Coffee aside, the place is in shambles. Her father…or husband’s? name is on the lease. Daddy probably bought her her dream bakery that she had no idea how to run. She barely makes eye contact with customers and was flustered with all of three patrons at the counter.
And the meeting…
How could the demon woman who yelled me right out of her store shrink to the point of invisibility in a discussion with herfellow townsfolk? It was bizarre. Didn’t even get to double check the green of her eyes, which couldn’t possibly be as vivid as I remember, because she didn’t look up. Not once.
How can she run a business?
I suppose she doesn’t. Not a successful one. Not in this town.
It’s always the same. Big dreams, doe eyes, and nary a single financial plan to keep the doors open.
“Mr. Vanderwell! Lovely to see you again!” The realtor chap gushes at me. The mayor joins him. I nod and hold up a hand, willing them to stop. I prefer our big mergers. Cold and calculating—that I’m used too. All this warmth is…disturbing. I’m disturbed.
“Let’s get to it then,” the gruff mechanic says.
He may look like the leader of a biker gang but I appreciate his hard demeanor. This is business. I’m about to start my usual closing remarks when a woman stands up. She owns…? I’ve forgotten. Probably an ice cream shop called Snowflakes or something equally ridiculous.
“We want to negotiate,” she says.
I fight a smirk. I don’t mean to be an amused, condescending ass but honestly…this little lady— about four feet in total, huge glasses, hunched shoulders, bright white hair and a sweater with more colors than the rainbow—against Vanderwell Holdings?
It’s amusing.
“I’m Maxine Houston and I own My Favorite Things. We want a year.”
“A year? To do what, exactly?”
“Get you to move your parking lot.”
I scoff, “Listen, the plans are drawn by a renowned civil engineer. I didn’t take out half the street just to be cruel.”
“You sure about that?” Maxine glares, arms crossed, feet spread. The exact position I’m in. A worthy opponent arises.
“I am. I’m not here for fun, I—”
“That’s some bull. You’re a heartless suit wholivesfor this,” Maxine spits. Some of the heads in the room nod.
I let myself grin. So, they’re going with insults. This town does have some fight in it, after all.
She wants to play? Let’s play.
“Alright, let’s say I do live for this, Ms. Houston. What could your little band possibly come up with that would make me give up a year of development time? Millions of dollars?”
“You can put up your little resort, we just want you to change your parking plan.”
I scoff, “Little resort, eh? The parking plan is designed to—”
“Then make your fancy engineer redesign it. If we win, Main Street stays.”
“Win?” I ask, more intrigued than ever.
“It’s not a game, Max,” one of the other owners scolds her.
“More like a wager,” the realtor tries.
“Doesn’t matter what you call it. In a year, we’ll prove Main Street can be profitable.”
I study the room, my adversaries. Is this little spitfire the mastermind? The mayor certainly isn’t. The big Black man is adorned in tie-dye from head to toe once again and theresheis, next to him. They must be close. Her arms are crossed too, shoulders tight like most everyone else in the room, but she’slooking down. No fire, no fight. Again, I stare at her, waiting. I’m unusually curious. But she doesn’t look up.
