelling on the rather ugly end to her earlier conversation with Cal. But as the day moved on, she found herself wondering if the committee president and treasurer were enamored with his ideas.
“If you steam that any harder, Grace, you’re going to vanish in a cloud of vapor like a Victorian ghost,” a friendly voice called out from the other side of the counter.
“Hey, Holly.” Grace straightened, wiping a stray curl from her damp forehead before she set aside the steamer. “How did the interview go with Connie?”
“Excellent as always. She always makes me laugh, whether her stories are old or new.” Holly tipped her head toward the fabric. “What’s with the lace?”
Grace glanced over her shoulder. Lace wasn’t typically on offer. “I’m brainstorming a few things for Willow’s wedding,” she said.
Holly inched closer. “It’s beautiful. Is it antique?”
“No.” Grace shook her head. “Just modeled after a vintage design. But it’s been on a shelf somewhere long enough to develop an attitude.” She waved off the troublesome fabric. “So how can I help with your interview?”
Holly had a camera slung around her neck and a digital recorder already peeking out of her pocket.
“I have a sixth sense for interrupting at the right time,” Holly said with a sympathetic smile. “For this article, I want to talk about the legacy seat and your thoughts on the traditions around our annual music festival. Off the record, I’m checking on you.”
“Because?”
“We check the police activity, Grace. I know Lt. Frasier was here last night.”
“Oh, right.” She’d nearly forgotten that. “Off the record, I didn’t recognize Calvin right away. I called the police when I saw a man loitering at the corner on my way home.” She moved behind the counter, rearranging a display of hand-crafted copper earrings, just to keep her hands busy.
“And when Frasier told you who it was?”
Grace sighed. “I didn’t sleep too well,” she admitted.
“You didn’t know Calvin Lynwood had any connection to the marketing firm renting the apartment?” Holly queried.
“Not at all.” Grace eyed her friend. “But you seem to know we have a history.”
Holly nodded, unashamed. “Intel from Frasier,” she explained. “Calvin told him you two were in college together.”
“Well, for a New Yorker, he’s adapting to small-town life quickly enough,” Grace grumbled.
“Look, I’m fine. We were close once.” What an understatement.
She’d been crazy for him and the heartache of cutting him out of her life was almost as painful as losing her mom.
“I’m focused on the benefit of the income from the apartment lease. ”
“Okay.” Holly held up her hands. “On the record?”
Grace nodded for her to continue.
Holly set her recorder on the counter between them and hit record. “You’re not bothered that Mr. Lynwood will be serving for Levi Garrison on the music festival committee?”
“That’s between the two of them and the committee. My grandmother and my mother both let me tag along to plenty of those meetings.”
“But you weren’t voting,” Holly pointed out.
“True, but it allowed me to understand the systems and traditions that allow our festival to become more successful every year.”
Holly grinned. “Spoken like a legacy. We’ve heard Garrison and Lynwood plan to offer some new strategies. Any thoughts?”
“It’s an honor to hold my grandmother’s seat and I enjoy the committee process and progress. As the outreach chair, my goal will be to make sure the local businesses don’t get lost in the shuffle of any new energy.”
“New energy,” Holly repeated, her pen poised over a small notepad. “Is that how you see Calvin Lynwood?”
Grace felt that familiar heat creeping up her neck. She probably should see his involvement that way. “He’s a professional consultant, in town for Levi Garrison.”
Holly shut off the recorder. “He’s also the heartthrob you left behind at Duke. I heard the rumors. This is a small town, Grace. People remember the way you looked when you came home.”
Grace silently cursed a blue streak that would’ve made a sailor proud. “My mother was dying.”
“I know. And you handled that horrible year with love, devotion, respect, and strength. And mostly alone. I was away at school myself, but I heard about the day you told him not to come to Brookwell.”
Grace’s stomach cramped. “Not my finest hour.” Of course, that scene had burned up the gossip grapevine for weeks.
