Page 76 of Shifting Sands

“We’re almost ready to open the doors,” she says.

“What does it look like out there?” I ask.

“Complete and utter insanity!”

Garrett Tuttle is taking the stage tonight.

Brandee’s friend Erin arrived in town a few days ago with a group she called the Balsam Ridge Brigade, which included Jena; Taeli and Graham Tuttle, their son, Caleb; Ansley and Garrett Tuttle; and Langford’s son, Tucker. They are spread out between my house and Ida Mae’s cottage.

After much persuasion from the women—led by Audrey—Garrett agreed to do a surprise, one-night-only concert at Whiskey Joe’s. Poor guy never stood a chance with the Sandcastle Cove five teaming up with the women from Balsam Ridge. They knew it, and so did he.

News about the show spread quickly. Tickets had to be purchased in advance and sold out within minutes. However, seating is first come, first served, so people have been waitingoutside for hours, camped out all day, hoping to secure a good table.

“Are you ready for this?” I ask.

She smirks. “I was born ready.”

We hired extra security and borrowed a couple of skilled bartenders from Coastal Luxe, a nightclub owned by a friend in Wilmington, for the night. We’ve had some great bands perform here, but Garrett is by far the biggest star to ever grace our stage.

Audrey glances down at the folder on my desk, labeledWhiskey Joe’s Franchising Venture.

“What’s that?” she asks, unabashedly curious.

“A proposal I’m considering to expand the Whiskey Joe’s brand,” I reply.

“Expand?”

I nod. “Brewster Sr. wants to bring it into the Cartwright Motorsports family and open locations in and around the speedways we own across the country.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Wow. Really?”

“Yep. He’s serious too. His assistant sent me a detailed list of properties that had been scouted.”

“How would it work?” she asks, sinking into the seat in front of my desk.

“He wants to build exact replicas of this location and assign a general manager for each one to handle everything from the ground up.”

“But they’d all be owned by Cartwright Motorsports?”

“Yes.”

“So, not a true franchise with independent owners,” she says.

“No. I told him that if I were to consider it, I wanted them all under our control, so you and I could ensure each one meets the same standards as this location,” I explain.

“You and me?”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t do it without you.”

Her eyes grow misty.

“But this is something the two of us need to discuss in depth. I’m not sure if I want to take on a project this big. It would mean selling to the company, which would mean you’d be working for Cartwright. This place wouldn’t be my baby anymore; it would be part of something much larger, which comes with more pressure. We need to decide if that’s what we want to do. But that discussion isn’t for tonight. Tonight, we just focus on giving the crowd and Garrett the best experience we can.”

She stands. “Right. Let’s do this.”

We walk into the club, and the staff is bustling around. Four bartenders are stationed behind the main bar, and servers are ready and waiting. Garrett is finishing up his final sound check with a group of local musicians who are joining him as his band for the night. Extra tables and chairs have been arranged on the dance floor, leaving only a small space open for those willing to stand in front of the stage all night.

To the left of the stage, a large table is occupied by our friends, both old and new. I offered them seats in the VIP section, but they insisted on leaving those spots for paying customers.

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