Sandcastle Beach--Includes a Bonus Novella

by Jenny Holiday

Uh, what now? Maya’s head shot up as an excited murmur rippled through the crowd. Eve slapped Maya’s arm, but then, seeming to realize that no one was supposed to know about her financial trouble, turned it into a strange arm wiggle.

  “The town is contributing thirty thousand off the bat, from our pot of money from past festivals,” Karl said. “Provincial and federal matching programs take us to ninety thousand, and my Junior Achievement kids have committed to raising the final ten thousand through their summer businesses. The winning applicant will be a business owner who contributes significantly to the economy and culture of Moonflower Bay. Please raise your hand if you’re interested in an application package.”

  Maya shot her hand in the air so hard something crunched in her elbow.

  A hundred thousand dollars. That would be a game changer, even more than Holden. Way more than Holden. She’d run the numbers on the best-case scenario on the expanded run of Much Ado. With the higher ticket prices she was planning to charge, she figured that after Holden’s fee, she’d have enough to catch up on her mortgage payments, keep her employees, and make a few of the most critical repairs. But if she got this grant…Wow. She could do even more. One of the things she’d had on her to-do list forever was getting a fundraising program up and running. Letters and emails and a system that let people round up the price of their tickets to make a donation. With this kind of money, she could even hire a fundraising consultant.

  The question was who else was going to be applying for this grant. Who would be her competition? Who else would…Oh. Oh no.

  Lawson’s Freaking Lunch.

  She looked over to find Benjamin looking at her again. His arm was in the air, too. He didn’t look as ragey as he had a moment ago. He looked determined.

  She had been so shocked when she’d seen his plans yesterday. A bit taken aback, too. Here she was struggling to keep her first and only business afloat and he was just casually planning to open a second.

  It was funny how many different ways there were to stare at someone. She and Benjamin had their usual showdown way of staring at each other. And as she’d so recently learned, there was also a death stare.

  This was yet another type. It reminded her of last night, when they’d stared at each other as they shook hands. They’d both been oddly vulnerable at different points in the evening. Maya when she’d come to her senses after reflexively snuggling up to Benjamin and kissing him. But Benjamin, too, she thought, when she’d seen his loan paperwork. He so clearly hadn’t wanted her to, yet he hadn’t lashed out. He’d just held her hand and asked her to keep his secret.

  It was all very confusing.

  Animosity was easier.

  So she narrowed her eyes at him, steering them back to the more familiar territory of plain old antagonism.

  He did the same.

  It was like looking in a mirror.

  Except not, because when she looked in a mirror, she didn’t see moss-green eyes topped by absurdly long lashes. It wasn’t fair. Someone with such a sour personality shouldn’t be allowed to be so good-looking.

  Her face heated, and she wanted to look away. But she couldn’t.

  “You want one of these?” It was Pearl, trying to hand her an application packet. This was her out. It was okay to look away when she was being interrupted by someone else.

  Listen to her: “It was okay”? Like there were defined rules of engagement? She needed to calm down. Interacting with the town bartender did not require her to adhere to the Geneva Conventions.

  She flipped through the packet and tried to get her face to chill out. It looked like a standard grant application. No problem. She’d applied for a million grants in her life. Not successfully last time, but still. She could do this in her sleep.

  You know who could not do this in his sleep? Who had zero experience applying for grants?

  Ha. She flipped the page. She totally had this in the bag. Benjamin Lawson was going down.

  Except, hang on.

  She waved her hand in the air.

  Karl called on her. “Maya? Yes?”

  “What’s this about decisions being made based on the application and on a ‘demonstrated devotion to the well-being of the town of Moonflower Bay’?”

  “We want to make sure the money goes to a person who really cares about this town.”

  Okay, then! She had this even more in the bag. Who cared more than the girl who had come back to her hometown with the express purpose of bringing drama and culture to it?

  “How do you measure that?” Benjamin piped up.

