Inside, the air carried its usual blend of burnt coffee and something faintly nostalgic…pencil shavings or old crayons, maybe both.
Locals trickled into the meeting room, clustering into familiar groups with the kind of easy chatter that made the official agenda feel optional.
Marcus nodded to a few familiar faces. As far as they knew, he was the out-of-town guy hired by some uptight firm—name redacted—to renovate Gi Gi’s Manor. Technically true. But in hindsight, he probably should’ve gone with something less…corporate.
His brothers could take note.
He scanned the room. Ben Rutherford sat dead center at the council table, already scowling.
According to Harriet, Ben and a silent partner had had big plans for the vacant storefronts. Plans Gi Gi had derailed by buying them first.
“It’s time for the meeting to start. Please have a seat!” Ben bellowed, as if volume equaled power.
“Am I late?” Frankie breezed in a beat later, drawing every eye. She spotted Marcus and waved like they were lifelong friends. “I’m with him,” she said, sliding into the seat between him and George.
“Thanks for saving me a seat,” she added brightly, then turned to George with a smile that probably should’ve come with a warning label. “Hi, I’m Francesca B.”
George, the town’s most socially allergic bachelor, flushed so red Marcus half-expected steam to rise.
Marcus jumped in. “Francesca, meet George. He’s the local handyman. Helping me with small stuff at the manor while I wait on permits.”
“Nice to meet you, Francesca,” George said, voice scratchy. He glanced frantically at Marcus. “I heard you’ve got some potholes in need of patching.”
“Darling, he adores the potholes,” Frankie said, laying a hand on George’s shoulder. “They’re his get-a-lady-out-of-her-dress-quick strategy.”
Phones dinged. Chairs creaked as people shifted to get a better look at the town’s newest curiosity.
Marcus didn’t know whether to strangle her or nominate her for office.
Frankie, either oblivious or pretending to be, continued, “I, however, find them terrifying. If only there were someone willing to chauffeur me so I’m not forced to navigate them in heels.”
“I’d be happy to drive you,” George said, sweating like he’d been asked to give a TED Talk on foreplay.
“Aren’t you just the perfect gentleman?” Frankie purred. “My newest, most favorite hero.”
Marcus leaned back, letting the noise fade as he mentally flipped through his talking points. The proposalhad already been killed three times. He wasn’t giving them a fourth.
“We’ll begin with the vote on the proposed manor renovation,” Chase Evans announced, scribbling into his ever-present leather notebook.
Marcus blinked. That was new. The manor usually landed dead last on the agenda. A slot perfect for delays and easy rejections.
Why the sudden promotion?
A goodwill gesture?
Or were they hoping he’d show up late and miss the vote entirely?
He wouldn’t put it past them.
“Seems unnecessary to me,” Ben grumbled.
Marcus sighed. A month in, and Ben still hadn’t warmed up. Outsider renovator, outsider money, outsider name stamped across their signs. If the roles were reversed, he probably wouldn’t trust him either.
What he didn’t get was why Gi Gi hadn’t handled it better. She had to know a small town wouldn’t take well to secrecy. Then again, she’d made the purchase just before her diagnosis. Maybe the tumor had started clouding her judgment.
He had high hopes the final envelope—once they’d all completed their tasks—would hold answers.
“Anyone want to table the discussion?” Ben asked, already hopeful.