Suddenly, she was the broken-hearted caregiving star in a local tragedy.
She and her mom seemed to be everyone’s business that year.
Though she’d appreciated the outreach and support, the questions about her dreams and plans—well out of reach at the time—left her brittle.
“I disagree,” Holly stated. “But this morning at the bakery, you looked as if you were bracing for a hurricane.”
Grace let out a long, shaky breath, the aloof mask she’d vowed to employ cracking. “It’s just a lot, Holly. Calvin represents a lot of pain and upheaval. Most of it I’m over.”
“Such as?”
“My mom,” Grace replied. “As much as I can be anyway. And y’know, the house is in good shape again. The shop’s doing well. The apartment’s rented, even if it is to him.”
“Do you still love him?”
Leave it to Holly to ask the tough questions.
Where was a customer when she needed one?
“I think my college-girl heart will always hold a soft, wistful spot for Calvin. Now, though, he’s so different.
Polished and sure of himself. I’m sure you’ve heard he wants to scale the festival to draw a younger demographic with more discretionary income.
Good on paper, but I’m all about making sure the quilting club can sell their famous peach preserves without paying a three-hundred-dollar vendor fee. ”
Holly’s expression softened. “Thank goodness. The Bugle is behind you. The town is behind you. We’re big on our traditions and heritage around here, you know that.
We like the heart and style,” she grinned, “that you bring to Brookwell. You’re a third-generation owner of a successful store in prime retail space.
That matters. Don’t let a guy you used to sleep with make you feel small just because he can afford a three-thousand-dollar suit these days. ”
The image made Grace laugh and the tension she’d been feeling in her neck dissolved. “He doesn’t mean to,” she murmured, unsure if she was defending Calvin or herself. “He thinks he’s helping. I’m more than a little concerned he might think I need rescuing.”
“How so?”
Grace shrugged. “He snapped up that lease pretty fast. Beyond that, it’s more of a feeling.”
“Good or bad?”
“Neither.” Grace paused. “We’re still off the record, right?”
Holly nodded.
“He asked me about completing my degree over coffee. I get the sense he thinks I gave up and just settled after Mom passed.”
“Did you?”
Grace looked around her shop—the carefully curated racks, the scent of lavender and salt air, the memories of the two prior generations giving her strength even now.
“No. Would it be nice if he respected that? Sure. But that’s on him, right?
I can only do my best to show him that Brookwell is more than a project to be managed. ”
“I like that energy, my friend. Legacy over luxury.” Holly’s hand hovered over the recorder. “Now, give me a quote for the paper about the committee goals, and then I’ll let you get back to your vintage-inspired lace.”
“Oh.” Grace thought about it, then turned the recorder on herself. “The outreach goals for this year are to showcase what makes Brookwell special, from small-batch handcrafted goods to our bigger local businesses.”
“Perfect.” Holly pocketed the recorder. “One last thing, Grace. If Lynwood gives you any trouble, remember that I have access to the archives. I can easily dig up photos from the high school drama clubs and talent shows where you handled costuming like a pro before you’d stepped one toe out of this small town. ”
Grace’s cheeks went hot. “That was ages ago.”
“And you’re still a rockstar,” Holly said. “One word from you, and it’s front-page news.”
Grace laughed, a happy sound that chased away some of the morning’s gloom. “Thanks, Holly. I’ll keep that in mind.”
As Holly headed back out into the bright afternoon sun, Grace felt a renewed sense of purpose. She had plenty of time to take stock and prepare for tomorrow’s meeting. She didn’t have to go in wondering what to say. She could arm herself with the data to either support or defeat Cal’s initiatives.
If she had to face off with the man she’d walked away from, she would do it with the support of the whole town at her back.
It didn’t matter that he’d gone and built a successful empire out of one well-timed opportunity.
She wasn’t a pushover and she knew what the festival meant to everyone in Brookwell.