“He bitches about this every year,” Thea muttered next to me. “Get over it, Peter, and be happy with your cotton-candy machine, for God’s sake,” she called out.
My pretzel went down the wrong pipe, and Thea pounded on my back until I stopped coughing.
“Mrs. Lambert, if you could avoid interjecting commentary,” Dad said into his microphone. As a founding member, he had occupied his seat on the council since Grandpa died. Five seats on the council were reserved for the eldest surviving members of the founding families, and the other four were elected annually from the voting members.
Basically, if the founding families wanted something—or didn’t—they got their way.
“I’ll avoid the commentary if he stops asking for the same thing year after year.” Thea folded her arms across her chest.
Oh man, I knew that look, and Dad was not happy.
“Okay, if we can stay on topic,” Walter said, leaning forward in his foreman’s seat. “Peter, I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to decline your request. I know we all believe in capitalism, but it’s not in our best interest to compete with each other when it comes to the season, and you know it. Caramel corn is pretty much what keeps Mrs. Halverson’s feed store in business. And besides, last time I checked, you were the only vendor allowed to sell sunscreen. Did you want to offer Mrs. Halverson a trade? Her caramel corn for your sunscreen?”
Peter glanced at Mary Murphy, the society’s secretary, as she lifted her pen, ready to record. “No.” He quickly shook his head. “I’m happy with what I have. Thank you.” He took his stack of papers and sat on the edge of the third row.
“Greedy asshat,” Thea whispered. “He owns the drugstore. He makes more money than almost anyone else up here during the season.”
“Not that your mom doesn’t score with her restaurant,” I reminded her.
“True, but you don’t see her trying to take Jennifer’s freaking caramel corn.”
“You have a point.” I doodled on the notebook I’d brought with me, sketching out an idea for a logo I’d gotten a commission for today. Business was good, and it was even better that I could work remotely.
James Hudgens took the podium and pitched the changes in his summer plan for the old Alba firehouse. How that man had ever produced an ass like Oscar, I’d never know.
A body occupied the seat next to me as I added shading to the design I was tinkering with.
Thea nudged me with her elbow, and I yelped, shooting her a glare.
She raised her eyebrows and glanced pointedly to the seat on my other side.
“He really thinks that Alba FD beer koozies are going to sell?” Cam’s voice rippled through me like an avalanche, crumbling what measly defenses I’d tried to construct in the almost week since I’d seen him. Not that I was counting.
I tried to steady my heart with a deep breath, but the darn thing wasn’t listening. Apparently I could go six years without seeing him and be fine, but six days turned me into a teenager. Awesome, I actually was counting days.
“It’s hard for the guys like James,” I told him quietly. “The supplemental fund helps, but you know the owners of the civic buildings don’t make much.”
“I’m not taking exception to his merchandising, just the merchandise.” He shrugged.
Ugh, his profile was annoyingly imperfectly perfect. He knew it, too. Even his eyebrow had an arrogant curve to it. His beard was trimmed close, softening his jawline, but I knew from the way he ran his thumb over it that he’d shave it soon.
I hated that I knew that.
Couldn’t he have gotten uglier in the last decade? At least have a receding hairline or something?
“What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I thought you told me to come,” he replied, still focused forward.
“Right. And when was the last time you listened to me?”
“Apparently right now.” He smirked.
I fought the urge to stick my tongue out at him like we were back in elementary school. Everything had been so orderly two weeks ago, so…safe. Predictable, even. The very reasons I liked Alba no longer existed with Cam in town.
“What’s that?” I asked, spying a manila envelope in his hands.
“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” he replied in a singsong voice.
Apparently I wasn’t the only one struggling with acting my age.
“If that’s our last request, then I move to enter all summer business plans as final for this season,” Dad said.
Cam’s jaw clenched.
“Actually, I know there’s a matter of business on the agenda being brought by Mrs. Powers later that may affect summer plans, so I’d like to keep this matter open until the end of the meeting,” Mary Murphy stated from her council seat, her fingers twisting her single strand of pearls.
“Mrs. Murphy has a seat now, huh?” Cam asked, stating the obvious.
“She was elected about five years ago,” Thea replied. “And it’s nice to see you, Cam.”
“You too, Thea. How’s Patrick?” He leaned forward and offered Thea a quick smile.
“Probably bored out of his mind right now.” She pointed to where her husband sat two seats down from my dad. “He was elected to the council last year after his dad passed.”
Cam’s eyes sought out Patrick. “Wow, I didn’t recognize him.” The light in his eyes died, and he dropped his gaze to the folder in his lap.
“I’m sure he’d love to see you,” Thea lied.
“Right. I somehow doubt that.” He pushed the sleeves of his shirt up his forearms, then seemed to think twice about it and pulled them back down.
“What’s got you nervous?” I asked as Tyler Williamson took the podium to introduce new business.
He finally looked at me, and butterflies shot through my belly. Don’t react. Do. Not. React. Funny thing about my body: it always betrayed my logical brain when Cam was near.
“I’ll tell you later,” he promised as Dorothy Powers took the podium, leaving Arthur Daniels next to the seat she’d vacated.
“It’s still weird to see Xander in your dad’s seat.”
As if Xander heard me, he saw Cam in the crowd and forced a fake smile.
Cam gave him a two-fingered wave and looked away quickly. My bewilderment only grew when Art looked back at Cam and gave him a subtle nod.
What the fresh hell was going on?
“As you know…” Dorothy leaned into the microphone, her voice booming through the hall. “One of Alba’s own has recently returned to our fair town. I’m excited to say that Camden Daniels would like to submit his summer plan. Now, what he’s proposing might not be feasible until the end of the season—”