Chapter 5
Charlotte awoke the next morning to sunlight streaming through the windows. Preston had probably already gone to the bakery and returned. Downstairs, he whistled. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. She’d had the weirdest dreams but couldn’t quite remember what they were.
But she was happy. Then she remembered the whispers. She looked around her room. It all seemed so silly and impossible now. Should she mention it to Preston? When she brought it up before, he’d dismissed it. And she was lucky he’d turned on the heat. Nowadays, he complained about spending money, even for comfort.
Had he noticed anything strange as he’d lived here longer than she had? Surely, he would’ve noticed people whispering when really it was just…what? The wind? The trees outside? The heat turning on? If he had, he would’ve said something.
Charlotte didn’t want to think about it. Besides, she had other things to think about. Like persuading the town of Sugar Creek to annex their property.
First thing, she would hand out flyers to people downtown and talk to them on the street. Meeting face-to-face, one-on-one was important. If that failed, she’d try the ol’ door-to-door approach.
She dressed, thundered downstairs, and found Preston in the kitchen, studying. “I’ve got class at ten.” He handed her a stack of papers. “Here are the pamphlets you can distribute and a bumper sticker for your car. We don’t have many left, and they’re expensive, so we can’t just go giving them away to just anyone.” He pointed to a small pile of about three.
“That’s too bad.” She studied the sticker. Should she mar her BMW with a temporary tattoo like that? “I can think of several places to put them.” None of them on her car.
“Be judicious where you give them. Make sure it’s for an ardent supporter.”
Charlotte nodded, waiting for him to wag his finger at her.
“Or someone who moves about the community and can have the biggest impact.”
“For sure.” She nodded, already forming a few possible candidates.
“I’ve just got so much going on.” He let out a breath of air and ran fingers through his hair.
“It’s okay. I’m glad I’m here to help carry your burden.”
He set down his pencil. “Yes, why did you decide to take a gap year, anyway? I thought you were all set for law school?”
She wasn’t ready to talk about Westley and her personal rejection just yet. “Lucky us. My plans changed.”
“Everything okay?”
She grabbed a glass from the cupboard behind her. “Yup, fine.” How could she tell him about the bad news when he’s all excited for his own successful relationship? She filled her glass with grapefruit juice from the fridge and took a swig. “Hey, have you ever heard weird things at night here?”
Standing, Preston folded his notebook and slipped it into his backpack on the island. “What kind of weird things?”
“Just weird noises.”
He grabbed his coat from the back of the chair. “It’s an old house. I hear weird stuff all the time. I just ignore them.” He stuffed his arms into his coat sleeves. “Okay, gotta run.” Picking up the keys, he opened the front door. A burst of cooler air came in with a few leaves.
She closed the door after him and picked up the leaves. Listening to the sounds of the old house spooked her. She didn’t want to be alone in the house by herself. She grabbed her coat, her keys, and the pamphlets and headed into town.
Accosting people and asking them to take a pamphlet wasn’t as painful as she thought it would be. Many people loved the idea of turning the mansion into a historical building for tours. She collected names and phone numbers so she could connect with them later and remind them to vote.
She spent the morning walking around in the cold. The sun hadn’t come up over the mountains yet. Her fingers were icicles, and her nose was about to fall off, she was sure. She knew the Sweet Suite Bakery was just down the street. Perhaps she could pop in for a quick bite before heading back out to talk to more people.
Walking alongside the main area there with the fountain, she noticed a green pickup truck.
No.
It couldn’t be, could it? A slight smile spread across her lips. She checked for his bumper sticker.
Vermont, Keep it Simple.
Eric’s truck.
What was he doing around here in the middle of the day?
The wind tugged one of the bumper stickers in her hand. A wicked thought bloomed in her head. What if she put one of the bumper stickers on his truck?
No, she shouldn’t.
It wouldn’t be nice. They’re hard to get off. Don’t they ruin the paint?
She shook her head and went into the bakery. She should take the higher road.
Coco greeted her behind the counter. She had on her Sweet Suite Bakery apron and paper hat. “Hello!”
Charlotte ordered a sweet treat and hot apple cider and sat down. Coco joined her.
“How’s the pamphlet peddling going?”
