production site. Do you know how many jobs that could bring in?”
“Wait. Neither of those properties is big enough to put a factory in it.”
She sighed again, this time speaking as if he were a particularly obtuse toddler. “It’s a small-batch company. They don’t need a huge amount of space. But he wants to expand, get his product in front of a larger audience so he can begin to add new markets. We have enough tourists to make that possible.”
“Okay, so, good for him, good for the town.” He crossed his arms. “But Lydia has first crack at it.”
“But—”
“Don’t waste your breath trying to talk me out of it, Jelly. River Joe’s has been there forever. If she wants to keep it there, she should have that right.”
“We’ll help her find a new place.”
“Where? You know as well as I do that the riverfront area is full up. That was probably your doing, and if so, then let me be the first to say, good job, Madam Mayor.” He meant it. No matter what had or had not happened in the past, he still wanted the town to thrive. “Lydia deserves that tourist traffic just as much as Mr. Crispy does.”
Jillian’s eyes sparked and she spoke through a jaw so tight he could probably bounce a loonie off it. “We will take care of Lydia. We owe her. But you owe this town, J.T., and this is your chance to help make things right. Think of it as balancing your karma.”
“My karma’s in great shape right now. Giving a widow the heave-ho just to bring someone else into her place, well, that sounds like something a whole lot more likely to feng my shui and all that jazz.”
“But you—”
“Need to get going. You’re right.” He waved his stamps in the air, but with Jillian about to blow her top, he wondered if he was just wiggling a matador’s cape in front of an enraged bull. “My dad’s old boathouse is available. Some cabins, too. If Mr. Chippy is interested in any of those, let me know. Otherwise, sayonara, Jillian.”
* * *
T HE NEXT M ONDAY , Lyddie hung up the phone in her so-called office and tried to keep from either screaming, swearing or sobbing. All were appropriate reactions to the news she’d just received, but none would do a bit of good.
She balled up her apron and threw it into the far corner. It hit the wall with a highly satisfying smack before slithering down to the floor.
“Damn, damn, damn...”
Her volume increased with each utterance, forcing her to clamp her lips tight before she totally lost it. If she started yelling now, she knew it would be heard in the dining room. The last thing she needed was Nadine asking questions. Not yet. Not until she’d had a chance to vent in private.
Lyddie marched to the front of the kitchen and forced herself to take one of those deep, cleansing breaths that the Lamaze instructor had insisted would get her through the worst contractions. It had proven to be a bald-faced lie during labor, but at least now it enabled her to maintain some control as she pushed open the door to the dining room. When she peeked in she was relieved to see that business was still light. The midafternoon lull meant this was her best chance for escape.
“Nadine, will you be okay alone for a few minutes?”
“Sure thing, boss. You got a hot date you have to squeeze in?”
“Yeah, Ryan Gosling’s yacht is passing through and he has a few minutes free for a quickie. Call me if you need me. Otherwise I’ll be back in a few.”
Without waiting for Nadine to respond, Lyddie retraced her steps through the kitchen to the back door. She shoved it open and was hit by a blast of humid heat, the scent of fresh pizza in the air and Jimmy Buffett begging for a cheeseburger in paradise. If she hadn’t been in such a pissy mood she would have reveled in the assortment. As it was, she turned to glare across the parking lot at the reason for her dismay—Patty’s Pizza—then cursed in frustration.
She needed to get away. Needed to vent. Alone.
Something near
“Wait. Neither of those properties is big enough to put a factory in it.”
She sighed again, this time speaking as if he were a particularly obtuse toddler. “It’s a small-batch company. They don’t need a huge amount of space. But he wants to expand, get his product in front of a larger audience so he can begin to add new markets. We have enough tourists to make that possible.”
“Okay, so, good for him, good for the town.” He crossed his arms. “But Lydia has first crack at it.”
“But—”
“Don’t waste your breath trying to talk me out of it, Jelly. River Joe’s has been there forever. If she wants to keep it there, she should have that right.”
“We’ll help her find a new place.”
“Where? You know as well as I do that the riverfront area is full up. That was probably your doing, and if so, then let me be the first to say, good job, Madam Mayor.” He meant it. No matter what had or had not happened in the past, he still wanted the town to thrive. “Lydia deserves that tourist traffic just as much as Mr. Crispy does.”
Jillian’s eyes sparked and she spoke through a jaw so tight he could probably bounce a loonie off it. “We will take care of Lydia. We owe her. But you owe this town, J.T., and this is your chance to help make things right. Think of it as balancing your karma.”
“My karma’s in great shape right now. Giving a widow the heave-ho just to bring someone else into her place, well, that sounds like something a whole lot more likely to feng my shui and all that jazz.”
“But you—”
“Need to get going. You’re right.” He waved his stamps in the air, but with Jillian about to blow her top, he wondered if he was just wiggling a matador’s cape in front of an enraged bull. “My dad’s old boathouse is available. Some cabins, too. If Mr. Chippy is interested in any of those, let me know. Otherwise, sayonara, Jillian.”
* * *
T HE NEXT M ONDAY , Lyddie hung up the phone in her so-called office and tried to keep from either screaming, swearing or sobbing. All were appropriate reactions to the news she’d just received, but none would do a bit of good.
She balled up her apron and threw it into the far corner. It hit the wall with a highly satisfying smack before slithering down to the floor.
“Damn, damn, damn...”
Her volume increased with each utterance, forcing her to clamp her lips tight before she totally lost it. If she started yelling now, she knew it would be heard in the dining room. The last thing she needed was Nadine asking questions. Not yet. Not until she’d had a chance to vent in private.
Lyddie marched to the front of the kitchen and forced herself to take one of those deep, cleansing breaths that the Lamaze instructor had insisted would get her through the worst contractions. It had proven to be a bald-faced lie during labor, but at least now it enabled her to maintain some control as she pushed open the door to the dining room. When she peeked in she was relieved to see that business was still light. The midafternoon lull meant this was her best chance for escape.
“Nadine, will you be okay alone for a few minutes?”
“Sure thing, boss. You got a hot date you have to squeeze in?”
“Yeah, Ryan Gosling’s yacht is passing through and he has a few minutes free for a quickie. Call me if you need me. Otherwise I’ll be back in a few.”
Without waiting for Nadine to respond, Lyddie retraced her steps through the kitchen to the back door. She shoved it open and was hit by a blast of humid heat, the scent of fresh pizza in the air and Jimmy Buffett begging for a cheeseburger in paradise. If she hadn’t been in such a pissy mood she would have reveled in the assortment. As it was, she turned to glare across the parking lot at the reason for her dismay—Patty’s Pizza—then cursed in frustration.
She needed to get away. Needed to vent. Alone.
Something near
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