Chapter 13 Mason
Mason
Pam and Sierra are already waiting at the pier when I show up in the morning, five minutes early. When I see that each of them has a large Cutie Fruitie cup in hand, I drop one of the two takeout cups of coffee that I brought from the bar into a trash can before Pam can see it.
Yeah, so maybe I brought her a coffee to kiss up.
I see Sierra has already beaten me at that game.
But I need Pam to see that me and Sierra, working together—it ain’t gonna work.
Unfortunately, Sierra sees me dump the coffee and smirks at me as I approach. “Something wrong with that coffee, Mason?” She wears a short white tennis skirt that flutters around her creamy thighs in the breeze.
“Just finished it,” I mutter. I take a sip of my coffee as my gaze skims her perky cleavage in the skimpy, strappy yoga top she chose to wear for this meeting.
Savage. The woman is savage.
I guess whatever kindness she showed last night was a one-time thing.
Maybe she was just drunk again.
“Good morning, Mason,” Pam says briskly.
She’s holding a loaded clipboard, and her three-year-old son is driving a toy dump truck up and down her leg, so she gets right to it.
“I was just bringing Sierra up to speed about the festival, explaining how visitors will walk in under the big banner where Cherry Way meets Water Street. They’ll smell the barbecue, hear music from the stage, see kids making chalk art along the sidewalks.
The vibe is community spirit and family fun, but we all know the real draw to Sunshine Fest is the food. ”
“And the drink, of course.” Sierra slurps her smoothie.
“Right,” Pam says. “And our key concern is maintaining flow between the various entertainment zones and the food service areas. Main stage. Farmers’ market. Family fun zone. Food trucks. Barbecue pit. And both of your places.”
“About that,” I say. “Considering that we’re essentially in competition, professionally, right now, I’m not sure that Sierra and I can ethically work together, so—”
“Oh, I have no problem working with Mason,” Sierra says, not even looking at me.
Pam looks from her to me.
I grind my molars, then grit out, “Great. Just checking. I have no problem with it, either.” Because no way am I letting her win this power struggle. I am not letting her make me look like the bad guy here.
“Okay . . . Now that that’s settled,” Pam says, “here’s the issue we still need to resolve. We need to rethink our food service layout, now that Sea Haven isn’t running the pop-up at the pier like we thought it would be. Instead, we have a smoothie bar.”
“Oh. How does that change things?” Sierra asks.
“Well,” I fill her in, “maybe because where we were expecting to offer people actual food, now they only get liquid fruit.”
Sierra’s light-green eyes fix on me, ridiculously beautiful in the morning sun. “I don’t see a problem. My smoothies are packed with nutrients. They’re way more nutritious than pub grub.”
“Excuse me, ‘pub grub’? Is that what you’re calling the food in my establishment?”
The unflinching look in her eyes says, You waged war on me, buddy. Take it like a man.
“I’m adapting my menu to highlight local ingredients during the festival,” she says pleasantly, kissing up to Pam. “And I’m happy to share my patio area with vendors who can provide ‘actual food.’”
“Great,” I say. “Because you have the most visible spot. So, you won’t mind if my bar serves food on your patio.”
She snorts. “I don’t think so.”
“Look,” Pam interrupts. “I already have four kids of my own and fires to put out elsewhere. So, I’m gonna let you two kids work this out.” And with that, she shoves the clipboard at me, answers her buzzing phone, and she’s gone, three-year-old in tow.
“Way to go. You pissed off Pam.” Sierra sips her smoothie and gazes at me innocently. “She’s a busy mom, you know.”
“You need to be flexible here. This isn’t even your town.”
She rolls her eyes. “We are not serving food from your bar on my patio. It makes no sense. I’m happy to partner with one of the food trucks. Or the community barbecue pit that Pam mentioned. You have your whole parking lot for the beer and cider garden. Don’t be greedy, Mason.”
“I’m being greedy?”
“Why don’t you keep to your own establishment, I’ll keep to mine, and we’ll just see what people prefer,” she says coolly.
“What are you proposing? Some childish contest?”
“Doesn’t have to be childish. We just see which business is more popular during the festival.”
“Sounds childish.”
“It’s market research.”
She has no idea. “You want to pit alcohol against smoothies? The beer and cider garden will crush you.”
“Bring it on. And let’s be real. Alcohol is not included in this challenge.
While I’d love to offer June’s cider for sale and go head-to-head with yours, my smoothie bar is unlicensed.
So, we’re talking my smoothies versus your ‘actual food.’” Her eyes glitter at me in a way that can’t be misconstrued.
This woman is competitive. She’s living for this shit. She’d fight me and even lose trying, rather than sit back and share with the likes of me.
“If that’s what you want,” I tell her.
“Great. Whoever sells more, we take that to June. It’s proof of what people want, and therefore which business should get to lease Pier Seven for the rest of the summer. Unless, of course, you’re too scared of losing to a woman and a bunch of ‘liquid fruit.’”
We stare each other down. And Jace’s words come back to haunt me.
Sierra fucking scares you.
“Fine,” I say. “Agreed. When you lose, you can pack up and move out.”
I turn on my heel and head over to my bar just to get the sight of her out of my eyes. My heart is racing. Every fucking word the woman says gets under my skin.
“Cool!” she calls after me. “When you lose, you can throw yourself a pity party at your bar! I’ll send over smoothies!”