Gwen stopped herself from rolling her eyes. That would be such an Evie thing to do.
When she felt a shoe tapping her ankle, she glanced around and it was Case who caught her attention. Not just because Casealwayscaught her attention, but because he had his eyebrow raised and when their gazes locked, the foot tapped against her ankle again. Then he smiled.
Realizing he was letting her know that her less than positive thoughts about the current state of their business meeting were written all over her face, she smiled back. Probably not the most genuine smile she’d ever mustered, but it would have to do.
“Who’s going to cook?” Mallory asked, and Gwen lost the delicious eye contact with Case when they both turned to face her. “And before anybody answers that, I feel like now’s a good time to remind everybody that I have been and will continue to do everything I can to help out, but I have kids and I work at the thrift store during the day and usually handle the online stuff in the evening so at least I’m home with them.”
“You have online stuff?” Gwen interrupted.
“Yes, there’s online stuff,” Mallory replied, clearly exasperated by the derailing of the conversation. “There are some things that we can charge more for on the resale sites than we can get for them here in Stonefield and even with the shipping we make more of a profit. We live in the same century as everybody else, Gwen, and life keeps moving forward even if you’re not here to see it.”
Ouch.The pointed jab was so unlike Mal that it was practically a neon sign flashing Stressed to Capacity over her head. So Gwen shut down the part of her brain trying to compose a snarky response and said nothing.
“The seating capacity is limited, and it takes a while for a business to get rolling,” Lane said, probably trying to get back on topic. “I think Evie can tend the bar and be the server.”
“Sure,” Evie snapped. “Let me just go dig out my old roller skates.”
Nobody said anything, and Gwen realized those were the first words Evie had said to her ex-husband since finding out he’d been their dad’s business partner the entire time and nobody had told her. And as her youngest sister glared at Lane, Gwen glanced back at Case. He had his head bent, his thumb picking at the corner of the label on his empty water bottle. Then he looked up and their eyes met—lingering there for a few seconds before he turned to Ellen.
“I have an idea,” he said. “Lane said there wasn’t space or budget for a full kitchen or even for pizza ovens, but maybe we can still offer that. When the Stonefield House of Pizza lost their liquor license several years ago because—well, I don’t believe the rumors about their son and the liquor commissioner’s wife—but anyway, they lost a lot of business. Guys getting together after work for a beer and a pizza couldn’t have a beer. No beer with their wings on a game day. Maybe we work a deal where we have some basic appetizer stuff on-site, but we have a partnership with the pizza place, where our customers can call and have something delivered here.”
Gwen caught theweandourand realized just how “in” Case was. He might not have money in the venture, but he was definitely invested.
“So they can have their pizza or wings and watch a game and keep drinking the beer,” Lane said, nodding. “I like it. And it takes a huge strain off of not only the problem of who’s doing what, but the budget.”
“Gwen and I can probably handle the kitchen if all we’re doing is snack-type stuff at first,” Ellen said, tapping her pen on the table. “Eventually, when money’s being made, we can think about expanding the food menu. Or maybe everybody will be happy with that arrangement and we’ll just leave it alone.”
Gwen and I.She thought about objecting—again—but it wouldn’t do any good. And there wasn’t only her mother to consider. Mallory was like a rubber band stretched to its limit and about to snap. They already knew Gwen wasn’t staying forever. Reminding them of it every five minutes wasn’t going to help.
Lane sighed, shifting on the picnic bench. “I can barely feel my legs anymore, so let’s start wrapping this up. Tomorrow, Case and I have a meeting with the utility company about clearing the power lines, and since the guys will be doing an easy job in town, I asked the electrician to stop by in the afternoon. I looked over the bid he gave David and I’m going to knock that down some.”
“I’ll come, too,” Case said, and Gwen bit back her smile. “The guys won’t need me, and I can start making a more detailed supply list for Sheetrock and trim and all that.”
“And we’ll start brainstorming food ideas,” Ellen said, making a note before closing the book. “Now, who’s going to talk to Stonefield House of Pizza?”
“Not Gwen,” they all said at the same time, and she groaned.
“Almost every single small town in New England has a something-House of Pizza,” she said.
“Thatwasa pretty graphic food poisoning scene,” Evie said, laughing for the first time since they’d started the meeting.
“That wasn’t even in my book,” Gwen protested. “They added it to the movie version ofA Quaking of Aspensfor... I don’t know why. Maybe audiences love vomiting.”
“I’ll talk to them,” Mallory said, sounding tired. “Lord knows I’m there often enough grabbing pizzas for the boys lately.”
“That’s settled, then,” Ellen said, standing up. With a groan and Case’s hand at her elbow, she stepped over the bench and stretched her back. “Future meetings with be held in the kitchen so we can sit in proper chairs.”
“I’ll second that,” Lane said, and Gwen saw him wince when he stood up.
The shuffling in the gazebo brought Boomer jogging over from the porch, where he’d been hanging out with Jack and Eli. Mallory had made them popcorn to go with the movie they wanted to watch outside on their mom’s tablet, which had no doubt helped sway the dog’s decision about who to hang out with. He went first to Case and then did a slow lap of the picnic table, probably disappointed to find it wasn’t still laden with leftovers for him to beg.
It seemed as if the gazebo emptied in record time, because before she knew it, she was alone with Case. And unlike everybody else, he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave.
“You looked like you were plotting how to murder some people,” he said, his amusement obvious in his voice and the way the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened. “You don’t write murder mysteries, so I was getting a little worried.”
That made her laugh and it eased some of the tension building inside of her. “I’ll probably be writing horror by the time this is over.”
They laughed together, and when the sound faded away, the eye contact remained. It was three breaths at least—heat seeping through her and probably flushing her cheeks—before he gave her a crooked smile and looked away.
