“I hear we’re getting the grand reopening of Pour Decisions for the Twelve Stops,” Dorothy said.
I really couldn’t stop the smile now. “Yeah, we are.” Powell had helped me fit the new espresso machine in place yesterday. My truck was fully kitted out again and ready to roll for the hot cocoa flights.
I turned back to Lola. “Anyway, I’m only here to go over some last-minute things for the cookie decorating event.”
Lola chuckled and flipped open the folder. “All right, all right. Let’s see what we’ve got.”
“Come say hi, honey,” Mrs. McKenzie called.
“In a minute,” I said automatically.
Lola glanced over the top of her glasses. “You are a rude child if you don’t at least wave.”
“I am a very busy woman.”
“Busy is not an excuse to forget your manners.” She stabbed the pencil she held toward the corner table. “Go on. I can read and breathe without supervision.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Resisting was useless. I took a breath that I hoped would push my heart down from my throat and crossed to the Merry Meddlers.
Dorothy patted the empty chair next to her. “Sit. You look like you’re about to run laps.”
“I am about to run laps,” I said, but I sat. “Just not the fun kind.”
“Oh, hush,” Mrs. Atkins said. “You love this kind of thing.”
“Define love.”
“Color-coded Post-its,” she said promptly. “Tabs. Spreadsheets. Bossing people around with a smile.”
Okay, that was… not untrue.
“Everything ready for tomorrow?” Mrs. McKenzie asked, stirring her coffee with a tiny spoon even though it was clearly already perfectly mixed.
“As ready as it’s going to get. All the signage is done. Volunteers know where they’re supposed to be and when. We’ve got backup extension cords and extra gloves. Now I have to stay on top of it before it all mutates into chaos.”
Dorothy smiled. “It’ll be wonderful. We haven’t had this much buzz about an event in years.”
I tried to let that land as encouragement, not pressure. “That’s the plan.”
“Powell’s been running around like a maniac,” Mrs. Atkins said fondly. “Came by here this morning for the extra folding tables.”
My heart did that stupid little hop again at the sound of his name. “Right. He mentioned he was doing a supply run.”
“He wouldn’t leave until he fixed the wobbly one,” she continued. “Took the thing apart right there in the hallway. I told him we’d make do, but oh no, that boy can’t stand a half-done job.”
“That’s our Powell,” Mrs. McKenzie agreed. “When we had that big storm last year and my gutter came down, he was at my house with a ladder before I could even get the words out.”
“And he patched my roof after,” Mrs. Atkins put in. “Wouldn’t take a cent. Just said, ‘You’d do the same for me,’ and went on his way.”
“Helped repaint the fellowship hall two summers ago,” Dorothy added. “Stayed through the whole heat wave. I thought he was going to melt right into the floor.”
They all laughed, fond and warm. I found myself smiling automatically, because that was who he was. Of course, they were talking about him like he was some kind of hometown superhero. He practically was.
Still, hearing it all stacked up in a row tugged at a loose thread in my chest.
Lola arrived with a fresh pot of coffee and started topping off their mugs. “Don’t forget when he came back after that rash of frozen pipes,” she said. “He must’ve crawled under half the houses in town that week.”