  Crap. Benjamin cared about this town, too. He might be a jerk, but he was a jerk who cared about this town. He was always looking in on Pearl, in her bakery next door to his bar. And you could hardly make your way through a Raspberry or Anti-Festival event without someone making a speech about “the generous support of Lawson’s Lager House.”

  But it was important to remember that he would be using the grant to open a restaurant. A commercial establishment. She, on the other hand, would be using it for a nonprofit. For the arts.

  “We’ll be scoring each application based on the viability of your project and the financial and business data you provide—that’s all set out in your packets,” Karl said in answer to Benjamin’s question. “We’ll also be assigning a ‘community-mindedness’ score. We’ll add the two up, and that will produce our winner.”

  “A community-mindedness score?” Maya asked, not waiting to be called on. “So that’s like a loyalty test judged by you guys subjectively?”

  Karl stared evenly at her. “Yes. It’s a loyalty test judged by us subjectively.”

  “Oh, come on.” Eiko edged Karl out of the way to speak into the microphone. “A community-mindedness score is a way to make sure the money benefits the town. For example, what if someone won a grant for a business located in town, but they didn’t live in town themselves, and the profits got spent elsewhere? We just want to make sure the winning applicant benefits, but that the town does, too.”

  “And who is doing the judging?” Jenna asked. Uh-oh. Did Jenna have secret entrepreneurial ambitions, too?

  “The executive committee of the town council.”

  Meaning the old folks. The meddlers.

  But okay. That was fine. Maya was still the best candidate, and she could charm the pants off them. She was their mermaid queen, after all. Well, she had been, past tense. It was still a little disconcerting to think that her reign was over.

  The point was, she had this grant in the bag. One hundred percent.

  She glanced at Benjamin, who was shuffling through his own package of papers and wearing a little smile.

  Ninety percent.

  He looked up suddenly, right at her, as if he could feel her attention. He quirked a little smile. An overconfident smile.

  Seventy-five percent.

  Well, whatever. She had this. Forget mermaid queen. Maya was about to become the community-mindedness queen.

  Chapter Eight

  Law, hon, can you do me a favor?”

  It was Eiko, flashing him a merry smile. Law stifled a sigh. He had been doing her—and the other members of the town council—favors for the past three weeks. These favors had ranged from helping Pearl pass judgment on her Tinder matches—usually Maya’s job, but she hadn’t been around lately—to agreeing to be on a panel at Karl’s Junior Achievement meeting later in the week.

  Because that was what “community-minded” people did.

  He was operating under the assumption that Eiko knew about Lawson’s Lunch—and if she knew, so did her coconspirators. Of course, they’d all seen him take a grant application, so they knew he wanted the cash regardless, but Eiko had made a few cryptic comments that reinforced his sense that Maya had ratted him out.

  Regardless, for a hundred thousand dollars he would happily become an errand boy. Yeah, he’d still need a mortgage against the bar, but a much smaller one. If he could get the grant, and fold in what he’d earmarked for the first f
ew months’ rent, he could buy Jason’s place with a huge down payment. By his calculations, if the restaurant was even moderately successful, he’d have the mortgage cleared in six years. He could live with that in a way he couldn’t the idea of the bar being on the line for twenty-plus years.

  So he was getting that money, even if he had to kiss elderly ass all summer long. It did mean he had to put the restaurant plans on hold until he actually got the grant, but that was okay. He wanted to open in the off-season anyway. Waiting would just mean opening a little deeper into it.

  He manufactured a smile. “What can I do for you?”

  “I was poking around on the roof next door,” Eiko said. “I’m thinking of converting it to a green roof, so I was doing some measuring, and I left my purse up there.” She pulled out a bar stool. “I’m not as young as I used to be. All that squatting and standing. Honestly, as much as I hate to admit it, I…” She huffed a sad little sigh. “I really don’t want to walk up all those stairs again.”

  Well, crap. He’d always thought of Eiko as invincible. Of all the “matchmakers,” she seemed the most spry.

