“Okay, okay, you guys have worn me down,” June said. “I’m not saying that I’m definitely going to do it, but I am going to consider it.”
“But—” June stopped Cadence’s interruption with a look.
“It’s not because I think I don’t deserve it, or because I don’t know when I’ll find the time,” June clarified. “It’s more that this thing, this love I have for singing… it’s kind of tender and fragile right now. And Magnolia Shore isn’t the biggest town in the world.”
“By which I assume you mean everyone talks about everyone, and even if they do so mostly with love, it can be stressful and overbearing,” Cadence said, nodding in understanding. She’d grown up in town. She knew how people around here could be even if, as Cadence had suggested, their motives were pure.
“Exactly,” June confirmed. “I’m going to consider it. I’m going to really, truly consider it. I promise. I just want to sit with it for a minute first. Make sure that I’m doing what I really want to be doing.”
Eleanor squeezed her arm again. “That’s all we ask for, honey. That’s the only thing we want for you.”
Eleanor double-checked her already triple-checked packet of papers, as if an essential form might have vanished between home and the Magnolia Shore town hall, even though everything was neatly paperclipped and held in a folder.
She wasn’t sure why she was so in her own head about this paperwork business, but she was, and there was no talking herself out of it, apparently, so she gave in to the compulsion to check one last time.
Everything was there, of course.
“You are being a ninny, Eleanor,” she told herself in the rearview mirror. She hoped that she would feel better about this ordeal once the paperwork was submitted, but she somehow doubted she would feel anything but nerves until she got official confirmation that all the legalities were set.
The town hall offices were in a building that had been one of the founding homes of Magnolia Shore, back in the colonial era, as the plaque outside informed her. Indeed, the space inside had an almost homey feel. The lights were set low and warm, ratherthan the blazing fluorescent lighting that Eleanor had come to expect from governmental offices. The cozy wood paneling on the wall was echoed in the long, high counter that separated the front space, for visitors, from the rear workings of the office. A small radio was tuned to a classical music station, which played softly, while a middle-aged woman hummed pleasantly along.
“Excuse me,” Eleanor said politely. “Am I in the right place to turn in my permit forms for remodeling a residential house into a commercial property?”
The woman made one last note on the paper in front of her before looking up with a smile.
“Indeed you are!” she confirmed brightly. “You already have the paperwork completed?”
“I do,” Eleanor said. One by one, she laid out the forms, including their extra copies, as some had needed to be filed in duplicate.
The administrator looked impressed. “Okay, well you’ve done the better part of my job for me,” she said with a laugh. “This all looks good. I’ll check everything over later today and call you if there’s something you need to come fix before it heads to the zoning committee.”
Her words sent a rush of relief through Eleanor. Not only did the papers appear to be in order, but she’d have a chance to fix them if something was wrong! This made logical sense now that the woman had said so, but Eleanor had been haunted by the idea of a red rejection stamp crashing down because she had misspelled something or not adequately filled out one of the check boxes.
“Okay,” Eleanor said with a huffed little laugh. “Amazing.”
The woman seemed to detect her worry and gave her a sympathetic smile. “I can’t confirm anything,” she said conspiratorially, “but I will say that unless there’s a weird outstanding reason, like your house is a historic property oryour proposed business is some kind of biohazard, the zoning committee generally comes back with an approval.”
“Well, it’s just a bookstore, and nothing was disclosed about it being a historic property when I bought the place…”
The administrator smiled. “Then I’d say you have reason to be optimistic. Again, not a final confirmation until it goes before the committee, but just in case it helps you feel a little better.”
“It really does,” Eleanor said honestly. “Thank you so much.”
“Of course!”
Feeling much buoyed by this news, Eleanor headed back out to her car. As she opened the door to exit into the warm summer air, she came face to face with Winnie Burnett.
“Oh, excuse me!” Winnie said, surprised.
“Whoops, sorry Winnie,” Eleanor said.
Winnie’s face fixed into a somewhat forced-looking smile. “Oh, yes, Eleanor, how are you?” She peered over Eleanor’s shoulder, as if this would give her some information about what Eleanor had been doing inside. “All your paperwork in order for that bookshop project of yours?”
Eleanor wanted to bristle at the Winnie’s condescending tone, but something made her think that Winnie was perhaps nottryingto be unkind. That didn’t necessarily erase the effect, Eleanor knew, but it was enough to remind her not to respond out of temper.
“I did,” she said instead. “Apparently I have cause to be optimistic.”
“Oh, good,” Winnie said. Eleanor wasn’t sure if the woman meant it or not.
