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But then someone taps a microphone, and the meeting starts.

“Hello, all. We’ve asked you here to talk about a few issues with the upcoming festival. As you all know, things have been pretty haphazard around here due to the storms.”

The crowd murmurs in agreement.

“Fuck,” Margo curses under her breath, and I glance at her. Then I follow her gaze toward the door.

A stunning middle-aged woman looks around, clutching a yellow purse close to her stomach. When her brown eyes sweep over us, the resemblance tells me who she is before Margo says it.

“My mother,” she whispers, sliding down in the chair as if she can hide.

“She’s beautiful,” I say honestly.

“She’s crazy,” Margo mutters. “What is she doing here?”

Suzanne Richards drones on from the podium about the catering service and where the chairs should be set up indoors and outdoors.

Margo’s mother’s eyes light up when she sees Margo, and she makes a beeline toward her, sitting on the other side of her.

Margo groans softly.

I fight a smirk, trying to keep my gaze focused on Suzanne.

“What are you doing here?” Margo hisses.

“I can’t come out to support my mija? It’s an important meeting. Now shush, the woman is talking.” Margo’s mother’s voice goes all authoritative. Margo huffs and slides down even further in her seat.

“And let’s all give a round of applause to Gabriel Rivera for hosting on such short notice.”

I clap softly, glancing at Gabe. He stands near the entrance like he’s ready to bolt but throws up a wave at the mention of his name.

I feel someone behind me like a shadow and the hair on the back of my neck rises.

Marcus. My real competition. Gabe’s not ready. That’s clear. I figure he’ll back out before we get to Halloween.

Marcus, on the other hand, has settled behind Margo, clearly trying to butt in.

The applause dies down and Suzanne continues.

“Also, I’d like to give a special thanks to Margo Reyes, who will be providing the desserts for the event. Please stand, Margo.”

Margo pales and looks like she wants to disappear under the floor when her mother whoops loudly in the quiet space.

I snort out a laugh and Margo glares at me. My smile fades.

She slowly stands up, throwing up one hand in a little wave.

Cute.

“I’m the owner of Sugar & Coal, down on Fifth?”

It’s almost a question.

She’s nervous.

Suzanne stares at her with a steady smile, as if she expects her to say more.

A man stands up. “I don’t see why we’re talking about pastries,” he mutters. “I’d like to know how we’re planning to arrange parking. There’s not a lot of space.”