  “I’ll get it, no problem.” He scanned the almost-empty bar. It was the Tuesday before Raspberry Festival weekend, and he was appreciating the calm before the storm. “Will you keep an eye on the bar? I won’t be long.”

  “Sure thing, hon.” She beamed at him. “Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”

  A few minutes later, he emerged onto the roof of the Moonflower Bay Monitor building. He spotted the purse on top of a raised exhaust vent, but he walked past it to take in the view.

  The lake was serving up a truly stunning Huron sunset. He got so busy he sometimes forgot he lived on a Great Lake. He had a boat he kept up the river a ways in a marina, and he used to take his friends out semiregularly. But that had fallen by the wayside as he’d thrown himself into restaurant planning.

  The sound of someone coming through the door drew his attention. He was dawdling. Crap, he’d made Eiko walk up all those stairs after all. “Your purse is here. Sorry, I—”

  It was not Eiko. “Maya?” He’d thought maybe she was out of town. She hadn’t been into the bar since the town meeting, and he hadn’t seen the lights on in her apartment. He’d been wanting to confront her, to ask her if she’d told Eiko about his plans, but she’d disappeared. “Community-minded” tasks aside, it had been a disconcertingly quiet few weeks, actually.

  “Benjamin?” She squinted at him. “What are you doing here?”

  “What are you doing here?” he countered. He should confront her now.

  “Pearl apparently left her gaming…thingy up here and she asked me to come get it.”

  “Nintendo Switch,” he said. In addition to being an excellent baker, Pearl was a championship gamer.

  Maya looked around. She walked toward the purse. “Is this hers? Maybe it’s in here.”

  They were just going to have a normal conversation? Here on the roof after she’d blabbed his business around town? What was the matter with him? He was mad at her. He opened his mouth to say something to that effect, to let her have it, but what came out instead was, “Nope, that’s Eiko’s. She sent me up for it.”

  He was losing his momentum. Losing his anger. He’d been so pissed the night of the town meeting, and now he was…not that pissed.

  “Hmm.” She scanned the rooftop, and he scanned her. She was wearing her red Hamilton T-shirt, red Cons, and skinny jeans. Her hair was in its usual topknot. And she was gilded in the glowing orange light of the sunset. Dammit. “Ah,” she said, pointing toward a ledge that, upon further inspection, was home to Pearl’s Switch. “I wonder why Pearl is gaming up here.”

  He shook his head. He needed to start paying attention to what was actually happening—beyond the ridiculous sunset making Maya even prettier than she usually was. “Maybe she was helping Eiko, who was up here doing some measuring because she’s thinking of putting in a green roof. Seems oddly forward-thinking of her. I wonder how she got that idea into her head.”

  Maya shrugged. “The less known about what the old folks are up to, the better, don’t you find?”

  “I do find.” It seemed odd that Eiko and Pearl—they were both old, but sharp—had left their things up here, but Maya was right. It was better not to ask why. He picked up the purse. “Shall we?”

  “We shall.”

  He pulled on the door. Nothing happened.

  He yanked again.

  Nothing.

  He pushed instead of pulled, in case he was being an idiot.

  “Hooboy,” Maya said from behind him.

  Well, shit. He turned. “You have a phone, right?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “No. It’s behind the bar.”

  “What kind of person leaves their phone behind a bar?”

  “The kind of person who works at a bar and is just running next door for a second. Where’s your phone?”

  She winced. “In my room at the Mermaid.”

  Huh? “Your room at the Mermaid?”

  “I’m staying at the Mermaid until after Much Ado about Nothing.”

  “Why?” Although that explained why her place had been dark.

  “Holden Hampshire is going to stay in my apartment while he’s in town.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I promised him housing as part of his contract, and if he stays at my place I don’t have to pay for that housing.”

  “But he’s not here yet.”

  “Right, but I’m doing a bunch of work on the place to class it up.”

