As the discussion went on, more people filled the room, pressing in along the aisles and cramming into the back until all distance between me and Sunny dissolved. It was a warm night, and with all these people packed in here the room grew stifling hot. Sunny shimmied off the jacket, effectively drowning me in that herby, organic scent of hers.
I knew the taste of that scent now.
Another group pushed into the room when the council moved to hear public comment, forcing Sunny even closer until she was tucked up against me, her back no more than a breath from my chest. I had to pocket my phone to keep from nudging her with it.
The heat was oppressive and the ceiling fan whirring overhead did little to improve the situation. When I couldn’t take it any longer, I shrugged out of my suit coat and tapped Sunny’s arm. She glanced over her shoulder at me with a raised brow.
“Hold this,” I whispered, handing her the coat.
That eyebrow arched all the way up and her expression askedare you serious right now?
Instead of responding, I proceeded to unbutton my cuffs and roll my sleeves to the elbow. She watched, her gaze darkening as I moved to the other sleeve. She gulped when I loosened the tie at my throat. That was fun.
I reclaimed the coat from her and settled a hand on the side of her hip that wasn’t visible to the crowd. “Thank you,” I whispered.
Sunny responded by shaking off my hand and gathering her hair into a bun on the top of her head. Fine, curling tendrils lingered at the nape of her neck and not a minute went by that I didn’t think about pressing my mouth to that exact spot.
Most of the people offering comments echoed the same handful of points: the incident last night was the exception, not the norm; limiting hours of service would needlessly harm local businesses; the people didn’t want anything to change. While these points were solid, the council members were not visibly swayed by anything said.
Not until a big guy in a sleek suit approached the podium.
“Noah Barden, Little Star Farm,” he announced in a tone that said they should know who the fuck he was. I remembered a few Bardens from high school but I didn’t know Little Star Farm. That was new to me. “I’ll keep my remarks brief since we all know what happens when Gennie’s left with a babysitter for longer than an hour.”
A ripple of laughter moved through the crowd. As with most things in this town, I didn’t get the reference.
“As many of my neighbors have already articulated, implementing measures based on last evening’s incident is reactive and shortsighted—not to mention in direct violation of many of the town’s own regulations. More than that, I see this move as the beginning of the end for this town’s pride and joy: festivals. This town boastsseventeenfestivals each year, most of them multiday events, and the majority are scheduled right up to eleven o’clock. These festivals are a considerable source of income not only for the businesses who participate but also for the schools, the library, and the ecological preserves that utilize these events to fundraise. Now, you can find trouble up and down the bay any night of the week, and it doesn’t wait until ten or eleven to start.” He shot a pointed glance over his shoulder at someone. “That’s not how it is here in Friendship, but you already know this, and you have more than enough data on crime levels and economic impact to verify it.”
He held out his hand, and after a pause, a woman with pink hair joined him at the podium.
“My wife, Shay Zucconi-Barden, the owner of Twin Tulip, and I have been preparing to open our wedding venue for the past six months. We have more work ahead of us but today’s news had us asking whether we should stop what we’re doing. If we’re unable to host receptions past ten o’clock, we’ll book far fewer weddings. An hour might not seem like much in your seats but it’s the difference between allowing Friendship to shine as the hidden gem of this bay, and cutting small business off at the knees.” He stared at the council members for a long moment. “Thank you for your time.”
With that, he turned and ushered his wife out of the room.
“Shit.” Sunny pulled at the front of her shirt to circulate some air. “That was effective.”
I brought my hand to her hip once more. “I’d say so.”
The town manager leaned forward to adjust her microphone. “While I am aware that there are”—she shuffled several pages in front of her—“many more residents and business owners registered for public comment, I recommend this council move to table the matter of amending approved service hours until a more extensive study can be conducted.”
Sunny sagged back against me. “Please let it be that easy.”
And it was. The council voted four to one and the crowd broke out in thunderous applause.
We tried to make our way to the door but everyone else had the same idea. We ended up diverging around a row of chairs, and from there, the current of the crowd carried Sunny away. Friends and business owners I’d noticed at her housewarming party folded her into their slow-moving circles while others called for her attention or promised to text her later. She really was magnetic. Everyone wanted to be near her, to know her. To keep her.
I certainly did—and it scared the hell out of me.
chapterfourteen
Sunny
Today’s Special:
Clams, Indecently
Beckett wasn’thard to find in the dissipating crowd and that was mostly a result of his gaze burning my skirt off for the past thirty minutes. That, and he was roughly the size of a fortress.
I hadn’t intended to get caught up in so many conversations on the way out of the meeting room and down the stairs buteverybodywas there and we were all partially delirious from standing in that Victorian-era sweat lodge Friendship called a town hall. In that sense, it wasn’t difficult to rant about the whimsy of local government and the ever-rising price of everything, or make plans to get together soon and plan a fun collaboration between our businesses.
