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“That’s the third shop this month,” Daisy added darkly. “Half of Main Street is boarded up.”
“We’ve got to do something,” I said as we climbed into the truck.
“But what?” Poppy asked.
“I don’t know.” I nibbled my lip, starting the truck. “We need to get people to town to shop, and we need businesses to move in.”
“Nobody will with Main Street looking like it does,” Daisy said. “I can’t imagine why they covered up so much of the old building façades in the 70s, but it’s gonna cost a small fortune to set it back to rights.”
“What if we could restore it somehow?” Poppy wondered, but sighed. “I can’t even imagine what that would cost.”
“I wonder if we could raise the money,” I said. “We could talk to Mr. Meyers, see if Meyer’s construction would give us a deal. And then we could do some fundraising. See if we could woo some donors.”
“Call it Glow Up, Lindenbach,” Poppy said, smiling.
“Sebastian would definitely be interested in helping. Not just in donations, but for organizing. Want me to ask him?” Presley offered.
“Absolutely,” I said. “Maybe we could do a dinner here. We have the wedding space, and we could be the entertainment. There’s Jesse’s sister—I heard she was looking for work, straight out of culinary school and starting off her new business in town. We could see if she’s up to the challenge…how fast do you think we could get it set up?”
Daisy bobbled her head. “A couple of weeks, if we can get her on board.”
“We can get a bigger plan together once we talk to everyone.” I paused. “Is there anything we can do to help Renee stay in her store?”
But Presley shook her head. “She’s packing up and moving to San Antonio where her mom lives. I think she’s going to open a new store over there, but not any time soon.”
I sighed, my shoulders slumping. “More people moving out too. We’re losing ground left and right.”
“Doubt Mitchell will be any help,” Poppy spat. “And he’d better not get in our way.”
“No, he’d better not,” I echoed. “Why he’d try to pull something is beyond me, but sometimes I think he’s just a born contrarian.”
“Ask your boy toy to donate,” Presley suggested. When no one answered, she kicked the back of my seat.
“What, who? Me?”
“Mr. Tight Pants McMoneybags could do a lot around here.” Daisy nodded.
“He’s here to make money, not spend it.”
“Except he’s paying everyone for their land,” Poppy added.
“He’s not paying for anything.”
“Don’t you let him in your pants, Iris Jo,” Poppy said.
“You’re a broken record, Poppy June,” I snapped. “At the end of the day, he’s still the enemy.”
The passengers snickered like I was a fool. Naturally, I tapped the brakes so they’d get whiplash.
Hating that they were right.
14
Lights Out
GRANT
The second I cut the engine that Saturday night, I heard the music floating from town hall over the rain.
For a second, I just sat there amidst the scent of leather and luxury in a pair of Wranglers and cowboy boots, wondering how I’d gotten here.
It’d only been a couple weeks ago that I’d pulled into this town in this very same car, primed to get what I came for by any means necessary. In my cocksure certainty, I’d taken the window Jo provided, thinking I knew what I was doing. And here I was with a Stetson in my passenger seat, feeling like a foreigner in my own car.
I’d spent the rest of the football game talking to Wyatt, Manny, and the Blum sisters—minus Poppy, who dutifully ignored me—while the town looked on from the bleachers around us. A couple of days ago, I’d have been happy to perform for the town, to play the part of someone who belonged.
But now? Well, now I needed a new plan. Because for a minute there, I felt like I did belong, and I enjoyed it just a little too much for comfort.
I’d gotten attached like a fool, but I couldn’t seem to help myself.
Maybe it was time to lean in. Maybe while I was here, while I had this moment, I could enjoy it. Maybe I could find a way to convince the Blums to sign earnestly, no lies, no catch.
Maybe, for just a little bit longer, I could pretend I belonged here.
You don’t. And they don’t want you, the real you. Quit dreaming and get your job done.
With that affirming pep talk, I sighed, grabbed my hat, and slid out of my car, hurrying for the door before I got soaked.
So far, I’d exploited a messy divorce on one of the properties for a signature and a second after the owner died and his kids began to split up his assets.
But the Blum farm was another beast altogether. I could feel the slow blooming of her trust and reveled in it, the joy well beyond the job.