  He found himself bristling at the idea. Surely Maya’s apartment was good enough for this boy-band poseur.

  She must have seen the disapproval in his expression. “Have you seen my place?”

  “How would I have seen your place?” All those times she’d invited him over for tea parties?

  “Well, it’s a dump. You probably forget that Harold Burgess owns the building.”

  He had not forgotten that Harold Burgess owned the building. It was why Maya always had so much trouble with the lock. He had also not forgotten that another property owned by Harold Burgess, a house Nora had rented when she’d first come to town, had turned out to have black mold in it. He’d wondered about the building across the street but hadn’t found a way to say, Hey, I know you hate me, but I’m concerned about your long-term respiratory health.

  But none of this mattered. What mattered was…“We’re stuck up here with no way to call for help.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” She walked over to the front of the building, leaned over the ledge, and shouted, “Can anyone hear me?”

  “Be careful!” He rushed over and physically grabbed the back of her T-shirt. The ledge came up to her waist, but still.

  He nudged her back and took her place, scanning what he could see of the street—the building was so tall that he could only see the sidewalk on the other side, and it was devoid of pedestrian traffic at the moment. He was a fair bit taller than Maya, so he suspected she could see none of the street and had merely been shouting blindly over the edge.

  “Help!” she bellowed, as if to prove his point.

  He could feel her resisting his arm, trying to push her way back to the ledge. He turned around and stuck both arms out like he was guarding her in a basketball game. “If you insist on yelling, do it from there.”

  “If I ‘insist on yelling’? How else are we going to get down from here? You’re lucky I have theatrical training.” She placed her hands on her upper belly and made a strange but silent sort of retching motion. “I can project from the diaphragm all day long.”

  “I can see the sidewalk on the other side of the street. I’m going to wait for someone to walk by, and then you can have at it.”

  “Can you see anyone?”

  “Not yet. In the meantime, though”—he gestured at the horizon—“you can see this.”

  “Wow.” She followed his arm with her gaze. “Wow.”

  “Yeah.
” The sky was even more stunning than it had been a few minutes ago, giant swaths of flaming orange and hot pink streaking up from the lake.

  “I can’t believe this has been here all along and I didn’t notice.” She blew out a breath, like she was disgusted with herself. “I need to get out more.”

  He had just been thinking the same thing about the boat. Maybe Sawyer was right—maybe he was working too much.

  “You know what? Pearl can wait for her gaming thingy.” She walked back to the bricked-in vestibule that housed the door from the stairway and slid down its wall until she was sitting on the ground. “I’m going to watch the sunset.”

  “Great idea.” If Pearl could wait for her Switch, Eiko could wait for her purse.

  Maya shot him a look, no doubt thrown off by his proclaiming an idea of hers “great.” He shrugged and slid down next to her. He landed in such a way that their shoulders touched. His first instinct was to move over to create some space between them, but he checked it. Let her accommodate him for once.

  She did not move.

  They sat in silence while he racked his brain for something to say and tried not to obsess over the spot where his arm touched hers. “So. A boy-band dude does Shakespeare in Moonflower Bay. You don’t see that every day.”

  It was a stupid thing to say, not least because what he should be saying was something more along the lines of Why the hell would you tell Eiko about my plans? But his upper arm was getting all warm and tingly, and it was getting harder and harder to hold on to the idea that he was mad at her.

  “To be honest, I have no idea how it’s going to go,” she said thoughtfully. “It’s a bit of a gamble. But I actually hate My Fair Lady, so at least in that sense it works out?”

  He barked a laugh. That was not what he’d thought she’d been going to say. Not that he’d been expecting her to answer at all. If they were going to sit and watch the sunset, it was probably more natural for it to be like watching soccer, i.e., an activity conducted in silence. But he’d started this conversation, so he asked a follow-up question. “Then why were you planning to do My Fair Lady to begin with?”

  “It’s perennially popular. A crowd-pleaser. You know, ‘The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain’? Who doesn’t love that?”