Charlotte looked over her few remaining papers—wind wrinkled, and cold. “Pretty good actually. Once people hear about why we want the annexation, they’re pretty sympathetic.”
“Yes, but will that sympathy translate into votes?”
Charlotte took a sip of her cider, holding it in her hands to warm her fingers. It warmed her insides.
“That’s the question.” From her spot near the window, she would still see Eric’s car. She took a bite of her scone. “You know, I had a perfectly wicked idea.”
“Oh?” Coco leaned forward.
“I only have one bumper sticker left. I was thinking of placing it on Eric’s pickup truck.” Charlotte nodded toward the window.
Coco leaned forward. “That would be hilarious. You should totally do it.”
“But I worry it’ll ruin the paint on his truck.”
“That’s true. Maybe that’s taking a joke a bit too far.”
Charlotte took another sip. It was almost warm enough to drink. The scent of cinnamon and cloves filled her nostrils. “He left a sign in my car, after the rally. Set it in my windshield as if I supported his side. He even wrote a little note.” She wasn’t a hundred percent sure it was him, but who else would write a note? And he was passing out signs that night.
“He did? That jerk! Oh, he’s totally fair game to put a bumper sticker on there, then. He should expect retaliation.”
Charlotte picked up the bumper sticker, running a finger across the glossy sheen. “Should I do it?”
“Do it now before he comes out.” Coco’s eyes gleamed with a devilish grin. “This might be your only chance.”
With a kick of adrenaline, she stood, snatched the bumper sticker, and opened the door with a ping.
Outside in the wind, she crossed the street and headed toward his car. Ducking behind his truck, she looked both ways before peeling the backing off the sticker. She chuckled to herself as she put it on, rubbing her hand over the face of it for good measure. “I know Preston said to only give them to people who support the cause, but I think this will be great advertising.” Crumpling the backing, she jumped up and ran across the street, hoping not to get caught. She didn’t hear her name or anyone yelling, so she figured she was safe. She didn’t dare look back over her shoulder.
After coming inside to the bakery, her cider and scone were still there, although Coco was helping customers at the cash desk.
Charlotte brushed back her windblown hair and sat with a laugh.
Coco passed her, carrying a plate of goodies for a customer. “Did you get caught?”
Charlotte blew on her cider. “I don’t think so. No one yelled at me.” She glanced over her shoulder through the front bakery window.
People walked beside the truck, but no Eric yet. She giggled. Yet she had a little nagging in her mind. He wouldn’t be mad, would he? Stickers were more permanent than a sign in a window. Would he be upset? Would it ruin their budding…whatever this relationship was? But she couldn’t think of a better use of that bumper sticker.
“I’ve got an idea.” Coco passed her again, this time with empty plates. “You need help.”
“What do you mean?”
“My aunt has some friends, the Sugar Mamas—retirees or storeowners who can help you, if they support the cause. They know everybody in town. People listen to them. I’ll give them a call. I don’t know why I didn’t think of them before.”
“That would be wonderful.” Charlotte took a sip of her cider and waited. She moved so she could see Eric’s truck better. What would his reaction be?
Eric finished his errands downtown and unlocked his pickup. What a day it had been! So many things went wrong. One of his best producing brown Swiss nursing mothers got mastitis, and he had to call the vet. Then a calf died from a wolf attack. He’d have to mend the fence where the wolf got in and bury the calf. More losses. He had a meeting later in the day to talk with ice cream brokers about using his milk. Not only did he have to dress up, but he also had to be in a good mood and be nice. He got a haircut, but not a shave. He liked the growth on his chin and kept it trimmed. Now he had to figure out what to wear. He hadn’t worn a suit in years. He’d done some shopping downtown and asked Angie via video call what she thought of a button-up shirt.
The account with the ice cream brokers could change their future. If he could score a contract with this company, many of their financial worries would be over.
A little after two, he hung a left into the parking lot to the café where he’d meet his potential clients. He pulled out his milk from the cooler in the back of his pickup. Samples. If they liked what they tasted and the prospectus he’d prepared of their output and production, they’d want to visit his farm next.
The little café was decorated in antiques and charming colors. He arrived early to situate himself in a booth and get comfortable—as comfortable as one could get wearing slacks and a button-up. Even when he wore flannel, he never actually buttoned it. Usually, he wore a Sweet Milk Dairy shirt.
