by V. K. Sykes
“Thanks for the chance to say my piece. Folks, you know I usually don’t say anything at meetings like this. I don’t like taking sides unless I’m putting money down on college football.” He flashed a rueful smile that surely melted the panties off half the women in the room.
Including Holly’s.
“And you’re not very damn good at that,” Boone Cleary piped up.
Micah laughed along with the rest of the crowd. “You got that right. But I am going to take sides tonight.”
Holly blew out a shaky breath, trying to relax, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Micah. He was mesmerizing.
“Boyd, you and a couple of the others use the word progress a lot. Well, I guess it’s pretty hard to be against progress.” Micah lifted his broad shoulders in a dismissive shrug. “But what is progress? Is it building more subdivisions, destroying prime forests and farmland, and messing up our rivers and lakes? Is it building more and more roads so gigantic semis can haul more cheap goods to us even faster?” He gave his head a shake. “Lots of people would call all those things progress because they create business and make people money. I’m not denying that’s a good thing, but there’s a point where the downside outweighs the upside.”
When he paused, the only sound in the room was the ticking of the second hand on the big clock behind the head table. People were hanging on his words.
“You talk about consumer culture—getting what we want, when we want it,” Micah went on. “But to me, that means a race to get everything as cheap and as fast as possible, no matter the fallout. And that fallout comes down hard on small-business owners, people like Florence and Beatrice.”
“You tell ’em, Micah,” Brett Clayton said loudly.
Micah gave his friend a nod before continuing. “We all shop in the big-box stores in Portland, right? Sure, because they’ve got good prices and great selection. But what happened to all those small hardware stores, lumberyards, butchers, grocery stores, pharmacies, and other shops we used to see? Places run by owners who knew and cared about their customers. They’re gone, and I bet a lot of you miss them. Call me old-fashioned, but I sure do.”
“You know it, boy,” Roy Mayo said in loud voice. “Last time I went to one of those big-box stores, I couldn’t even find the damn bathroom. That’s holy hell on an old dog like me.”
Miss Annie smacked him on the arm. “Watch your language,” she barked to a smattering of laughter.
When the chuckles died down, Micah looked straight at Kevin Archer, the rep from Night Owl. “Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Archer. There’s nothing the matter with Night Owl or any of those big stores. You’re all just doing your thing. But the question is—do we need any of you in Seashell Bay?” He shook his head. “Not in my book.”
Micah turned around and looked straight at Holly, Florence, and Beatrice. “But I’ll tell you one thing we do need. We need the Jenkins General Store and Sam’s Island Market. Those stores are part of the fabric of Seashell Bay, of our way of life. They’re us. And they can adapt, are adapting. But if you grant this permit, soon Night Owl will be all we have left in Seashell Bay. Whether it takes a few months or a few years, it’ll happen as sure as there’ll be morning fog on the bay. Ask yourself, folks, is that really progress? To abandon those who’ve always been here for us?”
He directed his gaze at the selectmen. “It’s not my definition of progress, that’s for damn sure.”
Before his butt even hit the chair, Holly jumped to her feet and applauded harder than she’d ever applauded anything in her life. Micah, the most taciturn guy she knew, had hit it out of the park. Miss Annie raced up and hugged him, while Ryan and Aiden moved into the aisle to shake his hand. Roy Mayo stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out an earsplitting whistle.
But when her flush of euphoria died down, Holly realized that despite the raucous response to Micah’s speech, little more than half the people in the hall had risen. Some had applauded but without a lot of enthusiasm. Only Chester Buckle among the selectmen was smiling.
Dammit.
“Thank you, Micah. You’re next, Claude,” Chester said.
“Claude will support us,” Florence whispered to Holly. “He and I go back a long way.”
Claude Dufresne was a burly man of around seventy who was well regarded by everyone. He’d lived in Seashell Bay all his life but ran a successful tour boat business out of Portland. While Dufresne sat near Holly and her aunts, as he spoke, he deliberately avoided their gazes.
“I’m afraid I have to support the permit application,” he said regretfully. “And it just about kills me to go against Florence and Beatrice. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned running a business, it’s that you either adapt to change or you don’t survive. My company almost went under ten years ago before I learned that hard lesson.”
“Oh, Claude,” Florence groaned under her breath. Holly felt like throwing up.
“We need new services on the island,” Dufresne continued, “and if the other stores can’t adapt like they should and go under, it’ll be because they let it happen. Not because Night Owl pushed them out.” He finally looked at Florence and Beatrice. “You know I love you ladies, but you need to face the truth.”
Though hardly anyone applauded Dufresne’s somber speech, it had caused quite a few heads to nod. Unfortunately, Selectman Hogan’s grizzled head was one of them.
“Holly, I need to leave,” Florence said in a reedy voice. “I’m not feeling well at all.”
Chapter 18
I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.” Morgan sighed as she put down her latte. “This is so unbelievably good.”
When Holly punched a couple of buttons, her new Franke coffee machine started to brew a cup of decaf for her too. “I had a window banner made up in Portland claiming that we’ve now got the best coffee in the islands. Too much?”
