The Vendor Walk
Emily
Wednesday afternoon should have been simple: one vendor walk, one route map, one timing grid, and a list of acceptable answers to unacceptable personal questions.
Chloe had converted the same route into a paper agenda decorated with tiny hearts.
"Absolutely not," Emily said, standing on the Town Hall steps with her clipboard against her chest.
Chloe held the agenda out of reach. "They are not hearts. They are morale markers."
"They have arrows through them."
"Directional morale."
Nathan Brooks stood one step below them, studying the marked route like it had failed a compliance review.
He had changed out of his suit jacket. Chloe had apparently interpreted "less boardroom" as a direct order, because he now wore a charcoal sweater over a collared shirt, sleeves pushed up, no tie.
It didn't make him look harmless. It made him look as if casual town acquisition had a dress code.
Emily refused to notice the sleeves twice.
"This isn't a date," she said.
"No one said date," Chloe said.
"You wrote 'chemistry check' beside the bakery."
"That is where Mrs. Alvarez keeps the sugar thermometer. It is a technical note."
Nathan took the agenda when Chloe handed it to him. His thumb covered one of the hearts. "Bakery, bookstore, Mercer Supply, café return. Thirty-eight minutes."
"Forty-five," Emily corrected. "Seven minutes of buffer if Aunt Mabel appears."
"Only seven?" Chloe asked.
"I'm trying optimism."
"Bold day for it." Chloe tucked a pen behind her ear.
"Marissa needs visible vendor confidence before Friday.
Grant needs fewer opportunities to make your engagement sound like a zoning loophole.
Main Street needs to see that nobody is panicking.
You two need practice looking like a couple without looking like you have been assigned to a group project by a hostile teacher. "
"We haven't been assigned to a group project," Emily said.
Nathan looked at the hearts again. "It has some elements of one."
"Don't encourage her."
Chloe smiled. "Field training begins now. Bakery first. Priya is worried about breakfast numbers, oven timing, and whether Nathan Brooks is secretly planning to turn cinnamon rolls into a boutique lobby experience."
"I wouldn't put cinnamon rolls in a lobby," Nathan said.
Chloe narrowed her eyes. "Interesting distinction."
Emily took the agenda back before it could become evidence. "We answer logistics. We don't overperform. We don't invent memories. We don't accept gifts. We don't let Aunt Mabel post anything with a caption."
Aunt Mabel's voice floated from the sidewalk below. "I heard my name and disagree in advance."
Emily closed her eyes for one second.
Nathan said nothing, which was becoming one of his more useful skills.
Main Street waited below Town Hall in bright, inconvenient detail: flower baskets hung from black lampposts, chalk arrows pointed toward future festival booths, and every storefront window had some version of SUMMER FESTIVAL WEEK painted on the glass.
The harbor flashed between buildings at the end of the street.
A gull stood on the roof of Mercer Supply with the moral certainty of someone who owed taxes to no one.
People noticed when Emily and Nathan stepped down together.
Emily checked her route map.
"We are not reacting to observers," she said.
"Understood," Nathan said.
"We are not adjusting body language for observers."
"Also understood."
"And we are not—"
"Emily," Chloe called from the café doorway behind them, "walking three feet apart like rival attorneys is a reaction."
Mrs. Keane's knitting paused more visibly.
Emily turned. "You are not on this walk."
"I'm emotionally adjacent."
Nathan looked down at Emily. Not at her mouth. Not in a way anyone could caption. Just a direct, practical look. "What distance is operational?"
"Close enough that people stop measuring," Emily said. "Not so close that Aunt Mabel starts choosing hymns."
"I can work with that."
He moved half a step nearer. He didn't touch her.
Emily started walking before her pulse filed a comment.
Alvarez Bakery smelled like butter, coffee, warm almonds, and public consequences.
"Emily," Priya said. "Nathan." Her gaze moved between them. "Thank you for coming in person."
"That is the purpose of the route," Emily said, already opening the vendor folder.
"You held the parade breakfast order until Thursday afternoon.
I have the revised foot-traffic layout here, plus the generator priority list. Food vendors and refrigerated storage are first tier if Atlantic Coast holds sponsorship Friday.
If they don't, we still cover food safety from the emergency operating fund. "
Priya took the page and read it carefully, which was why Emily liked her. "And booth placement? Last year the muffin table was close enough to the children's craft tent to become an art installation."
"Bakery booth moves six feet toward the library corner. Coffee queue runs along the curb, not across the sidewalk. Chloe is lending two stanchions. Tyler is marking the chalk line tomorrow morning."
