Chapter 85
JASPER
Goldie is wrong.
Or maybe not wrong, exactly.
Just missing the whole truth.
I should have told her everything sooner. I know that now. But I never expected to fall for her the way I have, and somewhere along the line, what started as business stopped being business at all.
Now I’ve lost the only thing I really care about in this town.
Her.
By the time I arrive at the market that morning, the vendors are already busy setting up beneath the huge canopy. Usually, the sight settles me. Today, it feels exhausting.
I try to focus on work, anyway. Every week since I moved to Driftwood Pointe, I’ve quietly bought groceries for Maggie: fresh fruit, vegetables, bread, and all the basics. Freddie passes them on to her, pretending they’re leftovers he can’t sell.
Maggie believes him, despite the bag containing exactly the same products every week.
She wobbles up to the market using her shopping trolley like she’s wielding a weapon every Friday at 4 p.m. on the dot.
She’d probably set me on fire if she knew her supplies came from me directly.
Still, I keep doing it. Complicated history or not, she’s an elderly woman living alone in a crumbling house, and I’m not cruel enough to let pride get in the way of basic decency.
I’m carrying a crate of fruit across the market when Mrs. Chalice waylays me. She’s in her seventies, wearing worn, patched clothing, her mousy hair scraped back in a bun. She blocks my path with a self-satisfied expression.
“We vendors are not pleased about you hounding Maggie for her property,” she announces loudly.
I slow my pace. “I’m not hounding anyone.”
“We’ve heard she’s nearly broken under the pressure.”
I bite back my irritation and keep walking toward my office cabin.
Unfortunately, Mrs. Chalice follows me.
“We’re thinking of refusing to pay our rent,” she calls after me.
That stops me. I turn around carefully. “That would be illegal, Mrs. Chalice.”
“We’re standing by Maggie.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“It means we’re organizing a walkout tonight.”
I stare at her. “A walkout?”
“You’re lucky I’m warning you. Some people wanted to simply leave.”
I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. “You do realize I have a waiting list for these spots? If vendors abandon them, I’ll replace them.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“I absolutely would,” I say flatly. “This market doesn’t run on goodwill.”
She storms away, muttering furiously under her breath.
The rest of the day feels poisoned after that. At closing time, most of the vendors disappear quickly, leaving me almost entirely alone to dismantle tables and stack chairs.
Freddie finally wanders over, looking guilty.
“Sorry, boss,” he mutters. “I had to go along with the others.”
I lean heavily on one of the folding tables. “What the hell is going on?”
“It’s Mrs. Chalice,” Freddie explains. “She’s one of Maggie’s regular customers. Maggie predicted she was going to meet a tall, dark, handsome, and wealthy man soon and wouldn’t need the income from market anymore because he would spoil her and take her on fabulous vacations.”
I stare at him blankly. “You’re joking.”
“Nope.”
I snort despite myself. “Mrs. Chalice is at least seventy.”
Freddie shrugs seriously. “Maggie’s usually right, though.”
I shake my head. The entire town is under Maggie’s spell. Possibly literally.
The next morning proves Mrs. Chalice wasn’t bluffing. The market stands silent. I single-handedly put all the tables and chairs out beneath the tent canopy as a gesture of goodwill, ready for everyone, but not a single vendor arrives.
Empty and cold. Wrong.
For the first time since building this place, I feel genuinely uneasy standing in the middle of it.