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There was a smattering of applause from the far side of the room as three old men stamped their canes on the floor.
Geez, the lairds were here. This had the potential to get really ugly.
"I don't know what makes you think you deserve that right." Jonathan had his arms crossed, an officious stance that did nothing to break Jamie's accusation about his premier spot in the town.
The audience’s gaze was jumping between the two men, like a small tennis match they were stuck in the middle of.
"Jonathan, if you’re still looking for something to measure against me, maybe art knowledge shouldn't be it." Cam rolled his eyes and shook his head.
The fact was, there wasn’t anyone in town who could measure their knowledge of art against Cam. In fact, there were very few in Maine who could measure their knowledge about Raymond Havester against him.
"Believe it or not, Cam, this has nothing to do with you. Not everything is about you."
Chairs squeaked as everyone turned forward to watch Jonathan, then back to get Cam’s reaction.
“Mom,” a little voice came in her ear. “Who is this guy?”
Oh, geez.
“Do you have a guy that’s mean to you and you can’t figure out why?”
“Yes, Mikey Baines.”
Great, runs in the family.
“That was the guy for Cam. And Cam could have taken him down but was always the bigger man.”
“That’s why Uncle Jamie doesn’t like him.”
“That and seven thousand other reasons.”
“Got it.” He sat back, way more invested in this than she expected.
Of course his hero was front and center, so… yeah.
“I have no interest in everything in this town being about me. That sounds like the most exhausting thing since, well, dealing with you. Absolutely anytime I’ve had to deal with you was more than enough town-centric time for me.”
“Go Uncle Cam!” Tyler’s little voice carried across the room to a huff of muffled laughter.
Cam turned, his whole body loosening up. “Thanks, bud.”
“Okay”—Vivian leaned down—“that was your one involvement moment, got it?”
Tyler nodded, looking particularly pleased with himself.
Jonathan shot a glare at Tyler and Vivian nearly came out of her chair.
"Well, I am—" Jonathan glanced down as this phone dinged several times in a row. He lifted it to read the screen, a rush of red going up his cheeks. "My client says they would be more than willing to let you review the applications. Although I have already chosen the people who will be assisting on this job."
Before Jonathan could lower the phone, it dinged again.
He glanced at it, his eyebrows coming down in an obvious effort not to frown. "Although, my client states that your input is valuable, and if we have any issues, they would like to hear about them ahead of time."
Obviously, this was not the power move Jonathan had been hoping to make. It felt very much like, “Well, Mom said I have to let you play with my ball.”
The ball being a nearly century-old piece of Americana.
The ding chimed again.
