Suddenly, the ride jerked to a stop. Their bucket swung back and forth.
“We’re not moving.” Caleb peered cautiously over the side to see what was going on.
“Caleb,” Emery said, trying not to laugh. “Relax. It’s so beautiful up here. You can see for miles. Wow, the West End really has expanded since I was here last. It’s so bright, especially against the dark sky. And the East End, oh, it’s so cozy and quaint, like a Rockwell painting. And the Starlight sign reflects on the waves. I never knew that old neon sign was so powerful.”
“Yep.” One word. Try as he might to be the brave man here, all the fuzzy feelings of sharing this bucket with Emery had just dropped out the bottom.
“I’ll won’t ask you ride the Ferris wheel again, Caleb.” Emery wrapped her hand around his arm, and when he looked over, she was right there next to him, holding on to him. “But thanks for this time.”
Two inches. That’s all he had to move for his lips to be on hers. And he wanted to taste those lips, hold her close in this swinging bucket of bolts.
“Emery—” Her name came on a coarse whisper.
The ride jerked into motion and tossed her off his shoulder. Then they paused again.
He wanted to tell her he got on the dumb ride just to be with her. She was worth it. Wasn’t that a metaphor for love? Doing what he didn’t want to do just to be with her?
But he wasn’t ready to say those words. He had a sense she wasn’t ready to hear them.
Finally, they were at the bottom, being released from their seat.
“All done.” Emery popped him on the arm. “Way to go, Ransom, I’m so proud.”
“All right, enough of my Cowardly Lion routine. The wind is cold and it’s going to rain. Let’s head to One More Cup for a hot chocolate.”
“Be still my heart,” she said, falling in beside him as he headed down the all-but-empty thoroughfare toward Sea Blue Way, toward the café, the rain only stalling until they were safely inside.
* * *
On Thursday evening, when Caleb walked into the Starlight Museum for the first Main Street meeting, Simon met him with a grim expression.
“Two houses on the Original Homestead sold today, the ones right in the middle of Port Fressa. They were in foreclosure at the bank. A private buyer snapped them up, but I suspect it was Mac or Alfred. I was wrong about the bank owning ten of the twelve homes. Four of them were simply abandoned, and enough time has passed we can evoke adverse possession claim for anyone who wants to occupy one.”
“You think Mac and Al will tear their houses down?”
“They’d need a permit.” Simon smirked. “I have some sway in that department.”
Caleb grinned. “Careful. If we fight fire with fire, we could get burned.”
“True. They are a bigger flame. Mac will act like he’s a team player, but as the rest of the homes continue to rot, he’ll make some magnanimous move to rescue the East End with a nine-hole golf course. It’s only a matter of time.” Simon pulled a couple of chairs off a storage rack. “Though I heard today Thorndikeended their talks with Sea Blue Beach. This has always been about Mac and his golf course.”
“When I decided to move home, Simon, it was to build a business.” Caleb joined Simon in setting up chairs. “I’m glad to help, but I can’t afford to tick those guys off.”
Simon set down two more chairs. “I know it’s not appealing for a young man building a business to get stuck trying to save twelve one-hundred-and-forty-year-old homes.”
“Simon, I love Sea Blue Beach. I love preserving our history. Your generation saved the Starlight, it’s our turn to save the Org. Homestead. But I’d like to do business on the West End too.”
“I’m on your side, Caleb.” Simon paused to count the chairs. “We’ve got twelve. Should be enough.”
The Main Street email had a lot of inquiries, but neither Simon nor Caleb had a guess on how many actually planned to attend.
But by seven, only Adele Olsen and Mercy Kinney, two retirees, had arrived, toting one cake and one pie, paper plates, napkins and forks. Food was a requirement for every town gathering.
A minute later, Ivan Grissom, another retiree, came in with a pencil behind his ear and a folded sheet of lined notebook paper. Duke Pettrone, the owner of a startup company focused on uses for seaweed and sargassum, entered with his iPad tucked under his arm. By ten after, when no one else arrived, Caleb started the meeting with three retirees and one successful entrepreneur.
Simon’s expression told him,“Work with what yougot.”
Adele took a seat and pulled out her knitting. “I do my best thinking when the needles are clicking.”
