4. Hayden
Hayden
T he town square is quiet as I pass through, headed for the historic brick and white pillared building that sits proudly as the focal point of downtown Foxport.
Its spire creeps high into the dusk sky, glowing in all its glory.
I’m not late, but I’ve successfully managed to wait until the last possible minute to arrive.
My hope is that I can slide in unnoticed by our mayor.
I had called on an update about the permit today, hoping to have some news for the meeting after sending in the new application early this morning.
But all I was told is that it’s in processing.
I even asked my buddy, Tripp, the sheriff, to see if he could find out anything else in the county system. That was also a dead end.
But as my feet reach the bottom step of town hall, I plaster my patent, carefree smile on my face and bound up to everyone expecting this version of me.
Confident. Relaxed. The rich boy who likes to chase adrenaline highs because he can. Poppy should call me Point Break instead of Baywatch.
And apparently, for the third time this week, if I think about her then she appears.
“Hi, Poppy Seed.” I stop at the entrance to the meeting room and wait for her to approach down the hall.
“Why are you everywhere?”
“Didn’t anyone teach you how to talk to people?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at the fiery woman with the gorgeous strawberry blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes. She takes my bait, setting her jaw and narrowing those piercing baby blues at me.
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to be less full of yourself?”
“ Ouch ,” I drawl sarcastically. “I expected better from you by now.”
My friends are seated with hers in the front corner of the room, the hazard of a small town. Or the hazard of one of her best friends being Wes’s sister and Tripp’s girlfriend. Another also happens to be best friends with my younger brother, Beckett.
That’s all to say, she’s stuck with me.
“I don’t have time for you,” she says with a dismissive flit of her hand, rushing over to the three women that have jumped up from their seats to greet her.
I watch with curiosity as the group hugs and bounces and acts like something truly momentous has just occurred.
“What’s with them?” I ask Tripp, sliding into one of the wooden folding chairs beside him.
He runs his hand through his dark hair and shrugs. “Poppy got some call today about being on a famous baking show. I don’t really know the details, but apparently it’s a huge deal.”
More indiscernible noises escape the pack of giddy ladies beside us.
I think I catch the word influencer and it’s enough to make me stop trying to listen.
Just yesterday, I thought Poppy was saying she didn’t want to post videos.
And Wren—one of the girls currently jumping around before us—was trying to convince her that they would help her business.
But I guess she’s changed her mind about disliking the spotlight.
Before us, the mayor takes his place at the podium and bangs his gavel. “Everyone please take your seats,” he requests, his attention flitting to the future influencer and her pals.
“It is a huge deal,” Ivy replies to her boyfriend, taking the seat on the other side of Tripp once again. “The last baker to be on Small Town Table got to design their own collaboration line of bakeware.”
“And one of the chefs has a spin off show,” Wren adds, taking a seat in front of us.
“Could you image designing your own line of bakeware?” Stevie, my brother’s best friend, asks. Her eyes are wide as Poppy takes a seat beside her.
Our resident baker only shrugs in response, though. Maybe Poppy isn’t fully sold on the spotlight after all.
A gavel sounds once again, this time more persistent. Fitzy must be getting restless that no one is quieting down. He slams it repetitively, shooting the crowd a disapproving look.
“I thought we hid that gavel from him,” Poppy wonders aloud.
“We didn’t just hide it, we destroyed it. He must have gotten a new one,” Wren says with a shake of her head.
“Attention!” Fitzy finally booms. “On our agenda today, we’ll go over our Fourth of July success, plans for the regatta, and get an update about our new rescue league.”
“Rescue league ? What does he think you are? Superheroes?” Tripp smirks at me.
“Hayden is a superhero!” Stevie jumps in. I knew Beck had good taste. Beside her, Poppy glances over her shoulder at me and rolls her eyes.
“I don’t know how you deal with talking at these things,” I mutter to Tripp. The townspeople think they’re all the governing body of Foxport. And I’ve listened to them harass him as sheriff on more than one occasion.
