Page 93 of Love You, Mean It

“So you’re planning to sell it to some medium-sized-box store instead?” Chet Beauport drawled from the third row. He was maybe fifteen years older than me and ran a CrossFit gym near the Burnton border. Actually, a gym would be the perfect tenant for a space that size.

“No. As it happens, the building’s already been sold.”

The buzz grew louder.Weren’t consulted…bad for small business…what about traffic?Theo’s mouth tightened with annoyance.

“Did you want to hear more about our actual plans? Or…” He raised an eyebrow, his trademarkI’m too busy for thislook settling on his handsome face. Something like nostalgia bloomed beneath my sternum.

“Wonderful. So, I know it’s hard to make out details, but the space will be subdivided into seven small units, with a large central atrium. I’ll be opening these to tenants this fall, once buildingrepairs and maintenance are complete. Rents will be in line with other commercial properties in the city, and the central section will have additional space for permitted microbusinesses. Think single-item food stalls, or booths for artisans.”

I glanced around, waiting for someone to ask the obvious question, but the buzz of conversation showed no sign of stopping. Feeling sheepish—I’d never been to one of these things before, so if there was a protocol, I didn’t knowhowto follow it—I raised my hand.

“Yes?” Theo looked at me with the mild interest of a museum docent.

“This plan is for the first floor. What about the rest of the building?” Sam had said at the dinner that even leasing offices had been a problem—how were they going to attract four full floors of tiny businesses?

“That will be converted into housing.”

“Great, more luxury condos? Just what Milborough needs,” Mary Thornton spat. She’d always been sour.

“The current plan is for this to be converted to a single residence, though it’s possible that will need to be rethought. Either way, to answer your…well, it wasn’t really aquestion,but no, luxury condos aren’t likely.”

“And why should we approve this?” a man in the first row grumbled. “How will a fancy new house on top of a few shops help Milborough?”

“The plan doesn’trequireyour approval,” Theo said, mild amusement curving his lips. “The building’s already zoned mixed-use, and the purchase is already under way.” He raised a hand to shoulder height as the indignant murmurs rose in pitch. “I’mherebecause the buyer would like to involve the town in the plans for the retail portion. Nothing’s set in stone yet, and the goal is to make this a self-sustaining space for years to come. So if any of you have thoughts on how it could be put to better use, I invite you to share them.”

The room quieted for a few seconds, then a woman a few rows back raised a hand.

“Will there still be parking at the building?”

“Yes. With multiple businesses occupying the space, it felt important to the overall success of the project.”

Another hand shot up.

“Are there limits to what kinds of businesses can go in? Like…will restaurants be considered?”

“At least one café or restaurant tenant would be preferred. It would add to the space’s appeal as a destination.”

From there, questions started flowing thick and fast, and while some were still salt-cured—griping seemed to be endemic to the existence of the town meeting—most showed genuine interest. After about ten minutes, the selectman moved up next to Theo again, and Theo stepped aside.

“Mr. Taylor has kindly agreed to take additional questions in the coming weeks. His email address is on the printout near the lemonade. He has also invited everyone to inspect the building plans, which he’s happy to send out upon request. For now, we need to move on to the issue of unregulated firepits.”

Twenty minutes later we were all rising from our uncomfortable folding chairs, chatting to neighbors as people started to drift out the door.

“I’m surprised no one asked the obvious question,” Mimi said under her breath, wry amusement pulling out an alluvial fan of wrinkles on the flood plains of her cheeks.

“What’s that?”

“Who bought the building, of course.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” I turned to find Sam at my shoulder, smiling conspiratorially at Mimi.

“If I had to bet money, I’d say it was the same man who was telling us all about the brilliant new vision for the ‘European Market.’ ”

“You should go to Vegas, Mrs. Greco. I bet you’d clean up.”

“I always do. Speaking of, I’m going to snag one of those cookies before the vultures take them all.” Mimi patted my arm once before beelining for the refreshments.

“Wait,Theobought the building?” I blinked at Sam, mouth dropping open, too shocked to remember that we weren’t really speaking.

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