"I'll pay you for lost wages."
"You can't just snap your fingers and expect people to jump. I have customers," she said.
"Put out a sign that says, 'Closed for Private Event.' And for the record, I'm not snapping my fingers; I'm throwing a wad of money at the problem. You'll be very well compensated—unless you're one of those artists who live on sunshine and exposure. I myself always prefer money. Besides, this is a good deed. There are starving children here. We even have a military veteran." Remy flashed me a thumbs-up.
"I don't know if I have enough to make a cohesive meal," Hazel said. I could tell she was wavering.
"They will literally eat anything, and I will pay you literally for anything if I don't have to cook it. Shoot, you could just make a ton of that popcorn, and we'd be fine."
"I'm not feeding your little brothers popcorn," she scoffed. "I'll see what I have and be over in forty-five minutes."
"I'll pay you double if you come over here in twenty. You make house calls, don't you? Surely you don't just service people in your café."
"You are so gross."
"You said I was attractive last night."
She hung up.
"Problem solved!" I crowed.
Garrett stared at me. "You need to check your attitude. I will not have you turning this into another Hunter situation."
9
Hazel
Icouldn't believe Archer. The nerve of that man. But then I looked around my building. I could at least charge him several hundred dollars to cover the next month's utilities. I didn't feel right charging more than that. It would more than cover the cost of the food and labor and closing the Art Café—not that I made all that much money off of the restaurant. Though I did occasionally have a couple people come for happy hour drinks.
If Archer did open the conference center, maybe he could hire me as a caterer since, by that point, my building would be taken back by the bank.
"No." I cut off the negative thoughts and struck a power pose. "You are creative. You are strong. You are going to win that grant, and everything is going to be okay! Archer is throwing you a very small life preserver. Don't blow it."
I didn't want to feed his brothers popcorn, but I didn't have much in the fridge. I couldn't make sandwiches, because I needed all of those ingredients for the food I sold at Ida's General Store.
But what else did I have?
I smiled. Pancakes—specifically savory crepes. I had a ton of ham, cheese, and eggs, plus all the vegetables from the farm co-op that were delivered this morning. It was another of those things I signed up for back when I was a starry-eyed newbie café owner.
Croque-madame and croque-monsieur crepes along with a nice salad with fresh lettuce would make a yummy dinner. I loaded the ingredients and the large griddles I would need to cook everything into my bike trailer.
Yes, I rode around on a bike. It was either buy the building or a car. I had found the bike while dumpster diving and fixed it up. That was one useful thing about art school—they taught us how to do metalwork and welding—so I was able to make the bike and the trailer functional. I started the long hot ride to the Svenssons' estate.
I swept my sweaty hair out of my face when I pulled up at the ornate gate. I was about to push the button, then I froze. What if this was another of Archer's elaborate pranks? I squared my shoulders. If he thought he was going to prank me again, he had another thing coming. I would absolutely go complain to his older brothers. The gate swung open before I could even push the intercom button. I guess I was expected after all.
The front door opened when I pedaled down the drive to the huge manor house. I hadn't been to their estate before. My friend Olivia was the architect. She had shown me pictures, but they didn't do justice to how huge the building was.
As I pulled to a squeaky stop in the roundabout, I gaped up at the house. The facade was a dark-gray stone. My gaze swept over the large metal windows that gleamed in the evening sunlight. Archer stood in the front doorway impatiently. A small child clung to his legs.
"Thank God you're here. I thought they were going to kill and eat me," he said then yelled over his shoulder, "Go help her with her stuff if you want to eat!"
Smaller versions of Archer swarmed my bike, picked up everything, and ran inside. I followed Archer's little brothers into the house.
"Welcome to the estate. That's the gremlin who lives in the attic. His name is Garrett," Archer said as we walked through the dining room. Garrett grunted but didn't look up from his computer. "We'll throw some scraps at him later. This is Remy, the best Svensson after yours truly." Remy gave me a hug. He had a huge bushy beard and was like a giant teddy bear.
"Welcome, Hazel," he said.
"Sorry, I'm sweaty," I said, slightly smashed against the big man's shirt.
