Page 3 of Melting the Grump
"Mmhmm." The first woman winks. "You and Scott argue like an old married couple already. Mark my words."
Heat floods my face, and it's definitely not from the coffee Jade just handed me. I retreat to a corner table, cradling my mug between my palms as I sink into a velvet armchair.
Outside the window, the lanterns of Acorn Circle glimmer like earthbound stars, and despite myself, I wonder what they would look like if my vision comes to life.
Chapter 2 – Scott
I stride out of the Thornwood Community Center, my jaw clenched tight enough to crack walnuts. The evening air hits my face, crisp and cool, a welcome relief from the stuffy meeting room where I spent the last hour trying not to stare at Abigail Robinson.
Trying, and failing miserably.
Pulling my jacket tighter, I cut across Acorn Circle. The ancient oak at the center stands sentinel, its branches now half-bare, leaves scattered across cobblestones like nature's confetti. In just a few weeks, if Abigail gets her way, this place will be transformed.
And yet...
I pause, glancing back at the Community Center. Through the window, I can see her still talking with Meredith, her hands animated, burgundy dress hugging curves that I have no business noticing. The color makes her fiery curls look like they’ve caught the last of the sunset, haloed in gold and copper.
Even across the glass, I notice the confident click of her boots on the wood floor, her whole presence autumn wrapped in one woman. The woman radiates energy, like she's lit from within.
That's the problem. She's too damn convincing.
With a frustrated grunt, I turn and head toward Foxglove Lane. The streetlamps flicker to life as I walk, casting long shadows across the brick-paved sidewalks. My boots crunch through fallen leaves.
Whitetail Falls has been my home for all thirty-four years of my life. I know every crack in these sidewalks, every family behindeach door, every tradition that's kept this town together through good times and bad. My construction company has renovated half the buildings on this street.
When the Millers' roof collapsed during last winter's blizzard, I was there at midnight with tarps and lumber. When the elementary school needed a new playground, I donated materials and labor.
This place matters to me. Its traditions matter. So why does Abigail Robinson's vision for change keep replaying in my head like a song I can't shake?
"Evening, Scott!" Mrs. Winters calls from her porch as I pass. She's rocking in her chair, a quilt across her lap despite the evening being merely cool, not cold. "Heard about the meeting. That new girl's got some fine ideas, doesn't she?"
I manage a noncommittal grunt that makes Mrs. Winters chuckle.
"Don't be such a grouch. Change isn't always bad, you know."
Easy for her to say. She hasn't seen what happens when small towns lose their identity chasing tourist dollars. I've watched it happen in Millfield and Rosedale, both overrun with chain stores and weekend warriors who leave their trash behind when they go.
Still, the memory of Abigail's smile when she talked about her vision nags at me. The way her eyes lit up, how prepared she was for every question. Most newcomers would have wilted under my scrutiny. She stood taller.
I push open the door to Whispering Pines Hardware, the bell jingling overhead. Walt Bramble looks up from behind the counter, his white mustache twitching with a smile.
"There he is. Mr. Dissenting Vote." Walt chuckles, leaning on the scarred wooden counter that's been in this shop longer than I've been alive.
"Nothing travels faster than a word," I mutter, heading for the electrical aisle.
"Small town." Walt shrugs. "Plus, Jenny was there taking minutes. Called me right after."
I grab a package of heavy-duty outdoor extension cords and a box of weatherproof outlet covers.
"That Robinson woman stopped by earlier," Walt continues, ringing up my purchases. "Buying supplies for some kind of demonstration tomorrow. Seems like half the town's volunteered to help her already."
I look up sharply. "What demonstration?"
"Setting up a mock version of her lantern display in the plaza. Wants to show the council how it'll look." Walt hands me my change. "Smart move. You know what they say: seeing is believing."
"Or seeing is revealing all the problems with the plan," I counter, but there's less conviction in my voice than I'd like.
Walt's eyes crinkle. "She asked about you, you know."
