Chapter 10 #3
He wouldn’t make a fool of himself by glaring across the yard. Still, the sight stayed with him—Scottie’s laughter, her joy, offered to them and not him.
“Uncle Tate!” Brody’s voice pierced his thoughts. “Can you help us with the three-legged race?”
“Yeah, buddy.” He set the buns down by the grill. “Be right there.”
Brody grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the gaggle of kids already lining up.
Tate bent down, tied knots, and offered encouragement.
He laughed with them, cheering as Tisha played the role of referee.
Yeah, okay, he could do his part. But his attention kept slipping, eyes drawn across the lawn. Drawn into Scottie’s orbit once again.
By the time he was free, Scottie had moved on to the line for food. She stood beside her father, chatting with the lady beside her while helping Gary fill a plate at the buffet. She leaned close, listening as he murmured something, her curls brushing his shoulder.
And then she looked up.
Their eyes caught across the crowd. A jolt hit Tate’s chest as if he’d grabbed a live wire. There it was again, that pull he couldn’t fight, couldn’t explain. The current zinged through him. Everything else—the chatter, the laughter, the smell of smoke from the grill—faded into the background.
She didn’t look away. Neither did he.
Tate turned to find Mr. Dillon from the hardware store and Nadine Park, the new librarian who had replaced Mrs. Manning when she retired, stopping in front of him. They both wore earnest smiles.
“Got a minute?” Nadine asked. “Since you are running for that empty council seat, we were hoping we could ask you a few questions.”
“Of course.” He made himself smile. “I’m happy to chat.”
“Good,” Mr. Dillon said. “As a small business owner yourself”—he gestured to the resort—“I know you all have struggled like the rest of us since the tidal wave. What sort of incentives do you have in mind to benefit local small businesses?”
“And the library keeps getting bumped down the list,” Nadine added. “Our roof is still leaking. We need a plan.”
Tate stood straighter. “Short answer: I’m a firm believer in targeted relief for small businesses. Off the top of my head, perhaps some micro-grants. We definitely need to get everybody’s building facades back in shape before winter. We want all of Redemption to look inviting and walkable.”
Mr. Dillon ran his hand along his neatly trimmed white beard. “As I’m sure you’re aware, funds are stretched pretty thin. Even though it’s been a good summer, we’re not back to where we want to be.”
“I understand,” Tate said. “We’ve had a tough time as well.
There are some underutilized resources available.
” He kept talking, but his attention traveled past Nadine’s shoulder.
Scottie had guided her dad to an empty table.
And Sheldon, the show’s alleged wilderness expert, slid into the chair across from her.
Scottie’s smile once again drove an arrow straight through him.
Pay attention. This is important.
“Um, like I was saying. My opinion only, of course, but there are a couple of projects that could probably be tabled until next spring. The gazebo outside the visitor center, for example. No offense, but it’s going to get buried in the snowbank.”
Nadine’s mouth twitched. “I do love that gazebo, but not more than books. We need to get the library’s roof fixed first.”
“You are absolutely right,” Mr. Dillon said. “And another thing that concerns me. My grandkids like to walk to school when they can. Traffic has picked up a lot near the elementary school. They have a tough time crossing the intersection safely. How do you feel about a crossing guard?”
“I would say probably a volunteer would be ideal—sort of a crosswalk marshal, if you will—at pickup and drop-off,” Tate said.
Sheldon leaned in, said something else to Scottie. She clamped his forearm with her hand. Tate could read her lips as she clearly commiserated with Sheldon.
I know, right?
Tate gritted his teeth. Even Gary looked as if he was in on the fun, laughing as he took a bite of his hamburger. That traitor.
“Long term, we’re going to have to budget for a more permanent solution,” Tate continued. “We’re starting to get into DOT territory with crosswalk modifications or introducing a four-way stop. You know how they love a good project, though, so hopefully they’ll be open to our suggestions.”
Mr. Dillon laughed. “Valid points. And how about that waiting list for more boat slips? I’m curious to know your thoughts on that.”
“Yeah, I had to leave the meeting.” Tate palmed the back of his neck. “Not sure how that one turned out.”
Irritation flashed in Nadine’s eyes. “We’ve noticed how those reality TV show people seem to be getting priority around here.”
Oh boy. That comment drew some curious glances.
Nadine frowned and shook her head. “Sometimes I wonder if we’ve learned anything from that tidal wave.”
“I hear what you’re saying.” Mr. Dillon linked his arms across his chest, nodding. “It’s a real catch-22, isn’t it? Outsiders bring revenue, and sometimes new ideas can really help with growth of the community, but often they’re just not worth the trouble.”
Tate longed to be a voice that people trusted.
A man devoted to finding solutions. But now, part of him longed to be the guy who walked away from this conversation.
Who convinced Sheldon he had somewhere he needed to be.
Right on cue, Sheldon tossed his head back and laughed, and Scottie did that scrunched-nose smile that made Tate’s pulse run wild.
“Last question,” Nadine said, politely lifting one finger. “There’s been talk that you’re a little bit rigid—maybe too safety conscious?”
Oh, here we go. He huffed out a breath. “I believe in rules that save lives, and I can be flexible when it’s in the community’s best interest. If I’m on the town council, my job will be to strike a balance. Responsibility is key.”
“Responsibility would be nice,” Mr. Dillon said. He stuck out a hand. “You’ve got my vote.”
“Well, thanks,” Tate said, shaking his hand. “Nadine, can you email me a couple of photos of the leaky roof? Or I could come by and take some pictures myself.”
“Absolutely,” Nadine said. She opened her purse, rummaged around, and then held out her business card. “Why don’t you email me, and then we can continue this conversation?”
“Perfect.” Tate pocketed her card.
“Thanks for your time,” Mr. Dillon said.
“Yes, thanks.” Nadine smiled. They walked away, heads together, chatting as they got in line at the s’mores bar.
Scottie looked up, her eyes searching, and found his again. Her smile was small. She lifted a s’more—probably one that Sheldon had brought her.
He basked in the warmth of her attention, feeling its impact behind his sternum, along his sweaty palms, and in the way his pulse rocketed into orbit.
But he couldn’t move.
“You know, I couldn’t help but overhear your comment about volunteers as crossing guards,” Mrs. Dawkins said, sidling up next to him, her bright lipstick bleeding into the creases around her mouth.
“Who would coordinate an effort like that? And wouldn’t you need some sort of line item in the budget for their reflective vests?
And they’re going to need to have stop signs. ”
“Right. Excellent points, Mrs. Dawkins. I’ll be sure to add them to my proposal.” He scooted past her. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to empty this overflowing garbage can.” He gestured to the large rubber bin nearby. Plates and napkins were starting to tumble off the pile.
He glanced over his shoulder one more time. Scottie’s gaze snagged his, bright and unwavering beneath the string of vintage lights that Megan had just turned on. She didn’t beckon, but she didn’t look away either.
He heaved the garbage out of the can and tied the bag shut.
He had to do what was best for the resort, just like he’d always do what was best for Redemption.
He felt the warmth of Scottie’s gaze on his back as he carried the trash away.
But hadn’t he done enough? He needed to make space for Scottie too.
When he turned back again, she and Sheldon were gone.