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“Empty promises?” Viv stepped forward. “Why don’t you ask Tip Allen how much he made last month off Pearl Tide’s deep-cup singles?” She motioned toward the man in the front row. “Go ahead. Tell her, Tip.”
Tip Allen’s head moved from Viv to Kit, then back. “A-a lot.”
“More than you made from other locals dealing in wild oysters?” Viv prompted.
Kit’s face flamed.
“ ’Bout five times more,” Tip squeaked, glancing at Kit.
“Five times more than what you’d typically make off”—Viv spread her hands—“Royal Teague’s clusters?”
“And what did it cost the rest of you?” Kit eyed the crowd, focusing on seated and standing members who looked skeptical. “How many of you who are traditional fishermen, like my father, have gone bankrupt or seen your business fall apart? How many acres of Hope Creek that the rest of you used to enjoy recreationally have been lost to Pearl Tide’s commercial development? How many more will you lose if Mr. Sutton secures another permit to expand? Not to mention the effects of the cages on wildlife, like the dolphins that play along the creek’s shores. Their effects on Hope Creek’s aesthetic? Its natural, untarnished beaut—”
“Which is slowly diminishing every day, along with the wild oyster population?” Beau’s voice hardened as he rounded the podium and faced her head-on. “Traditional fishermen like Royal Teague, using unsustainable harvest methods, have overharvested from Hope Creek and other tidal waters in our area and are direct contributors to the decline of our wild oyster population, as are pollution from coastal property development and wake from the heavy boat traffic of Hope Creek residents enjoying recreational pursuits. Those contributing factors, coupled with the fact that our state has a deficit in shell recycling numbering in the thousands, necessitate change to protect what’s left of our local oyster population. Pearl Tide Oyster Company’s harvesting methods are sustainable, economically beneficial, and environmentally safe—none of which can be said for the outdated and harmful practices of traditional fishermen.”
Angry grumblings swelled around the room. The doors of the community center banged open as four men and three women standing toward the back of the room exited. Several more people seated throughout the room stood up, glared at Beau, then left, as well.
An awkward silence descended over the community center, the only sounds being the scrape of chairs across the floor, a few more heavy footsteps toward the door, and two sporadic coughs among the small group of people that still remained seated.
After glancing around the room, Beau ducked his head and dragged a hand through his thick blond hair, his handsome face flushing. “I . . . It wasn’t my intention to offend anyone. I’m sorry if I . . .”
Kit tensed as his blue eyes focused on her. Regret and embarrassment darkened the blue depths, which had settled on her so warmly when she’d arrived. She looked down, her cheeks heating, as he floundered for words.
“If we could just . . .” Beau returned to the podium, straightened the stack of pamphlets, then cleared his throat. “If there are no additional questions at this time, I’d like to proceed with the presentation as planned, with a question-and-answer session to follow.”
Kit couldn’t look up. Couldn’t face the hurt in Beau’s eyes, the fury in Viv’s expression, or the disgruntled glare on Tip Allen’s face as he continued to stare back at her. Though she was already thoroughly ashamed of having boxed Beau into a corner, she took the easy way out and slipped through the door.
* * *
Last night had been an unmitigated disaster.
Beau loaded the last of several cages onto the hybrid bay boat, then stepped back and dragged a hand over the back of his neck. Hours of dragging oysters out of the water and sifting through pile after pile of bivalves, collecting marketable singles, packing them in climate-controlled storage, and loading the rest back on the boat for return to the creek had strained every muscle in his body to exhaustion today. And rather than quieting his unwelcome thoughts, the day spent handling cages had only amplified them.
Viv, seated at the helm of the boat, watched as he stretched his neck from side to side. “You still doubt me?”
He raised his brows.
“About Kit.” Satisfaction flashed over her expression. “I told you not to underestimate her.”
He narrowed his eyes at the horizon and watched as the late afternoon sun dipped below the distant waters of Hope Creek. “I’m not in the mood fortold you sos, Viv. I made a complete fool of not only myself last night but our fledgling business, too.”
Viv made a face. “Youdidn’t. Kit did. You didn’t do anything wrong. All you did was tell the truth.”
“Yeah.” He rested one hand on his hip and fanned his T-shirt away from his chest with the other. “And I said it in a way that made half the population of Hope Creek think I look down on traditional fishermen, which, I’d like to state for the record, Ido not.”
“No one will think that.”
“Oh, they already do. That’s why half the people in that community center last night walked out before I even finished the presentation.”
Beau stifled a curse. Of all the times to lose his temper . . . Why couldn’t he have just let Kit work out whatever grudge she held against him, thanked her for sharing her concerns, then regrouped and carried on as planned without making a scene?
He knew why. Because her stubborn, righteous indignation rankled him—as did her lack of neighborly courtesy. If she disagreed that strongly with what he was doing, the least she could’ve done was attempt to discuss the situation like a civil adult the night he’d stopped by her dad’s house a week ago. She’d had all the opportunity in the world to ask her questions while he’d unboxed, assembled, and installed a brand-new mailbox for her family’s benefit. She could’ve voiced her misgivings and sought insight into what he was doing then.
But no. She chose to make a grand entrance into the community center, then cause a scene of reputation-crushing proportions.
“Well . . .” Viv tapped the steering wheel with the heel of her palm. “I told you not to invite h—”
“Once again”—Beau slashed a hand through the air—“I’m not interested intold you sostoday.”