“Poppy, where are the snacks?” Wes asks as Fitzy drones on about the financial success of the Fourth of July celebration. Of course it was successful. We are a coastal destination, a Massachusetts town, and it was the nation’s birthday.
In the seat directly before me, Poppy reaches into her bag and withdraws a container. “Tonight, we have rocky road cookies.”
I cast a pleating look over to Ivy. I already know Poppy won’t let me take one, but I love her rocky road cookies. Ivy shows me mercy, as always, and pulls two cookies from the container before passing it on. When Poppy isn’t looking, she reaches across Tripp to hand me one.
“ Thank you ,” I mouth. Tripp chuckles through a bite of his own cookie and I elbow him to keep quiet. Just to be sure I’m not caught, I cram the whole thing in my mouth.
“Let’s talk regatta,” Fitzy is saying up front. “This year, race week will be the second week in August.”
“Do you still have a clambake on the final day?” Wes turns to me.
“Yeah, still going strong. When’s the last time you were living in town come regatta week?”
Wes hesitates, his eyebrows pinched as he thinks back. “I think it’s been a few years since I was home for summer.” Then his expression relaxes into a smile. “This is great, a party at Cliff House is the epitome of summer.”
I watch in amusement as Poppy stiffens, keeping her focus trained on the mayor. She has never come to a Cliff House clambake, despite my attempts to invite her in those early years.
Nudging her chair with my foot, I stifle a laugh as Poppy turns around slowly to glare at me. “You coming this year? I could show you a thing or two about baking.”
“Like you actually do the cooking yourself.”
“Actually he?—”
I shake my head at Stevie. It’s kind of her to try, but not worth the effort.
“But no, I don’t think I can make it,” Poppy continues flatly.
“Easy, Poppy Seed. They won’t put you on TV with that kind of attitude,” I tease, using the toe of my boot to nudge her chair once more.
“Any other questions before we move on to the rescue team initiative?” Fitzy is asking the group. He has my attention in an instant. It’s my turn to be under scrutiny.
A group of murmurs arise from the crowd, but no one has anything more for the mayor. He waits another moment before fixing his attention on me. “Great, then I’ll yield the floor to Hayden Thompson.”
Heads turn my way as I rise and adjust the tuck of my Manchester Fire Department T-shirt. Shoulders back, relaxed jaw, faint grin, the picture of ease. Never let them see you sweat, my father used to say.
“Thank you, Mayor,” I say warmly, coming to a stop at the podium. “We are making progress on the air-sea rescue team. And plan to be operational in the upcoming weeks.”
Hands begin to shoot up, more polite than this crowd usually is, at least. I catch that Anne Silberman, my mother’s closest friend, has her hand up. She’s a safe place to start.
“Mrs. Silberman, did you have a question?”
“Yes, dear, I was just curious about what it is your team will do.”
“I’m happy to walk you through it. We have a rescue boat and a helicopter.
From there, a rescue swimmer will actually exit the mode of transportation and board the at-risk vessel or enter the water to save those in the emergency situation.
A medic will be present to lead any intervention we may need to provide as well.
We’re essentially your water based first responders. ”
“Oh my,” Mrs. Silberman breathes.
“I have a question,” another voice calls from the crowd. It’s Marv, from the local fish market. “When you say upcoming weeks, do you mean a month or six months?”
“Barring any unforeseen circumstances, we’ll be operating for race week.”
I shouldn’t have promised that. I don’t actually know if it’s the case. Better to save that problem for another day now, though.
“Can you go out in a hurricane?” someone in the back asks.
“It’s all based on how conditions and needs align with equipment limits.
I can say I’ve personally taken a swim in a tropical storm when serving in the Coast Guard.
And my aviator back then is the guy who signed on for the team here.
So, I am confident that we’ll be able to pick up where we left off in our service. ”
“Hayden is the guy that jumps from the helicopter?”
The question is quiet. A whisper, really. And if I didn’t find myself always tuning into her voice automatically, I would have missed it.
I set my gaze on Poppy, who’s turned to Stevie with her question. When she looks back up at me, there is a hint of color on her cheeks. I’m not sure what just happened, but I plan to find out.