“Girls her age,” Joe echoed, a corner of his mouth twitching. “Pretty sure she’d take you out for calling her a girl.”
“Woman,” Walt corrected. “Stubborn, wild-hearted woman who thinks she can hold up the whole damn town by herself.”
He finally looked Joe dead in the eye. There was something probing there. It was like he was measuring him.
“You care about her,” Walt said.
“I do,” he said without hesitation.
Walt nodded, like that matched whatever math he’d been doing in his head. “You got somewhere to be after this job of yours is done?” he asked. “Another story to chase?”
“I always have somewhere to be,” Joe said. He tried to keep it light. “Perks and curses of the job.”
“Right.” Walt shook his head.
Joe had never felt more like a disappointment to someone in his life.
“It means a lot to her,” Joe said quietly. “This place. Both places.”
“I know,” Walt said. “That’s why I’m scared.”
Joe didn’t have an easy answer for that. So he did the only thing he could. He listened. Walt talked about the early years, how he and Alice had built the campground from dirt and dreams, how the camp store had once been a shed with a cooler and a jar of honey. He talked about bees and storms and what it was like when Krista moved in with them when she was sixteen.
They sat like that for a while, coffee growing cold, the afternoon sun high and bright over the lake.
Joe heard Elsie’s high heels on the deck boards before he saw her.
“Oh Valerio!” she sang.
She breezed in on a wave of floral perfume and enthusiasm, her tote bag slung over one shoulder, phone already in hand.
“Good afternoon to you too,” Joe said.
She snapped a quick photo of him and Walt at the table before he could protest.
“Perfect,” she said. “Love the intergenerational vibe. Walt, you look very ‘wise patriarch considering the fate of the family legacy.’”
“That’s because I am,” Walt said dryly.
Elsie’s expression flickered. “How’s Alice?” she asked more gently.
“Ornery,” Walt said. “Which I take as a good sign.”
“Good,” Elsie said. “We like her that way.”
She turned her focus back to Joe, thumbs flying across her screen. “Alright, listen. The Summer Swap content is exploding. Between your bumblebee art and Krista braving the tent storm, people are hooked. I posted the Hot Honey Margarita video and Mrs. Bishop’s commentary alone got seven thousand views.”
“Is that…a lot?” Joe asked.
“For Maple Falls? It’s practically viral,” Elsie said. “And the fundraiser link? Cha-ching.” She spun the phone around so he could see a graph climbing steadily. “We crossed three thousand last night. The Cinnamon Spice Inn is going to sponsor again. Liam’s farm shop is offering a percentage of jam sales for the weekend. Tyler, Meg’s new assistant at the bookshop, is talking about a ‘Swap Shelf’ and donating a cut.”
Walt let out a low whistle. “Well, I’ll be.”
Hope flickered in Joe’s chest.
Only, three thousand was a lot.
But not nearly enough.
