Page 116 of Banter & Blushes

“It was the northern Europeans who invented the waffle iron to create those little squares. Do you know why they needed those squares?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell us?” Mabel said, her voice laced with curiosity as she plunged her hand into the depths of an oversized tote bag draped over her shoulder. The bag was a vibrant pink, encrusted with faux rhinestones matching the ones embedded in the sunglasses sitting on Mabel’s curly salt-and-pepper hair.

Caroline watched, amused and a little amazed, as the older woman pulled out a flashlight, a handful of granola bars wrapped with knitting yarn, and a travel-sized bottle of hand sanitizer. The bedazzled tote seemed to hold the contents of a small convenience store, the straps straining under the weight of its endless inventory.

“For texture and to hold syrup.” Caroline dropped her fork, watching as it tumbled to the porcelain plate with a sharp, resonating clang which echoed through the quiet dining room. “Can you imagine? Someone putting so much thought and planning into a breakfast food?” She slumped back into her chair, her outburst leaving behind only a quiet, unfilled pause. “I can’t even get the town to update our street maps.”

“Bless your heart,” Gigi said. “You need more syrup in your life.”

“What I need is to update Max and his pelican. We need to get everything together by Memorial Day.” Flipping through her planner, Caroline started counting off squares. “It’s only thirty-nine days.” She picked up a bright pink highlighter and drew a square around the last Monday in May.

“Isn’t Memorial Day later this year?” Mabel continued to rummage through her oversized bag as she dropped a purple bingo dauber on the table. “I knew it was in there somewhere. I’ve been looking for this since the Senior Center.” She looked at the marker with unflinching satisfaction before rolling it over to Gigi.

Caroline cringed. If Mabel was looking for her dauber, then the Bingo Queens, as the town dubbed them, had already put together a card.

“I wish Daddy was here. He’d be able to guide me through this. I know nothing about marketing.”

Gigi lifted a manicured eyebrow. “And your father does? Listen, Caroline. You’re the best mayor since your daddy.”

“Let’s talk about what’s important, then. How am I going to get the right Instagram-able photo op before summer?”

“Everything’s online these days. Count me out.” Mabel made a face. “I like my gram without the insta. Thank you very much.”

Caroline picked up the pen again and tapped it to her lips, thinking. “Maybe if we update the boardwalk with some string lights, we could do a retro style campaign. We could even have Max do it in his absurd pelican style.”

“Absurd!” Gigi gasped, her hand covering her mouth. “That’s the word I was looking for. You’d be better off enlisting Boomer. At least you can hear him several counties over.”

No one knew what Boomer’s real name was. He had been a fixture in the town since Caroline had been coming for summer vacations with her parents. He was known for standing at the corner of the boardwalk and announcing Bluebell Bay’s news and gossip every afternoon at 4 o’clock sharp. When he wasn’t playing the role of town crier, he could be found entertaining tourists with his ukulele, tuba or one-man band contraption he carried around on his back.

Caroline closed the notebook, placed the pen carefully in the rings of the spiral, and dropped her head on the table. “One week and I’m already a failure. If we don’t get more tourists to town, I’m afraid of what might happen.”

Mabel leaned forward, lowering her voice with the dramatic flair usually reserved for soap operas and surprise pregnancies. She tapped Caroline on the arm. “You know who you should talk to?”

Caroline didn’t look up.

“If you say the universe, I swear?—”

“Carter Beckett. He used to be somebody in marketing. Big deal. Big city. Then poof. Now he has a surfboard, a hammock, and a poor attitude.”

Caroline lifted her head, intrigued despite herself. “Beck?”

“It would be good for you,” Gigi said, a gleam in her eyes as she slid a fresh round of sugar packets toward Caroline, forming a little mountain of pink and blue. “My granddaughters think he’s cute.”

“Ew, Gigi,” Caroline protested, feigning exasperation as she spread the sugar neatly across the table, avoiding her own blush. “He’s practically a child.”

“He’s thirty-three,” Mabel supplied. “And a half.”

“So, he’s just barely reached maturity. Perfect.”

Gigi grinned. “I knew you were interested. A little fun won’t kill you.”

“I am not interested,” Caroline insisted, though even as she spoke, an image of Beck flashed in her mind. The rebellious hair, his amiable smile. Annoyingly handsome. She shook her head. It didn’t matter; she had a job to do. “Besides, I’m busy trying to save Bluebell Bay, remember?”

“What better way than with Beck’s help?” Gigi pressed. “Multi-task, dear.”

“I’ll think about it,” Caroline conceded, flipping open her notebook with a sigh. Grabbing the pen from the coil, she slowly jotted down the name in her best block letters.Carter Beckett.“After everything else.”

“It’s not a no.” Mabel grabbed Gigi’s arm and gave it a few quick shakes.

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