Two men in suits arrived with tablets. City slickers. Businessmen.
Eric muttered under his breath, “Great, I’m underdressed.” He smiled and stood and held out his hand. “Eric Benton.”
“Vic Mosely and my colleague Lester Finnagin.” Vic’s scalp shone in the chandelier lighting as he only had a fringe of hair around the outside of his head.
Lester, a shorter man with dark hair and a mustache, explained their milk to ice cream process, their production needs, and their distribution channels.
Eric slipped them a copy of his prospectus about his dairy, pouring fresh glasses. “Would you like to try the milk?”
After taking a sip, they evaluated the taste, smacking their lips, and nodded to each other. “That’s excellent. Fresh. Quality. No hormones?” Vic asked.
“No, sir.”
Lester stroked his mustache free of milk. “Free range?”
“Yes, sir.”
Vic turned to Lester. “But is it good enough for our name/brand?”
“Good question.” They both tried another drink. After the second sip, they exchanged glances and read over the perspectus he gave them.
Eric held his breath, waiting, thrumming his thumbs on his thighs below the table.
Vic stood. “We have several other farms competing for this contract. Thank you for your time today.” He stuck out his hand. “We appreciate the information you’ve given us. We’ll let you know.” Then they left. The meeting was over.
Blowing out a breath, Eric sat in the booth contemplating his next move, hitting his fingers against the table, shaking his head. That was a “no” if he ever heard one. Sick to his stomach, he paid the bill and left. As he opened the door to his pickup, he noticed a golden-haired young woman talking with people on the sidewalk. And people listened to her.
Charlie was drumming up support. And being successful.
He wasn’t surprised. She was heading to law school, and she was a charming young lady.
He closed the door. What would it hurt to go over and talk to her?
A gaggle of older women with tiaras on their heads and evening gowns were helping Charlie. The Sugar Mamas were on her side? He only counted sixteen tiara-bedecked heads. Not all of them, clearly. But enough.
Kicking his tire, he crossed the street to where the women handed out brochures and talked to people.
Charlie caught sight of him, he was sure, but didn’t wave him over. Was she ignoring him? Hopefully, she wasn’t mad about the sign in her car windshield. He’d acted in good fun.
“Hey, how’s it going?” he asked her in between her chats with people.
“Great.” She looked for the next person to talk to.
Was she being cold to him? He couldn’t tell.
He stuffed his hands inside his pockets. He wished he was wearing his normal flannel rather than this thin dress shirt.
She gave him a strange glance.
“Looks like you’re having some success here.”
Her shoulders relaxed a little. “Yes, we are. Coco’s aunt’s friends are wonderful helpers. They call themselves the Sugar Mamas.”
“I know them. They do a lot of community service.” The women usually in their fifties and on up, were well known in Sugar Creek as being the movers and shakers. They cleaned the church every week and attended community events, sometimes even sponsoring them. His mom was an honorary member since his grandma was one of the early members.
Charlie lit up and glanced around at the women dressed in tiaras accosting people. “Well, they’re serving their community now.”
“Does it seem like it’s working?”
“Oh, yeah.” She flapped a few pages of signatures. “These are the people committed to vote Yes on October 15th.”
He dropped open his mouth. Unbelievable.
“So you’re not mad at me for putting the little sign on your car as a joke.”
She raised her eyebrows. “That was you? Nah, I’m not mad. Thank you for the compliment on my speech.”
“Hey, I was wondering if you’d like to come with me to the bonfire this weekend, as my date.”
She froze.
That wasn’t a good sign, was it?
“Um, sure.” Then she broke into a smile. “I’d love to.”
He let out a wavering breath. That was a relief. “Great.” She wasn’t mad at him for the sign. “I’ll pick you up around sunset on Friday.”
Her eyes flashed. “Sounds like fun.”
A person walked by and looked interested in her pamphlet. “Okay, I’ll let you get back to work here.”
She’d already started talking to the newcomer.
He walked back to his truck opened the door and jumped in. Wha-hoo! He had a date with Charlie. But what was he thinking? He glanced out the window of his cab and watched her gain more signatures on her paper. She was the enemy. Could they still be friends despite being opponents in a battle? There was no way she could convince enough voters to annex the southern route. Right? If she did, how would that impact his feelings for her?