“He remembers who I am,” I objected. “He took me to a gala last weekend.”
The table went silent, and a moment too late, I remembered one of my dad’s favorite lessons: discretion.
“He took you to a gala?” Junot asked. “Are you dating him? Now I’m confused again.”
“I don’t like the sound of it,” Jacqueline added, as everyone started murmuring again. “If you’re dating him, then the needs of the business association won’t be met. He’ll just change the plan and keep the garden to make you happy!”
“It’s okay,” Junot said, nodding warmly to me. “You’ve got a school boy crush on him. That’s nice, Xavier, I’m happy for you. But that shouldn’t interfere with business.”
“I don’t have a school boy crush on him!” I objected, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. I caught Georgia’s eye across the table, and she gave me a friendly shrug, her palms pointed up to the ceiling.
“Xavier would never let his personal life get in the way of business,” Georgia said, throwing me a lifesaver. “I’m sure we all agree on that. For now, let’s schedule a time for a proper debate and vote on what we’d like to see from the city and what position our association will take on this redevelopment project. Jacqueline and Xavier can touch base and make sure we establish contact with the right municipal office, and we’ll take it from there.”
It only took a few minutes to wrap up the rest of the meeting and for the group to return to our regular neighborhood gossip and small talk. As soon as I could, I made a polite excuse and said a round of goodbyes. I knew some of the business owners were likely to spend the rest of the day at the café, but I needed a breather.
In a very weird way, the business association was like family to me. My father had brought me along to those meetings since I was a child, and many of the faces sitting across from me were the same ones I’d known then. But like family, they could often forget that I had grown and changed and taken on the same responsibilities that they all had.
I shoved my hands into my pockets and crossed the corner back toward my shop. At least inside everything was still the same. It still had the same sugary aroma in the air and the same decorative flowers carved into the counter.
It was still mine.
Which was when a very loud, very persistent beeping broke through the afternoon.
I startled and turned toward the sound. A large truck was backing up beneath theHome of the Zing Popsign, and a burly man in a pair of coveralls was peering through the window.
I blinked. Stopped still in my tracks, I watched as the driver exited the truck, and the two men pulled a massive dolly into the abandoned store. I leaned against a small tree and listened to their deep voices, hollering from inside the building.
What could they possibly be doing?
And then the real ruckus started. It sounded like two giant robots were wrestling, and then like someone was dragging a million nails across a chalkboard. I winced and kept peering, studying the shadows that were cast against the curtains until the men finally emerged again.
One man pulled the dolly, and the other followed, steadying the Zing Machine that they were dragging out. I startled on seeing it, then took off in a beeline for the truck.
“Hey!” I said, jogging up to them. “Excuse me! Where are you going with that?”
The two men looked at each other, then back to me. “Who’s asking?” the driver asked.
I took in a deep breath and stood at full height. “I own a business across the street. The man who used to own this store is a friend of mine.”
The man in the coveralls looked at me skeptically, then shrugged. “We were just hired to empty this place out.”
“Empty it out?” I asked.
“It’s going to the dump,” the driver barked. “Why, you interested in it? What is this, anyway?”
I turned to the Zing Machine. It was old and a bit run down, but it was still beautiful. A few different components were combined into one machine, from the heating pot to the batch roller and the press. I’d never forget seeing children mesmerized by the long ropes of sugar spooling into one end and popping out like a lollipop at the other.
“It makes lollipops,” I said, blinking back the memories. “Did you just say you’re taking it to the dump?”
The driver grabbed a clipboard from the back of the truck, glancing at it. “That’s what the order says. I guess Zed Four Corporations just care about the building.”
“Zed Four?”
He tossed the clipboard back down. “That’s who hired us. So tell me, do you want this or not?”
I glanced over my shoulder, looking at my overstuffed shop. On top of the fact that I had no interest in actually making candy, there wasn’t really room for it, either. Mr. Ford kept a large portion of his business cleared for the Zing Machine display, and even then, the place smelled like burnt, lemony sugar half the time.
But still, I couldn’t bear the idea of the Zing Machine going to the dump. After a disheartening afternoon, that seemed as depressing as digging up Mrs. Meyer’s garden myself.
“Sure, I’ll take it,” I said.
“Fifty dollars,” the man in the coveralls said, leaning up against the dolly. “And fifty more if you want us to haul it across the street for you.”
I sighed and shoved my hands in my pocket. If I hadn’t felt so embarrassed at the diner, I would have considered going back and recruiting some help. But of all the things I wanted to say to the group, asking for assistance moving my giant candy machine was definitely at the bottom of the list.
“One hundred dollars,” I said. “It’s a deal.”
The driver barked a laugh. “You must have some sweet tooth, kid.”
“Sweeter every day,” I answered and hurried off to grab the cash.
