RENLEY
“Are you nervous?”
I shake my head even though I feel like the English muffin with peanut butter I ate this morning is threatening to make another appearance. “All good.”
“You sure?” Aunt Kitty asks as she leans back a few inches to give me one of her classic assessments. “You look…clammy.” She drags her finger over my cheek and then sniffs it. “Salt, unmistakable.” Her eyes dart back and forth over mine. She sniffs again. “Fear. Indisputable.” Then she grips my jaw with her whole hand and awkwardly presses her nose to mine. After what feels like a lifetime, she whispers, “Trembles. Unequivocal.”
Good lord.
With her hand firmly grasped on my jaw, causing my lips to purse together like a fish, I say, “I’m not…nervous.”
“Evidence states otherwise.”
I swat Aunt Kitty’s hand away and whisper, “Stop making a scene. I’m fine.”
She eyes me suspiciously but then thankfully drops it, turning back toward the ceremony unfolding in front of us.
To be honest, I’m nervous. Extremely nervous. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted something as much as I want this.
Mayor Sheffield taps the mic in front of him. “Is this on? Marjorie, can you turn it up?”
His bumbling assistant adjusts the speaker, causing an ear-piercing screech to shoot through the crowd. Groans erupt while ears are clutched, including Aunt Kitty’s.
“By God, Marjorie.” Aunt Kitty sticks her finger in her ear and wiggles it around. “Get your life together.”
“Aunt Kitty.” I shush her. “Don’t be rude.”
Leaning in and keeping her voice in a hushed tone, she says, “Marjorie is an abomination of an assistant. She’s the reason Mayor Sheffield is wearing brown shoes with black pants and a navy blue button-up. How do you think that’s going to look in pictures? You can’t put three solid base colors together and call it an outfit.” Cupping her hand over her mouth, she shouts, “Choose one, Marjorie. Choose one!”
Jesus.
This was a bad idea.
I don’t know what I was thinking, getting involved in something as big as this, with a town as unstable as mine.
And an aunt who is even more unstable.
“Can everyone hear me?” Mayor Sheffield asks, speaking loudly into the microphone.
The crowd cheers, and then he offers two thumbs-up in the mayoral way that says,I’m a nice guy, here for you even when I have leftover waffle stuck in my mustache that Marjorie has neglected to point out.
“Wonderful.” He places his hands on the brown lectern and smiles out toward the crowd. “What a monumental day for this town, passing on the legacy of a cherished business to its nextowner, a time-honored tradition we’ve been taking part in since 1947.” The crowd cheers as nerves billow up in the pit of my stomach.
“Because our dear Ira Rudd has passed and left his candy store, Rudder’s Sweets, to the town, like every other business owner before him, we are prepared to hand over the keys to its next rightful owner.” Marjorie starts clapping, leading the crowd to do the same. Aunt Kitty obnoxiously swoops her arm around, being louder than everyone else. Mayor Sheffield eyes her, causing her to settle down. Clearing his throat, he continues, “We received twenty-one applications for Rudder’s Sweets.”
Twenty-one?
Oh God, that’s a lot.
There’s no way I stand a chance with those odds.
I glance around the crowd, looking for any sign of the other applicants.
No doubt Shawn Herman put in an application. That sniveling man has been wanting to take ownership of several businesses in town.
And Jasmine most likely put in an application. I catch her off to the side, her hands poised together as she stares up at the stage. She’d be a good owner but would turn the sweets shop into some sort of healthy candy store, no doubt.
And then there’s Jericho. Aunt Kitty can’t stand the man because he spends the majority of his life shedding cat hair from his clothes. There would be so much cat hair in that store that no one would be buying candy from Rudder’s anymore.
