Page 111 of Banter & Blushes

SMALL TOWN SCHEMES AND SUMMER KISSES

CHRISTINE STERLING

CHAPTER 1

CAROLINE

Caroline Hollis’s heels clicked a determined rhythm on the sidewalk. Her vibrant, bright pink golf cart waited dutifully by the curb as she made her way across the parking lot of the only three-story building in town. The front of the cart was adorned with a bold inscription of The Hollis Express in a striking turquoise vinyl, the colors a stark contrast to the faded pastel hues of the off-season seaside town. They did, however, catch the eye of everyone as Caroline zipped along with an air of cheerful whimsy.

She was a familiar face in Bluebell Bay, having spent most of her childhood in this charming, nosy town. After many years away, Caroline returned home with a bruised but resilient heart following the spectacular failure of a six-month marriage. Her husband, a high-powered businessman with a weakness for younger women, had found her more of a taskmaster than a trophy wife, she heard, and not built for the role of arm-candy.

She found him intolerably shallow, preferring golf on Saturdays to anything resembling a meaningful conversation. Without the slightest hint of regret, she left him and traded his brand of chaos for the familiar salt-scented air of the bay. The town welcomed her back with open, gossip-hungry arms and more than a few eyebrows raised on her return. Caroline never discussed what occurred in her brief marriage and instead threw herself into her work as a remote project manager for a management consulting firm.

It was natural she stepped up to assist her father, Bluebell Bay’s mayor, whenhe took five months to spend the winter in Florida. She was convinced, however, of the forty-two residents who lived in Bluebell Bay year-round, she was the only one crazy enough to agree to the task.

Exhaling softly, she fingered the clipboard like a security blanket, a plan for summer tourism scrawled neatly across its pages. She pulled the golf cart door open and sank into the driver’s seat, the bright pink of her outfit practically camouflaged against the interior. Brushing a stray hair from her forehead, she revved the engine and flipped a switch to turn on the heated seats, tugging her jacket tighter around her to ward off the chilly air.

She had been tricked by the single day when the temperature climbed to a warm seventy-eight degrees, prompting her to take the solid doors off her buggy and trading them for half doors which did nothing to block the cooler temperatures. April had ushered in a deceptive spring to the quaint, small town tucked away along the scenic Virginia shoreline. Nestled snugly between the bustling Virginia Beach and the serene North Carolina border, it was a hidden gem, shrouded in the whispers of the ocean breeze, which most tourists had long overlooked.

Now, it appeared, judging by the empty businesses, they had completely forgotten about the town.

The engine hummed healthily as she maneuvered toward the main street, her mind humming through plans just as fast. She had five months to breathe life into Bluebell Bay, to lure tourists back to the quaint streets and sandy shores of her childhood.

The Bluebell Summer Gala was her trump card, designed to kick off the season with a memorable splash and bring it to a close at Labor Day. She just needed to sell the idea to her father and the town.

Her father’s slow drawl echoed in her head, “No one’s gonna trust a splash from a paper pusher.”

She would show him, and the rest of Bluebell Bay, Caroline Hollis had more than a few tricks up her sleeve. Steering past the weather-worn pier and the shuttered taffy shop, she felt the weight of expectation mixed with the salt air. Every turn revealed empty streets seeming to challenge her ambition. Lila’s souvenir shack sat closed, a lonely “Come Back Soon” flag flapping half-heartedly in the breeze.

More like, come back never,she thought grimly.

The wind tugged at her tailored jacket as she zoomed past the antique shop, the bakery, the empty storefronts whispered urgent reminders of her mission. Eager to get home and sort through her notes, she was already planning her evening strategy when a shrill ring broke her concentration. She glanced at her phone when a picture of father grinning in a tropical shirt made her sigh.

Pulling into the carport next to her cottage, she pushed the button on the phone screen with a determined jab as she cut the engine.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Caroline! Do you have me on speaker? It sounds like you’re in a wind tunnel.”

She lifted the phone closer to her mouth. “Give me a sec. I just got home.” Grabbing the clipboard and her overstuffed laptop bag, she quickly unlocked her side door and let herself in. Putting the phone on the counter, she dropped her bag and slid the clipboard into the side pocket. “Better?”

“Better. At least I can hear you now. How’s my favorite mayor doing?”

“Not a mayor,” Caroline corrected, a smile tugging at her lips. “Still here in the chilly north, unlike some.” Seagulls cried in the background, and she could almost smell the sunscreen and warm sand coming through the line.

“Not chilly here, kiddo! But listen, I’m just checking in. I imagine you’ve heard the news?”

“You mean the one where you leave town and I am here to clean up the mess?” she replied, raising her eyebrow, though he couldn’t see. “Should I invest in flip-flops and alligator repellent? I can join you within a week.”

“Tempting as it is,” he chuckled, “I’m calling about something else. The special council had a meeting.”

“Special council? You mean Gigi, Mabel and Boomer?” The trio had to be at least two-hundred years old combined, and they had lived in town before Caroline was even born. If the three of them were involved, it probably wasn’t good. Caroline’s fingers drummed the counter unconsciously. “I hope they’re keeping your desk warm.”

“Warmer than you might like. They’ve appointed you as mayor.”

Kicking off her shoes, she moved to the back door and gazed out at the ocean in the distance. She blinked rapidly at the water, watching the horizon blur for a moment. “Just until you tire of palm trees and sunshine. Right? You should be back when? Tourist season opens in five weeks. I need to talk to you about this gala idea.”

There was a pause, laden with the weight of a thousand fatherly nods. “It’s going to be longer than five weeks. You’re on your own, sweetheart. Bagels and I aren’t coming back.”

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