Me: We’ll see.
I pocketed my phone as The Woodshed came into view. The paint stood out against the weathered storefronts around it, and the inside still smelled like new rubber mats and fresh wood. Some people said I’d get bored and leave it half-finished. I was determined to prove them wrong. A climbing wall, weight room, and studio spaces filled the inside, and the back lot was the perfect location for pickleball courts… if I could just get past the red tape.
Harvey Gates sat on a bench outside the front door, his new cane in hand. At eighty-two, he was my oldest gym member and biggest pickleball advocate.
“Any luck, son?” he called as I approached.
“Site inspection tomorrow,” I told him. “We’re making progress.”
“Hot damn!” He slapped his thigh. “I knew you’d come through. We’ve got a whole league ready to go once those courts are built.”
His enthusiasm was exactly why I’d started this project. Harvey and his friends, aka the “Creaky Joints Club,” had been asking for pickleball courts since the gym opened. It was low-impact enough for their aging bodies but social and active enough to keep them engaged.
“Don’t celebrate yet,” I said. “The town clerk’s coming for inspection, and she’s not exactly my biggest fan.”
Harvey’s bushy white eyebrows shot up. “March? The buttoned-up gal with the frown?”
“That’s the one.”
He cackled. “Son, you’ve finally met your match. That woman’s immune to sweet talk.”
“So I’ve heard,” I muttered. “But this isn’t about seeing how thick I need to lay on the charm. It’s about giving you guys what you need.”
Harvey’s face softened. “And that’s why you’ll win her over. Because for all your nonsense, you actually give a damn.”
I clapped him on the shoulder. “From your lips to Rowan March’s ears. Now come on. We’ve got work to do before she shows up tomorrow. I want that lot looking so good she can’t possibly say no.”
As we headed inside, I mentally started prepping for tomorrow’s inspection. Rowan might think she had me pegged as The Butterfly… unreliable, flighty, and not worth her time. But I was about to show her that sometimes, even a fucking butterfly can stick around long enough to make a difference.
And maybe, just maybe, I’d catch a glimpse of what was behind those walls Nellie mentioned. Despite myself, I was curious about the woman who seemed determined to see the worst in me.
CHAPTER 2
ROWAN
“If you glare at that checklist any harder, it’s going to catch fire.” Gillian breezed past my desk, her colorful skirt swirling around her legs, and dropped a color-coded stack of flyers into the outbox. Her bangles jingled as she leaned on the counter. “Try not to scare him off today. We need this project to move forward and not have Dane Thorne abandon another one out of terror.”
“I don’t scare applicants,” I said, adjusting the tabs on my folder.
“Mm-hmm.” She gave me a knowing smile. “Go be the responsible half of this department. I’ll be the fun half.”
It was the truth, and we both knew it. Gillian was warm and intuitive, the kind of person who remembered everyone’s birthday and favorite kind of muffin. I was the one who color-coded binders and double-checked expiration dates on business licenses. She thrived on making people feel welcome, while I made sure everything ran on time. And if I didn’t get going, I’d be late for my appointment with Dane.
At five minutes before two, I parked in the lot of The Woodshed and set my clipboard on the passenger seat long enough to check that every tab in the folder I’d assembled matched the checklist. I’d stopped trusting first impressions a long time ago. Preparation was safer. I had the site sketch, preliminary application, and notice template. Along with the tape measure in my purse and the camera on my phone, I had everything I needed. Ready to face Dane again, I locked the car and followed the path to the back lot where the proposed courts would go.
The space wasn’t terrible, just a rectangle of gravel and patchy grass. At least the lot was fenced on two sides. There were no utility lines overhead, and all setbacks looked feasible. The surface needed grading and drainage, but that was an easy fix. The only real problem was walking toward me wearing a sleeveless tank that showed off his biceps and a grin that had gotten too many people in this town to do his bidding.
“Right on time, Sergeant March.” Dane met me on the path, a paddle tucked under his arm. “I marked up where I want to put the courts. Want to see?”
“Please don’t call me Sergeant,” I said as I clicked my pen. “I’m here to conduct an inspection, not to be recruited into a hobby.”
“Not a hobby,” he said. “A community asset.”
He led me along the edge where he’d flagged the corners with bright tape. The markers were exactly where the parcel map said they should be. That wouldn’t earn him special treatment, but I noted it on the form. Accuracy mattered, but follow-through mattered more.
“You’re planning on rerouting construction access to Founders’ Way?” I asked. Along with a few neighboring retail stores, there were some senior apartments nearby. He’d need to make sure any construction wouldn’t disturb their access.
“I already checked in with the neighbors,” he said. “Mr. Gates made me promise no jackhammers during Wheel of Fortune. Other than that, everyone’s good with it.”
