Page 103 of Summer Tease
But Beau hasn’t had that fight. He basically just had to wait out my stubbornness. What will that mean, then, if things don’tmagically align to allow me to stay? Will he be willing to do long-distance? Or will he let it roll off his back and move on to the next woman?
His phone starts ringing, and I move so he can access it in his pocket. The name on the screen says Randall, and Beau sits up as he answers.
“Howdy, Mayor. How can I help you?” His brows pull together. “No, I must’ve missed that. What’s the reason?”
All I can hear is muffled phone-garble on the other end, but Beau’s gaze flits to me.
I raise my brows, wondering why he’s looking at me that way—so intently.
“I see,” he says. “What time?” A pause. “Yeah. I’ll be there. Thanks, Mayor.” He hangs up and lets out a huge sigh.
I sit up. “Something wrong?”
He doesn’t respond right away, tapping his phone against his palm with a deep frown on his brow. “The mayor wants me to come to the city offices in an hour.”
“Okay…” I still don’t understand what the big whoop is.
Beau grimaces and looks at me. “They’re holding an emergency city council meeting, Gemma.”
My pulse quickens. “Because…?”
“They’re voting on an emergency ordinance to ban short-term rentals.”
Beauand I are quiet as we head to the city offices. My emotions are a jumbled mess—anger, frustration, hurt. I can’t believe they’re holding an actual emergency meeting for this justdaysbefore their normal meeting and a month before the one they’d planned to discuss the topic during. And yet, of course I can. This is Sunset Harbor, right? They go out of their way to make the lives of the Sawyer family difficult.
The room where they hold council meetings is a lot fuller than I’d expected given the short notice. It’s full of chatter, and the tone is more upbeat than seems appropriate given how I feel.
There’s a small lull in the babble as eyes turn toward Beau and me as we come through the door, holding hands. Brows raise, and the chatter volume turns up several notches.
Beau squeezes my hand, apparently immune to the attention. “Where do you want to sit?”
“I don’t care.” I wish I could feel as unbothered as he does. I’m glad to have him by my side, though. I’d feel a whole lot worse coming in here alone. I tried to call Grams to let her know about the meeting, but she didn’t answer, so I texted instead.
Beau leads us to two seats in the second row, and every single member of the council sitting up front has their eyes on us as we take our seats.
Mayor Barnes stands up and waits for people to take theirseats and stop talking. “Good afternoon,” he says. “I hereby call this emergency meeting of the Sunset Harbor City Council to order. Due to the nature of the matter we will be discussing, we felt it necessary to convene before our monthly council meeting. We thank you all for your attendance and interest in preserving this community we have worked so hard to build.” He turns to the clerk, a man in his mid-thirties I don’t recognize, and asks him to conduct the roll call.
After confirming all five members of the council are in attendance, the mayor moves on to verify that the public was properly informed of the meeting, which one of the council members confirms, explaining the measures they took to get the word out. It’s not like they have to do much on Sunset Harbor.
“We have just one item on today’s agenda,” Mayor Barnes says. “The state of short-term rentals on the island and, more specifically, whether to enact an ordinance banning such rentals in the future. I invite the city council to begin the discussion.” He takes a seat in a chair at the end of the table where the council members sit and hands the microphone to Marlyss Gapmeyer.
For the next fifteen minutes, each of the five council members shares initial thoughts and concerns on the topic. Three of them—Mayor Barnes and two Palmerites—are pretty firmly against allowing short-term rentals, while the other two seem less certain, pointing to the extra public awareness rentals bring to the island, which is precisely what the other two members lament.
“Do we want to become the next Key West?” says Les Erickson, making his disgust clear.
There are murmurs ofnoall over the room.
“Isure don’t,” he continues. “Between the Belacourt Resort and Keene B&B, we have plenty of options for tourists wanting to visit—and both of those can better vet their guests and supervise them than a short-term rental would.”
Murmurs of assent ripple through the crowd.
“We’ve had multiple issues with our short-term rentals just in the past week or two,” he continues, on a roll. “Officer Palmer, can you help us understand some of what you’ve dealt with from the guests in the old Daines house?”
I glance at Beau, and so does everyone else.
He hesitates for a few seconds, then clears his throat and stands up while the mic is brought over. For the next couple of minutes, he outlines in a calm, measured voice the calls he’s dealt with—the trespassing on the resort beach, the public intoxication and fireworks, the resulting injury, and the confrontation two nights ago. Once he’s done, he gives a little nod, hands the mic back, and sits next to me.
I stare ahead, stone-faced.