Morgan laughed. “No way. Besides, the only other place to get coffee in Seashell Bay is the Lobster Pot, and that’s basically swill.”
Once Brendan had finished his top-notch renovations and the coffee machine and the new deli case had been professionally installed, Holly had set up displays by five Maine artisans in the new gift section by the door. She figured that she’d better give those goods pride of place in front if she wanted to attract sales from tourists and day-trippers.
Morgan went over to inspect the display of gorgeous stoneware from a well-known potter from the Rockland area. The small collection featured multicolored mugs in two sizes and a matching pitcher. If those pieces sold well, Holly intended to expand the collection to include plates, cups, and saucers in varying patterns.
“Ouch, these are a tad pricey,” Morgan said, checking the sticker on a mug. “But, hey, they’re definitely awesome.”
“You have to pay for quality,” Holly said. “I’m counting on tourists wanting unique stuff. Hopefully, islanders will want that too. And speaking of quality, I’ve got a meeting in the city later this afternoon with a glass artist from Augusta who just got a big feature in World of Glass magazine.”
“Cool.” Morgan moved down to the display of bronze and sterling silver jewelry from an artist from Stonington. Most pieces were small, tasteful pendants on delicate chains. “Okay, this one is screaming that it wants to come home with me,” Morgan said, practically caressing one gorgeous little piece. “Allow me the honor of being the first customer for your artisan goods.”
Holly would have happily offered the piece to Morgan as a gift but knew her pal would be offended if she tried. “Thanks, but don’t even look at the tag. For you, the price is our cost.”
Morgan snorted. “As if. You’re supposed to be making money, remember?” She peered at the attached price tag, then took her handbag off her shoulder and rummaged around for a moment before heaving a sigh. “Oops, it seems I’m a little challenged when it comes to cash. And I’m afraid I don’t have my checkbook either.”
Though the store accepted credit cards, Morgan always paid in cash or by
check in order to save Florence and Beatrice the card transaction fees. “Oh, I think you’re probably good for it,” Holly said with a grin. She took the pendant from Morgan and went behind the counter to retrieve one of the small boxes the artist had left.
“I’ll wear it to the meeting tonight,” Morgan said, following Holly to the counter. “Maybe it’ll bring us good luck.”
Holly had been trying hard not to think about tonight’s vote on the Night Owl permit. She’d wanted to skip the meeting, but Florence had insisted she was going with or without Beatrice and Holly. Holly was truly worried about the effect a bad outcome could have on Florence’s health, but there was no way she could talk her stubborn aunt out of going.
“Any more gossip about the vote since the town hall meeting?” she asked.
Morgan shook her head. “As far as I know, even Chester has kept his mouth shut since. Miss Annie hasn’t been able to worm a word out of him, which I find a bit weird.”
Weird and worrying.
“I’ve been working hard to convince my aunts that the store will be able to survive no matter what. But Florence isn’t really buying it.” Holly grimaced. “And she’s not very impressed with my changes.”
She hated to admit it, but Claude Dufresne had been right about the need to change in order to survive. And Florence was fighting change almost every step of the way.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” Morgan said. “But they’ve devoted almost their whole lives to the general store, so even all the good things you’re doing must be pretty hard to absorb. Change can be tough at their age. Heaven knows my dad tended to get stuck on the same old track at the B&B.”
True, but with Ryan’s help, Morgan had done an amazing job of revitalizing the B&B. It was doing great, and Holly saw it as a positive model of how to blend the old and the new in a community like Seashell Bay.
“All I can do is my best,” she said with a sigh. “And if I don’t get down to New York soon, my new partners are going to throw me off the Brooklyn Bridge.” She’d had another fraught conference call with them last night. To say the guys weren’t happy with her was a massive understatement.
“Don’t worry. You’ll charm them out of the grumps,” Morgan said loyally. “Now, to change the subject completely, are you and Micah still avoiding each other?”
Holly rolled her eyes. The only surprise in that question was how long Morgan had waited to ask it.
She and Micah had barely said hello at the town hall a few nights ago and hadn’t laid eyes on each other since. While she was relieved not to have to deal with the crazy sexual tension between them, she missed him—a lot. And so did her body, which practically vibrated as she remembered every wonderful second of the evening when Micah transformed her anger and frustration into pure magic.
But that didn’t mean she wanted to talk about it, even to her best friends.
“Why do you say avoiding?” she hedged as she fussed with tying a pretty pink ribbon around the gift box.
Morgan crossed her arms over her chest. “Really, we’re going to play it like that? We’ve seen each other every day, but you haven’t once mentioned his name. And he’s been doing exactly the same thing, at least according to Ryan. Something happened during or after Lily’s party, so don’t even try to deny it.”
While Holly had told her pals that Micah had driven her home that night, she’d withheld the rest. And that wasn’t like her. Was she ashamed of the way she’d succumbed to the moment—and to him—and done something she’d vowed never to do? She’d asked herself that question many times, and maybe she was indeed ashamed. Micah deserved so much better than what she could give him. She’d hurt him, and that made her feel awful.
And not very eager to come clean with her friends.
“Nothing’s going on,” she said. “I’m sure we’ll see him tonight at the meeting.”
