Page 4 of Small Town Schemes & Summer Kisses
“More chaos than project,” Caroline replied, dropping the clipboard on the counter before running a hand through her wind-tangled hair. “And about to get worse.” Her gaze flicked across the restaurant, landing on Beck.
He regarded her with a half-amused, half-skeptical look, lounging with studied indifference but listening to every word. His eyes lingered on her, taking in the manicured nails and the faintest hint of a scowl on her lips. There was no denying she was beautiful, in a high-maintenance boardroom sort of way. Nothing out of place except the determination fraying around the edges. Caroline Hollis looked like she was about to burst into tears.
Caroline glanced back at Sandy; her cheeks flushed from more than the sharp spring air. Beck noted the shade matched the juicy pink of her impossible golf cart.
Definitely high maintenance.
“Beckett,” she nodded, summoning a distant politeness.
“Mayor Hollis,” he returned. “Or is it still public advocate? Maybe you’re just acting mayor? I can’t keep up.”
“Not sure I can either,” Caroline said, accepting the jab with a tight smile.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon,” Sandy chimed in, arching an eyebrow in Beck’s direction. “This one has faith in you, even if he doesn’t admit it.”
“I won’t hold my breath,” Caroline mumbled.
Sandy deftly placed a napkin and silverware in front of Caroline. “You want your usual?”
“I’ll be back later to eat.” Caroline smoothed the paper curling on her clipboard as she looked around the diner.
“Looking for someone in particular?” Sandy asked.
“Two someone’s, in fact. I called to talk to Gigi or Mabel. Neither of them answered. I thought they would have been here.”
Sandy’s laughter bubbled. “They left just before you came in. Said they had an appointment.”
Caroline groaned. “Of course they do. They are probably visiting the print shop to print new bingo cards.”
“If it helps, they left you this.” Sandy handed Caroline a folded half-sheet.
“This can’t be good,” Caroline said, unfolding the note. A small bag of candy tied with a silver ribbon fell out. Before she could react, the bag tumbled into her lap, and she jumped, then chided herself for being startled by something so insignificant. Putting the candy next to her coffee, she glanced at the flyer and sighed. “They are relentless,” she muttered, staring at the words as if they might change if she glared at the paper enough.
“What are they up to this time?” Beck asked.
“Looks like they are having a surprise celebration party tomorrow night.” She waved the paper towards Sandy. “Did you know about this?”
Sandy shook her head. “No. I saw them heading toward the boardwalk.”
“Boardwalk it is,” Caroline sighed, lifting her coffee mug toward Beck’s in a mock toast. She took a sip and then placed the cup back on the counter. As she slid off the seat, she tapped the stainless steel with her perfect manicure. “Sandy? You’d tell me if there was a conspiracy against me, right?”
Sandy’s laughter echoed off the diner walls. “Honey, when has not there been a conspiracy in town?”
“Noted. Get these seats repaired before Memorial Day, would you? I don’t want guests sitting on duct tape.” Caroline sighedagain, but a hint of a smile tugged at her lips. Picking up her clipboard, she slid it under her arm and grabbed her keys. “See you around, Beckett.”
“Don’t work too hard, Hollis,” he called after her as she left. The door swung shut behind her, letting a brief swell of ocean air and tuba music enter. He watched her gather her resolve again and clatter back to her pink chariot, and then the golf cart zipped off down the street like a flamingo late for migration.
Sandy placed her hands on her hips, shaking her head. “You remember what I said, Beck? She might surprise you.”
Beck sipped his coffee, letting the slight burn linger. “I told you.” He watched the pink cart disappear around the corner. “Surprises stopped surprising me a long time ago.”
“Uh-huh.” Sandy cleared Caroline’s cup. “You know, it wouldn’t kill you to get out of this place occasionally. Change out of those baggy sweats and put on an actual pair of shoes for a change.”
“Don’t go getting any ideas, Sandy. I’m a lost cause, remember?” Beck swirled the coffee in his cup and took another sip. “Besides, the only shoes I own are sneakers and a pair of flip-flops. Everything else I donated when I left Washington.”
“Apart from your sweats.”
“Apart from my sweats,” he concurred
