Page 5 of Small Town Schemes & Summer Kisses
Sandy wiped the counter with a purposeful swipe, her eyes sharp on Beck. “Maybe you should take a lesson from your girl Caroline there.”
Beck’s eyebrows cocked upward with skepticism. “My girl?”
“Setting down roots hurts no one. You’ve been here for two years, Beck. It’s about time you thought about a more permanent arrangement.”
Beck’s lips twisted with amusement. “Like a retirement plan?”
Sandy shook her head with a chuckle. “No, that’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it. You should settle down.”
Beck stiffened, as if the words had found a sore spot. “I settled down plenty. Just me, my dog, and the ocean now.”
“If you say so,” Sandy replied with gentle doubt. “You’re still not fooling me, Beck. You can try to hide all you want.”
“I will not end up as fodder for Gigi or Mabel’s parlor games.” He ran a hand through his sand-dusted hair; the casual gesture hid an edge of irritation. “I like my arrangements. I’m not going back to my old life.”
“Never thought you would.” She smirked, refilling another cup at the counter. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll even surprise yourself. Look what happened to Caro.”
Ignoring Sandy, Beck pulled a few bills from his pocket and left them on the table. “I’ll get out of your hair. Let you warn the regulars it’s safe to come back.”
Sandy watched him leave, shaking her head again with fond exasperation. “Playing the hermit won’t last forever, Carter Beckett.”
He held the door open, shooting her a mock salute as he stepped outside. The spring air was sharp with salt and possibility as he meandered down the street with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He strolled the long way home, following the path of the evening breeze, knowing full well conspiracies and campaign parties had a way of sneaking up and catching him, even when they didn’t have tuba accompaniment.
Chapter Three
One week later
Caroline sat in a crowded booth with Gigi and Mabel, the noise of the chattering crowd nearly deafening. As she reviewed her scribblings in a notebook, a plate of waffles sat before her, growing cold.
“You’re too tense.” Gigi nudged a syrup bottle toward Caroline with the authority coming from having raised four kids and half the town. “You need more waffles and fewer worry lines.”
Caroline didn’t look up from her notes.
She tapped her pen once.Twice.
Color-coded lines and budget estimates danced across the pages like a dream she was still trying to drag into reality.
“I don’t need waffles,” she said. “I need tourists, which meansI need a functioning website, updated signage, and at least one Instagram-able photo op not involving Max’s hand-painted pelican.”
“Max’s pelican has character,” Mabel said unapologetically, stabbing her sausage.
“It has a lazy eye,” Caroline muttered.
“Details.”
“You’ve only been mayor for a week. I knew you’d be a shoo-in to take your father’s place.” Gigi scooched the sticky bottle across the table again.
Caroline sighed and looked up from her notebook. Across from her, Gigi and Mabel sat in matching sun visors and satisfied smirks, like two ladies who’d just watched a Hallmark movie and decided they could do it better.And messier.
Stabbing at a waffle square, Caroline held it up with her fork and waved it in front of Bluebell Bay’s matriarchs. “Did you know the Greeks invented the waffle? They were originally flat.”
“Those are called pancakes, my dear.” Gigi adjusted her sun visor before taking a bite of her breakfast.
“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 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-size bottle of handsanitizer. The bedazzled tote, the straps straining under the weight of its endless inventory, seemed to hold the contents of a small convenience store.