Morgan shot her another skeptical look. “Okay, you’re obviously not ready to talk, so we’ll leave it at that. For now.” She took the box from Holly and leaned across the counter to kiss her cheek. “Your appointment with the glass artist this afternoon—it won’t make you late for the meeting, will it? The selectmen like to start at seven sharp.”
“No. I have to keep it short because I need to pick up a new prescription at Watson’s for Florence before I catch the boat,” Holly said. “Anyway, let’s just pray hard that the selectmen will do the right thing. Florence is so nervous she can barely sit down, and I’m getting more and more worried about what might happen if the vote goes against us.”
“Me too, but whatever goes down, remember that you’re doing all you can,” Morgan said firmly. “You’re a wonderful niece and a wonderful person, and don’t you forget it.”
Micah had to resist the urge to pace along the back of the hall as he watched the rows of chairs slowly filling up with tense-looking islanders. At least a dozen people had already stopped to chat with him, but he’d been pretty terse in his responses. His nerves were buzzing like a hive full of bees on steroids.
He was keeping his eye on the door for Holly and her aunts. Unlike the last meeting, where Fitz had practically dragged him into the chair next to her, he had no intention of sitting with anybody but Holly. Yes, he ached to simply be near her, but he also had a bad feeling about how things were going to turn out tonight.
Rex Fudge, Amos’s best friend, had let something out of the bag last night when Micah stopped to help him change a tire down on Collins Lane. Amos and Rex had shared a few beers at the Lobster Pot, as they often did, and Amos had let slip that he and another selectman had reached an agreement on the permit issue. Since Amos and Chester never agreed on anything, that meant he and Thor were now together, and that had to mean they were both on the dark side.
Unless old Rex was confused again, which was always a possibility.
If things did go sour tonight, as he feared, Micah wanted to be as close as he could to Florence and Beatrice—and to Holly.
Most of the seats were filled by the time she and her aunts arrived. The aunts looked pale and nervous as hell, but Holly looked gorgeous. Dressed in a short, cornflower-blue sundress that instantly drew Micah’s eyes to her mile-long legs, she had her arm around Florence’s waist. When she spotted Micah, she gave him a tight smile. All three women looked like they were expecting the worst.
“Jessie’s been saving those seats,” Micah said, pointing to the third-to-last row after they’d exchanged greetings. He’d staked out the chair directly the across the aisle by draping his sheriff’s office jacket over it. “Are you okay?”
She grimaced. “Ask me in half an hour.”
“Micah, I suppose you’re never going to come around again now that the porch is finished,” Florence said. “Beatrice and I can’t help feeling rather abandoned.” Despite her obvious worries, she managed to give Micah a mischievous wink.
What was he supposed to say—that he’d been busy? “I figured you’d be sick of me after all those evenings banging away out there in back.”
Florence rolled her eyes. “You are the world’s worst liar, Micah Lancaster. We’ve missed him, haven’t we, Holly?” She elbowed her niece, who looked ready to sink right through the floor.
“I think we’ve been enough of a burden to Micah, Auntie,” Holly said. Her cheeks flushed a bright pink.
“Now that’s a lie,” Micah said. “Helping you ladies out made me happier than anything I’ve done for a long time.”
Florence squeezed Micah’s hand. “Thank you, dear. Now, I think I’d better sit down before I fall down. I’m still not feeling quite up to snuff.”
Before Florence could sit, Kevin Archer from Night Owl appeared out of nowhere. “I don’t mean to interrupt but I’d like to introduce myself.” He extended his hand to Florence. “I’m Kevin Archer, ma’am.”
Florence peered at him for a long moment before finally shaking his hand.
After he got Beatrice to shake, Archer turned to Holly. “And you’re their niece, of course. I’ve he
ard quite a lot about you.”
“Yes, I’m Holly Tyler.”
“I know.” Archer took her hand and held on too long for Micah’s liking.
Micah stepped in and introduced himself. Archer briefly shook his hand and immediately turned back to Holly. “I’d planned to say hello the other night, but you folks left the hall so fast that I didn’t get the chance. So, I thought I’d better take advantage of this opportunity.”
“And so you have,” Holly said, obviously trying to cut short the conversation so her aunt could sit down.
“I understand you’ve been making changes at your store,” Archer said. “Good for you.” He was so obviously interested in Holly that it made Micah want to toss the guy into a jail cell.
“You seem to be well informed, Mr. Archer,” Holly said in a frosty voice.
The dude apparently took her remark as a compliment, giving her a broad smile. “At Night Owl, we always do our homework before getting involved in a new location. We study current and potential markets, the demographics, and our competitors. Pretty much everything that could impact our business.”
“I do that for a living,” Holly said, raising an eyebrow.
“And you have a fine reputation, Holly. We think it’s wonderful that you’re bringing your marketing expertise to your aunts’ store.”
“Are you serious?” Holly’s skepticism echoed what they were all obviously feeling.
“Absolutely,” he enthused. “Look, folks, I know what some people say, but Night Owl isn’t in the business of trying to destroy its competitors. We believe there’s going to be growth in Seashell Bay, enough to support more than one store. Maybe not three, but two shouldn’t be a problem.”