"Tyler's chalk lines wander when he's nervous," Mrs. Alvarez said from the ovens.
"I am assigning him a ruler and supervision."
"Good." Priya looked at Nathan. "And this doesn't depend on Brooks money replacing bank money?"
There it was. Practical concern with a surname attached.
Emily felt Nathan shift beside her. Not forward. Just into attention.
"No," he said. "Emily's plan prioritizes the emergency fund first, pending the Friday review. My bridge pledge is separate and committee-approved. It doesn't alter vendor placement, deposits, or terms."
Priya looked back to Emily.
That mattered more than the answer.
"Correct," Emily said. "No side agreements. No special vendor terms."
Mrs. Alvarez carried a tray of cooling croissants toward the front case. The tower of ribboned pastry boxes near her elbow tilted.
Nathan moved before Emily could warn her. Not dramatic. One hand caught the top box, the other steadied the stack against the counter. A single blue ribbon slipped loose and landed on his wrist.
Mrs. Alvarez stared at him.
Nathan set the box back in line. "The left side of this counter still slopes toward the register."
Emily looked at him.
Priya blinked. "You remember that?"
"Your father used to wedge a folded receipt under the display case. It didn't work after the humidity rose."
Mrs. Alvarez pulled the ribbon off his wrist. "It worked better than your uncle's suggestion to level the whole building."
Nathan's jaw tightened, but he didn't retreat into that polished silence he used when Harbor Cove hit the Brooks bruise. "I agree."
Mrs. Alvarez's face changed by one degree. In bakery terms, that was a weather event.
Emily checked her folder because she needed somewhere to put her attention that wasn't Nathan remembering a sloping counter from fifteen years ago.
Priya tapped the layout. "This helps. I can keep the breakfast order open until tomorrow. But I need something for customers today. People are asking whether Monday is still real."
"Tell them breakfast stays on schedule," Emily said. "Deposit release Friday after sponsor review. Emergency fund covers generator and food safety if needed. If anyone wants it in writing, send them to me."
"They want reassurance, not homework."
"I can do both."
Mrs. Alvarez opened the glass case and removed one cupcake. White frosting. Blue icing. Two tiny sugar shells near the edge.
Emily's stomach sank before she saw the word.
Congratulations.
"No," she said.
Mrs. Alvarez put it in a small box anyway. "Yes."
"We are not accepting engagement gifts."
"This isn't a gift. It is product testing. The buttercream was too sweet."
"Then why does it say congratulations?"
"Because unsweetened buttercream lacks hope."
Priya pressed her lips together. Her shoulders shook once.
Nathan looked at the cupcake box as if it were a document requiring cautious review.
Mrs. Alvarez folded the lid closed and slid it across the counter toward Emily. "Take it. People have seen me make it. If you refuse, they will think you are fighting. If you accept, they will order six more for Monday. This is called commerce."
"This is called blackmail with frosting."
"Also commerce."
Emily looked toward the front window. Two women outside had slowed enough to inspect the reflection. Aunt Mabel was across the street pretending to photograph a lamppost at an angle that included the bakery window.
"Fine." Emily took the box. "For testing."
Mrs. Alvarez's smile became merciless. "Of course."
Nathan stepped slightly closer as they turned toward the door. "Would you like me to carry that?"
"I can carry a cupcake."
"I know."
She transferred the cupcake to her left hand. "No. Thank you."
He nodded once and opened the door.
Outside, Aunt Mabel lowered her phone too late.
"Mabel," Emily said.
"Emily," Mabel said, innocent enough to be prosecutable. "Nathan. Lovely bakery weather."
"Weather doesn't happen inside bakeries."
"Not with that attitude." Mabel's eyes dropped to the box. "Is that for the engagement?"
"Product testing."
"Romantic product testing."
Nathan said, "Buttercream due diligence."
Emily looked at him.
Aunt Mabel looked delighted. "Oh, he's learning local."
"Next stop," Emily said.
Harbor Books sat two doors down, wedged between a shell shop and an insurance office whose window display featured a paper sailboat sinking under the words ARE YOU COVERED?
The bookstore window had already become a festival shrine: local history books, children's treasure maps, a basket of sea-glass bookmarks, and a romance display under a hand-lettered sign: FAKE DATING, REAL FEELINGS.
Emily stopped walking.
Nathan stopped beside her.
"Chloe," Emily said, though Chloe wasn't present.
The bookstore door opened. Sloane Bell stepped out with a stack of flyers.