Page 12 of Cherry Picked
“Good evening, folks,” he said. “Thank you, Mayor York, for that nice introduction. Um. As Ernest said, I’m the environmental compliance officer for the Evola Development Corporation. We’re so excited to be here in Little Pippin Hollow to work with you on creating the kind of resort development that would not only be mutually beneficial from a commercial standpoint but also an exciting opportunity to preserve and celebrate the beautiful landscape of Fogg Peak. We hope Fogg Aerie becomes the kind of destination resort that honors the values and purpose of Little Pippin Hollow, and we really,reallyappreciate your willingness to work with us to make sure this project is the best it can be.”
My ears perked up. Environmental compliance officer? That was new. And he sounded like he actually cared about the things I was most concerned about.
“Change is hard. Progress can seem scary,” Environmental Guy went on, looking genuinely sympathetic. “Sometimes, that means people see us as the bad guys. The outsiders coming in to destroy your town’s charm and natural beauty. I promise, I’m no evil mastermind.” He pressed a hand to his chest and flashed a sweet, rueful grin that made the audience chuckle.
Webb leaned forward to give me a significant look that I refused to acknowledge, and in front of me, Jack nodded his head like a bobblehead.
My stomach churned.
Jack and I had discussed the proposed resort a bunch of times since it had first been mentioned last winter. I’d never actually asked him which box he’d be checking when it came time for the vote, but every time I passionately defended Fogg Peak, he reminded me that there was “lots to consider.”
I’d hoped that meant that he was actuallyconsideringthings, but now I wasn’t so sure. He complained about the “flatlanders” clogging the roads every fall during foliage season, but more tourists meant increased revenue at Panini Jack’s. And while he might love hiking at Fogg Peak, he clearly wasn’t going to let that love overcome his logic… which was kind of a running theme for the day.
“I’ll be staying with Ms. Fortnum over at Apple of My Eye Inn for the next few weeks,” Environmental Guy went on. “I urge any and all of you to stop by and see me if you have any questions or concerns about the project. We care about this town. We care about you.”
Interesting. Back when the development had first been proposed, Helena Fortnum—leader of the Little Pippin Hookers, third grade teacher since the dawn of time, and the Hollow’s biggest gossip—had been its most vocal protestor. She’d once staged a topless knit-in with the other Hookers, and she’d petitioned Mayor York to create a committee to study its environmental impact on the fragile ecosystems of this part of Vermont. Our group had met weekly for a while, drafting flyers and planning demonstrations, but then spring planting season had ramped up. Folks had gotten busy with their own lives and, it seemed, forgotten about the protests. If Ms. Fortnum was now hosting Evola’s staff at her bed-and-breakfast, clearly saving Fogg Peak was no longer her priority.
Environmental Guy ceded the floor to a marketing director, who spewed some bullshit brochure-speak, and then to Evola’s legal representative, whose sole purpose seemed to be to encourage us all to sleep by discussing zoning changes and proposed contract fine print in a monotonous voice.
Against my will, my mind wandered from the meeting, and I found my gaze tracing an errant blond curl caught on the edge of Jack’s ear. My finger itched to brush it away or wrap it around my finger to feel the silky softness of it against my skin.
Give it up, Hawkins.
I closed my eyes and clenched my fists in my lap. Every single part of Jack Wyatt felt so much like home to me—the strength of his shoulders, the tiny vulnerable freckle at the base of his neck that begged for a kiss—that it was hard to remember he wasn’t mine.
This infatuation with my brother’s best friend, my boss, had to stop. It had reached dangerous levels if today’s disastrous proposal was any indication. My stomach roiled with embarrassed nausea.
There were so many ways I could have approached my proposition better. Maybe if I’d flirted with Jack, or teased him, or simply kissed him and let things happen… fuck, anything besides confessing I was an anal virgin who’d selected him to deflower me—
He wouldn’t sleep with you no matter how you asked him.
The thought was equal parts comforting and depressing.
Mr. Diallo snored loud enough that he jolted in his chair, and for a second, I tuned back in to what was happening on stage.
“…and pursuant to the agreement detailed in section 12.3, Evola agrees to replant fifty percent of the trees taken down during the clear-cutting of the Glassy Ridge area around Glassy Creek to make way for the recreation rotunda, within the time frame discussed in part B of the…”
I stood up so fast my chair ricocheted back, and Crys caught it with a startled “Jeez, boo!” that I barely heard over the roar in my brain.
“Whoa! Wait a minute. Clear-cut Glassy Ridge? Are you serious?” Everyone in the assembly room turned to stare at me again, but this time, I stared right back. Why wasn’t anyone else standing up to protest? Why wasn’teveryone? “Glassy Ridge is what makes Fogg Peak so special. You can’t just get rid of the trees because they’re in the way!”
I tried not to let all of the emotion in my heart leak out through my words or through my eyes, but it was difficult. My father had adored Glassy Ridge. We’d spent hours hiking the trails, always ending up by the banks of Glassy Creek to fish, or swim, or just sit and breathe. “It’s never the same creek twice, Hawkins,” he’d say, watching the water with a little smile on his face. “Always a fresh slate, if you’re looking for one.”
The idea of that place gone forever? Replaced by a… a… recreation rotunda? No. There were some things I couldn’t change, some dreams I might have to let go of, but not this. I refused.
The attorney cleared her throat, and the marketing person nudged her away from the microphone to take over. “Hey. Hi. Great question. Um. As I mentioned earlier, the plans to recreate the delights of Courchevel include a barrel sauna conclave, as well as an alpine lake swimming and spa experience. And that’s why we need a recreation rotunda.” He ended his nonsensible statement with a bland smile. “Thank you.”
“B-but… that doesn’t answer my question,” I stammered. I glanced to Webb for support, but he was watching me with a frown. Luke looked confused. And Jack… he gazed at me over his shoulder with concern in his blue eyes, but he didn’t say a single freaking word to help me.
Environmental Compliance Guy stood back up, shielding his eyes against the light until he could pick me out of the crowd. He smiled. “Clear-cutting sounds dramatic, I know.” He rolled his eyes in the attorney’s direction. “I promise, we’re not proposing to take away the entire forest on the ridge, just one area. And I assure you, we will do—in fact, alreadyhavedone—extensive environmental modeling in regard to the impact. In addition, the resort designers have integrated some of the existing trails into the layout of the area to preserve the history, as well as honor the original use of Glassy Ridge.”
I hesitated. All of that sounded fine, but… clear-cutting was clear-cutting. Why use that word if it wasn’t what they planned?
“Hawk,” Emma said low and insistently as she tugged on my hand. “Please sit. You’re causing a scene.”
Since when was Emma the kind of teenager who got embarrassed by people standing up for things?
“But… this is important, Em,” I reminded her.
