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I settled back in bed and grabbed my laptop. Then, thunder tumbled outside, this time sounding close. The lights flickered and the room went dark with the exception of the bright light from my screen. I gritted my teeth. “I hate New Elwood.”
TEN
SEBASTIAN
The smell of a fresh pot of coffee nudged me awake. I squinted my eyes in the early morning light as sun streamed through the thin white curtains. I wasn’t sure if it was the rain or a belly full of cookies, but I slept like a rock. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I gazed up at the open hole, still bitter about the meeting with the mayor—and the fact that Charlie had to be the most obtuse, unreasonable woman I’d ever met.
“Hello!” A face popped into the hole, but it wasn’t Charlie. It was a chubby-nosed, wiry, gray-haired man with salt-and-pepper stubble.
I nearly jumped out of my skin. “Who are you?”
He reached his hand through the hole and let out a jovial laugh. “Sorry about that, neighborino. I’m Albert. I’m in the apartment on the first floor.”
The infamous maintenance man. I shook his hand but would have preferred to have brushed my teeth before meeting anyone new today. “Sebastian Anderson.”
“Nice to meet you. I’ll be working on getting this patched up today so no more surprises, eh?”
It wasn’t the surprises I was worried about. It was the structural integrity of the house as a whole. The more time I spent here, the more I worried the building wouldn’t last the four weeks I needed to stay here.
“Where’s Charlie?” I asked.
“She went for her morning jog. She should be back soon.”
I gave him a wave, grabbed my things, and shut myself into the bathroom. When I emerged, I was showered and dressed in gray slacks and a sky-blue open-collared shirt. The hole was now partially covered in plywood while Albert’s power drill rumbled against my ceiling. Good. No more surprise visitors.
That’s what I told myself as I ignored the twinge in my chest. I hadn’t exactly enjoyed my conversations with Charlie through the hole, but there was something intriguing about the woman. Her conviction. Her temper. The way she didn’t back down. The passion in her eyes when she spoke of the historical value of the town.
She was wrong, obviously, but I could appreciate a woman who wasn’t afraid to take a stance.
Since I wouldn’t get any peaceful coffee time to catch up on emails with Albert banging around like a toddler given access to a set of toy drums, I decided to head to the local café down the road before heading to the theater. On my way out of the apartment, I saw Charlie walking in dressed in a pair of dirty sneakers, a cropped hoodie, and a pair of very short shorts. My gaze drew down her legs, then back up to her face. Her eyes flicked up from where they had lingered around my chest and open collar, and I thought the flush on her cheeks might have gotten a little darker.
Checking me out, was she? Gotcha.
She was an attractive woman. There was no denying it. But not only could I not afford to get involved with anyone before I got this deal with Sinclair over the line, I definitely couldn’t afford to get involved with her. She was the one person in this town who could ruin everything.
“Anderson,” she said cordially, if a bit coolly, still panting from her workout.
“Reeves.”
“Where are you off to so early?”
Off to get a head start on my win-over-New-Elwood campaign. “You know what they say. Early bird gets the worm.”
“Are you the worm in this scenario?”
Charlie’s jabs were beginning to grow on me. I smiled knowing that demolition machines could tear down the theater to make room for my hotel but her words could never hurt me. “See you at the walkthrough,” I said and headed to my car. “Don’t be late!”
She rolled her eyes and jogged inside.
Not ten minutes later, I arrived at Magnolia Café on Cardinal Spring Road. This wasn’t the contemporary, commercial coffee house I was used to. Instead, it was housed in what looked like an old brick colonial residence with dormer windows and a signpost in front that read Circa 1784. If it hadn’t been for the small painted wooden sign on the front door, I would’ve thought I was walking into George Washington’s residence.
Inside, it definitely looked like someone’s home. I stood in a small foyer with a staircase; to my left was a room with a fireplace, a few vintage armchairs in blush pink, café tables with white rattan chairs, and a painting of what looked like Queen Anne. I followed the scent of coffee, cinnamon, and sugar down the hall and found the café bar with a display case of warm baked goods.
“Good morning! Welcome to Magnolia Café. Can I get something started for you?” a woman asked brightly, as if she’d already had three cups today. She wore a floral apron atop her ruffly white top and jeans. Her hair curled in chestnut ringlets around her cheerful face.
“Hi, I’d love a black coffee, please.”
She tapped the order into her digital register, the only modern thing in this place. “No cream and sugar, huh?”
